Archive of Our Own

Castlevania was not a welcoming place to call home, that much was true in Isaac’s experience. Its cold and drafty halls were devoid of warmth, almost to a point where it seemed to steal the heat from your very bones if one lingered for too long. Hostile shadows gathered in every corner, waiting to close in on their prey like a hunter on the prowl. Even its residents were as harsh and unforgiving as the stone itself. It was in every way a reflection of the evil that occupied its very walls.

Dracula’s castle was not a place where one could afford to put their trust in others. It was plain to see that everyone was in it for their own selfish gain. Isaac knew this to be true, perhaps even more so than some. He also knew that none of this truly mattered in the grand scheme of things.

Isaac knew that he was strong and capable enough to hold his own among Dracula’s council. He knew that none of the other generals were foolish enough to go against his master’s intent. And he knew that the voices in the war hall were in too much disarray to even consider an uprising. It was not ideal, but what did it really matter when the results were all the same?

Fate, however, decided to be a cruel mistress upon the late arrival of one Carmilla of Styria. The moment she walked through the castle’s hulking main entrance Isaac could tell that the vampiress would prove to be a stubborn thorn in his side, capable of stirring chaos and ruffling feathers wherever she went. She was incredibly dominant, knew how to claim a space and get people to listen. Something in the way that she carefully chose her words and actions told him that this woman was far more intelligent than she alluded to. It was a combination most lethal, one that should not be taken lightly. What bothered him even more was how the vampiress seemed to take an unhealthy interest in his respected colleague and fellow forgemaster, Hector. 

Hector was undeniably brilliant in terms of skill and clearly outmatched Isaac in his own territory. He felt no shame in admitting that, but what he made up for in raw talent the man was sadly lacking in other areas. There was no denying that Hector’s solitary lifestyle left him unable to read people properly. Someone as cunning as Carmilla could easily manipulate him and threaten to drive a wedge between their shared cause. It was a possibility that did not appeal to him in the slightest.

Even now, Isaac was already noticing a change in his behavior. Hector usually never wavered from his routine. Isaac could always expect to see his face in the castle’s communal kitchen around exactly the same time of day, just before the evening would set in. But lately, he hardly bothered to show up for breakfast at all. The sudden change in him was unnerving to say the least. A sour tension settled high in Isaac's gut like an unruly tide crashing against the inner walls of his stomach. His fingers reached for his forehead where they started massaging his temples in exasperation at the prospect of having to spend another meal by himself.

It was a night like every other when Isaac was on one of his regular rounds throughout the castle. It was a habit he had picked up on rather quickly after first arriving here. Castlevania was a hostile place to take up residency in. Its passages were disorientating and always changing, which required him to continually re-memorize the huge structure’s inner lay-out. It was only by chance that he happened to pass by Hector’s forge and picked up on what sounded like a conversation between the two of them.

“Really? So Dracula only recruited your colleague after he had taken you in first?” he heard Carmilla say in that regal tone of hers.

“You sound surprised by that.”

“Aren’t you? Clearly, there would be no need for an additional forgemaster with someone as skilled as yourself by his side. You could forge him an entire army single-handedly, if you wanted to.”

Now this genuinely piqued Isaac’s interest. What would urge this woman to make such an arrogant and bold statement? He quieted his footfalls and willed for his breathing to soften, hoping that it would afford him a few extra seconds before either of them would take notice of his presence. 

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say that ,” Hector spoke with no small amount of indignation on his colleague’s behalf.

“Isaac and I,” he hesitated for a moment as if he was looking for the right words “... are different in many ways, but he’s a respectable forgemaster in his own right. I trust that Dracula had good reason to bring him in.”

If it wasn’t for Carmilla souring the mood earlier, Isaac would almost feel touched by how Hector defended him without as much as a second thought. Alas, he was not afforded to linger on such sentiments. The deliberate silence that followed was an evident sign that the vampiress could hear him approach by now. Keeping his eyes fixed in front of him, he quietly walked by the entrance as if he was merely minding his own business. At least it would be enough for Hector to not think much of it. But there was no denying the burning glare he felt against the side of his skull when the vampiress bored into him with her arctic gaze. 

Isaac didn’t know what it was, but there was something she wanted to keep hidden from him and likely everyone else in the castle as well, which unsettled him a lot more than the blood and gore he was faced with on a near daily basis. It was then when he decided that something had to be done about the situation. Although he had always thought of friendship as too far of a stretch, the old vampire’s wish for them to grow closer did start to make sense to him in some way. He simply needed the right tools to achieve it.

The next evening, Isaac set out to start his research in earnest. He decides to begin in one of the castle’s more obscure libraries in the lower levels, close to the dungeons. Isaac isn’t exactly certain what it is that he wants , but he doesn’t rule out the chance that what he needs might be more on the unconventional or even on the unorthodox side of things. 

Upon arriving, it was quite obvious to Isaac that this library doesn’t get frequented often, if hardly at all. The room smelled musty and damp, of crumbling stone and stale air. It clung to the back of his throat and made his nose feel dry and stuffy. Isaac covered the lower half of his face with the loose end of his sash as he scoured through the shelves caked in decades worth of dust. His fingers hover over their spines as he tries to make out the titles of the ancient tomes that are housed in its collection, his only source of light being a candlestick which he remembered to bring with him from his private chambers. 

One tome in particular managed to grab Isaac’s attention from the corner of his peripheral vision. Its glossy, burgundy cover almost beckoned to him, luring him in with its intricately detailed, gilded inscriptions. He sets the candlestick aside and opens the tome where it had previously been marked. Its brittle pages appear to have been dyed a dusty pink at some point as he carefully smooths over them with the palm of his hand, the delicate color still hardly distinguishable with how the paper had yellowed with age. Isaac catches a whiff of something that smells like a faded perfume, fruity and sickeningly sweet. He almost rolls his eyes at the ridiculous amount of frivolity and mused that his master must’ve acquired this specimen from a succubus or some similar creature. He tries not to linger on why Dracula of all people would deem it useful to hold onto such a book. The idea alone was enough to send a convulsing wave of shivers down his spine, like a clammy hand pressed against the back of his neck.

His dark eyes skirt over the pages, as he makes to decipher the title of the spell in front of him. 

"Enchevêtrement des Amoureux"

It’s been a long time since Isaac had a good reason to brush up on his French, but despite that he was feeling rusty it was enough for him to understand the gist of it. 

The title, as to be expected, was drenched in an obscene amount of romanticism, but the spell itself seemed to hold a surprising degree of potential. It spoke to him of a promise so dark and deviant, Isaac could hardly find it in himself to resist the opportunity. The more he continued to read, the more intrigued he became by the mutually beneficial exchange it could hold for both him and Hector, leaving each of them stronger and more powerful than before but also more intimately connected.

Isaac knew Hector to be ruled by his emotions, it wasn’t all that difficult to see, but it also left him vulnerable and weakened. If he could willingly tie the other man to him emotionally, secure his unwavering loyalty, that would rule Carmilla out as a potential threat and inadvertently spare his younger colleague from an undesirable fate. 

Therefore it could only be profitable to their shared goal- the eradication of mankind.

He simply needed to wait for an opportune moment to present itself and he would have no trouble persuading the other forgemaster.

Tired and frustrated after another war hall meeting that didn’t seem to get them anywhere, Hector makes the long and aggravating trek back to his rooms. His muscles ache with each heavy step, his feet feel like a leaden weight in his boots. He yearns for a hot bath and an early night’s rest.  

Hector absentmindedly worries his lip as he replays the events in his mind and lets out an exasperated sigh. He starts to massage his temples in an attempt to ease some of the tension away that sits heavy behind his brow. A rather feeble attempt, for it does not help. 

He wonders if his fellow generals are more content bickering over the smallest and most minute details rather than agreeing upon a logical strategy. He wondered how Godbrand even earned that position if the brute equated taking a bath to being surrounded by running water. It was almost comical, really, if not for the bitter reality of it. Likely, it didn’t take a lot of intellect among viking culture to be considered a strong leader. Hector suspected that his master had only called upon the viking Lord because he was expected to, as is the way with vampire politics. 

He scoffed a forlorn huff that was supposed to pass for mocking laughter and idly licked at his dry lips. Perhaps a warm beverage would do him well. Hector had grown rather fond of tea since he moved into the castle. The cold that emitted from its walls almost seemed to seep into his bones at times. He’d likely never grow used to it but the warm drink helped.

There should be tea in the castle’s communal kitchens. Hector hadn’t checked his own supplies in quite a while, so he decided upon a small detour. It would only take him a moment to brew himself a pot, he didn’t expect it would take long.

“Isaac, what are you doing here?” He blinks, startled to encounter his colleague at this hour. He had always taken Isaac to be the reclusive type who preferred not to linger beyond what was absolutely necessary, it was out of the ordinary. 

“Am I not allowed to be here?” His intense stare fixed Hector over his shoulder from his position by the stovetop. His dark brown eyes glimmered in the low light, like shiny pebbles.

"You know that's not what I meant,” he drawled with an exasperated sigh. “Isaac, why do you always have to expect the worst? You know what, nevermind, don’t answer that." Hector deposits himself at the hardwood kitchen table, the chair giving way with a shriek as he drags it across the floor. He groans softly as his palm comes to support his forehead while his fingers rub idle circles in his tired eyes.

Isaac makes no remark on his colleague’s solemn mood. He continues to stir the simple meal he was preparing himself. Without further incentive from his companion he makes to serve two separate plates with the lightly filling dish.

Hector looks up with a start from the plate that is gently being shoved underneath him. His eyes trace the blunt fingertips of Isaac’s hand up to his arm and linger just a little too long on his plump lips, his defined jawline and the sharp angle of his brow and cheekbones. Isaac’s features are quite handsome. It wasn’t the first time the thought creeped up on him, but he usually wasn’t close enough to take notice of it. He manages to tear his gaze away just in time and feels grateful that Isaac doesn’t make to say anything of it. Instead, Hector pretends like none of it just happened and tries to concern himself with the warm meal that he was so generously offered. 

“Thank you,” he mutters, as he occupies himself with the steaming plate and pointedly makes to avoid Isaac’s eyes. 

The dish Isaac bestows him with is simple but well seasoned: brown rice topped with smoked fish and a mix of pickled vegetables. It is oddly comforting and leaves him feeling full and content.

“Does it ever bother you, Isaac?” Hector’s voice is mirthless, burned-out. His free hand curls into a fist, fingernails scraping across the wooden surface in their wake. 

“The council hardly listens to us. Dracula trusts us to be the authors of his war but instead it feels like we’re aimlessly thrashing around. I feel like we’re failing him if we can’t even get the court to unite in one voice,” he lets out a discontented sigh and looks at his colleague with tired, worried eyes.

Isaac has never seen Hector look so sullen before, slumped over like this with his cheek leaning heavily into the palm of his hand. He looked pale despite his naturally sun kissed complexion, dark circles sat heavy under his eyes. Perhaps this would be a good moment to propose his plan, Isaac thought. It shouldn’t take much convincing at this point with how desperate the other forgemaster looked to find a solution to his troubles. Isaac would be more than willing to offer it to him. He simply needed to reel him in at this point and Hector would go willingly, without resistance.

“It does bother me. The situation is troubling to say the least,” he replied, the way Hector’s face lit up just briefly by his admission did not go unnoticed.

Isaac purposefully lets his hand inch closer towards the man from across him, wordlessly conveying a sense of undivided attention and concern that was not completely fabricated. “In fact, I’ve been combing through the libraries in my spare time. Hoping to find something that will help us resolve this issue,” 

“Did you find any?” Hector’s eyes widen with a spark of hope as he speaks.

“I might have. But the means to achieve it are… unconventional. I was uncertain whether I should bring it up.”

“What is it then? Tell me,” Hector leans in closer and hangs on Isaac’s every word.

“The ritual that I encountered would trigger an exchange of power and would leave us both stronger and more unified than before. It could lend us the authority over the other generals that we seek.”

“What’s the catch?” Hector interjects, brows suddenly knit together in apprehension.

“The ritual was written by succubi, it originates from a book about sex magic,” Isaac deadpans, completely unphased by the matter. 

Hector’s eyes widened. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d taken up a suitor to his rooms. In fact, he had considered the possibility once or twice with Isaac in mind. It was plain to see that the other forgemaster was rather attractive with his smooth voice and the way he always carried himself with a sense of controlled grace and measure, he simply never expected him to return the sentiment. 

Hector gave Isaac an incredulous look and for a few tense moments he remained deathly silent. When his mouth finally opens to speak, the words were not what Isaac expected them to be.

“Isaac, if you needed an excuse to blow off some steam you could’ve just asked,” Hector snorts loudly and leans back into his seat.

“If that is all that I wanted out of it, I would have done so already,” Isaac snaps at him with one raised eyebrow, arms defensively crossed in front of himself. “You do not seem repulsed by the idea, however, if my eyes are not betraying me?” he adds coolly.

“What are the steps involved?” Hector asked, jumping straight to the point and ignoring the insinuation behind Isaac’s words. Whether that was deliberate on the other man’s part Isaac could not tell.

“How much do you really know about sex magic, Hector?” he tilts his head back slightly and gives Hector a scrutinizing stare over the curve of his cheekbones.

“Not much, apart from the obvious implication. But I’m willing to learn if you’ll explain it to me.”

"Are you certain you want to do this, Hector?" Isaac asked, not because he was questioning his own motives or had any intent to harm him, but he knew his colleague to be way too trusting.

"Yes," Hector replied, this time with more determination. "There's no benefit in it for you if you meant to harm me. You need me just as much as I need you," he spoke, matter of factly.

Isaac sighed and resigned himself that this was the most he was going to get out of his colleague. It was good enough for him. At least he had Hector's willingness, that he could be certain of. His fingertips rubbed at his temple, aiding to ease away some of the lingering tension in his body. Feeling content for now, he reclined in his seat and nodded.

“Very well,” he spoke, steady and determined. “We should need chalk, enough to cast a large ritual circle. Some other more practical tools to aid with the act would be favorable, but not required. To put it simply, the results will largely depend on the type of energy we manage to raise during the ritual. Sex magic can be something very powerful, Hector. The human climax is a potent way to manifest one’s intent. That is why we should remain mindful of ourselves. Do you think you can do that?” He reached across the table and placed his hand on top of Hector’s while looking him sternly in the eyes, emphasizing the grave reality of what they were about to partake in.

“Yes,” his voice was steady, eyes unwavering as he met Isaac’s gaze “I understand fully.”

They decided upon Hector’s forge, as it was the most hospitable one out the two with more open space to perform the ritual. The floor wasn’t exactly ideal, but they’d make do with some pillows and blankets. Isaac thought the added luxury to be rather unnecessary but Hector insisted. After all, he knew Hector to be a stubborn man and there was no use in arguing, especially over matters of such trivial nature. He could allow Hector to have this, he assured himself.

Isaac arrived at noon sharp, giving a single rap with his knuckles against the heavy twin doors of Hector’s forge. The hour was a little inconvenient but it assured that nothing or no-one came to bother them around this time. He had taken the liberty to leave his forgemaster’s chest plate in his rooms, since it was quite fidgety to get in and out of. The last thing that he wanted was for Hector to fuss over him like some mother hen. 

When Hector opens the door to greet him, he is dressed in a loose fitting shirt with a wide, round neckline. The slacks that he dons himself in are comfortable looking and taper down towards the ankle, complimented by a pair of soft slippers. 

“Isaac, please come in,” he welcomes his colleague with a soft smile and steps away from the door, allowing him to pass through. Isaac merely looks him in the eyes and nods at him calmly as he returns his greeting.

The forge is, for once, blessedly free of roaming pets. Despite his colleague’s best efforts to clean it, the area still smells faintly of old blood but Isaac doesn’t mind. He couldn’t wish for a more ideal space to perform a ritual in than a room that is already so magically charged from regular use. Sunlight filters in through drawn curtains, bathing the forge in an ambient, soft light. He looks at Hector from the corner of his eye and finds himself transfixed by the rustling movements of his flowy shirt as the younger forgemaster scans over the pages of the burgundy spellbook Isaac had bequeathed him. 

Isaac is not blind. He’s always known that Hector is a rather beautiful creature. A newly found appreciation unfurls inside of him, however, when he sees his colleague in something other than his uniform. The forest green of his shirt suits his skin tone and the silken, gold colored embroidery around the wide collar strategically draws the eye to a slender neck and prominent collarbones. It urges him to draw nearer, to seize control of the moment.

He calmly walks over to the other forgemaster with measured strides, his footfalls almost soundless as he moves across the marble floor. 

“I’m just going over some of the final details one more time. Despite that it looks exactly like it was described, I keep feeling like there’s something that I might be missing, as if there’s something that I’m not seeing. I can’t seem to put my finger on it,” Hector mentions more to himself than to Isaac with his nose still buried in his book. Isaac recognizes that tone, knows him well enough to realize when his colleague starts fretting over the most minute details, it is an utter waste of time.

“Hector, it is fine the way it is. It does not need to be perfect,” he assures him, the smooth cadence of his voice is like a soothing balm and he applies it deliberately to instill some peace in his anxious partner.

He takes the book from Hector’s hand with slow, fluid movements and carefully deposits it on top of the slab. Ensuring that every motion is executed with a controlled kind of grace as if he was trying not to startle a spooked animal. His right hand briefly skates over Hector’s arm, fingertips hardly grazing the fabric of his shirt, and settles it on top of his colleague’s shoulder. He lingers there only long enough to feel the shiver that runs through the other man before he allows his hand to glide up and along Hector’s neck, fingers mapping out every contour of each muscle that lies beneath. He pauses for a moment and softly strokes the pad of his thumb over the hinge of Hector’s jaw in appreciation. 

It earns him a soft gasp, almost a sigh as Hector lightly presses his cheek into the palm of Isaac’s hand, eyes sliding shut, lips slightly parting on their own accord. Isaac takes a step forward, almost closing the distance between them completely and looks down on the other man with a barely there smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He can hear the choked hitch in Hector’s breath as his fingers trace the shape of his chiseled jawline and come to settle on his chin, cupping him gently as he tilts his head back to meet Hector’s timid gaze. 

Isaac can nearly see the gears turn in Hector’s head, understanding dawning on the other man’s features accompanied by a hint of determination. Hector bites down on his bottom lip, pearly white teeth sinking into the tender flesh beneath them. He reaches up to his tip-toes, neck straining to compensate for his small disadvantage in height and presses a chaste kiss to Isaac’s lips. Immediately, he regrets that he lacked the courage before to try this out sooner.

Isaac’s mouth feels like it was made for kissing, soft, dry, and velvety like a peach’s skin. He studies Isaac through long, feathery lashes as he pulls back briefly, half-expecting some kind of rebuke but it doesn’t come. Hector tilts his head to the side, allowing more room for their lips to fit together comfortably and kisses him again. His breath rushes out of him on a shaky exhale when he feels Isaac return the kiss, half in relief and half reeling with excitement. Hector makes a vain attempt to fight back the full body shudder that wrecks through him at the intimate contact, tries to choke down a contented moan before it escapes his throat but he does not succeed. His body is all too eager to betray the growing desire that pools low in his gut, rushes up to his core and settles high in his throat with an urgent need that demands to be sated.

Hector’s fingers nervously scramble for purchase, twisting and clenching into the fabric of Isaac’s sleeves, his knuckles going bone-white with how desperately he’s grasping at them. Isaac bows over him and Hector nearly staggers if it wasn’t for the broad palm cupping at the nape of his neck. His tongue darts out and glides across the seam of Isaac’s lips, seeking permission to enter, yearning, wanting. He whimpers, realizing that he no longer is in control of the kiss when Isaac’s unyielding tongue plunges into him and starts to claim his mouth, exploring the wet heat of him with a hunger that rivals his own and fuck that feels good. It nearly threatens to undo him, the lack of control, the fierce kiss that dominates him, the teeth that nip and scrape over his swollen and spit slick lips. His chest heaves with each hard fought breath, fueling the flames that lap hungrily at his veins and glide through his blood like molten fire.   

Though Isaac is a lot more subdued with his noises Hector can sense his desperation growing with each stuttering, labored breath. Fingers clutch at his silver hair, sending sharp twinges of pain down his spine as they pull and tug at the strands near his scalp. Isaac’s other hand deftly glides down his hips, digging and kneading into the soft flesh of his ass, pulling him flush and grinding their hips together with surprisingly fluid motions. Hector breathes out a choked cry when Isaac’s hardened cock digs into his hip. The sharp wave of pleasure that shoots through him nearly sends him reeling, touch almost too much yet not enough against the sensitive skin of his own clothed and straining erection. He is left hovering on the edge, trapped between the heady ecstasy of it all and the sweet agony that threatens to pull him under.

“We should get started,” he mutters against Isaac’s lips, voice low and grated. “I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t get my hands on your cock soon.” He palms at the protruding bulge through Isaac’s trousers and relishes the involuntary twitch it earns him. 

Hector cries out a bitten off moan when Isaac pulls his head back by his hair, none too gently, and gives him a stern, cold glare. “You will take what I am willing to give you, when I am willing to give it to you. Are we clear on that?” Suddenly, Hector feels very vulnerable and very powerless and fuck if it doesn’t make his cock grow even harder because of it. He nods, eyes bleary and unfocused, parted lips glistening with their mingled slick. 

Hector pulls at the fist in his hair. He winces despite knowing that he's willingly adding to the sweet sting at his scalp. "Will you kiss me again?" he asks in a small voice.

"Perhaps," Isaac replies with no small amount of sadistic amusement. He brings his face closer until their lips are merely a breath apart. "I might, if you choose to behave yourself." His lips ghost over Hector's while he speaks. He chuckles softly from within his throat when he pulls away and Hector makes a feeble attempt to chase after them.

Isaac holds him there just a little longer, just so he can watch Hector squirm and writhe within his hold. He nearly takes pity upon him and allows Hector a single chaste kiss to his parted lips before he pulls away completely and makes his way to the ritual circle drawn on the floor, leaving a rather dazed looking Hector in his wake.

Careful as to not smudge the glyphs that run along the outer edge of it, Isaac tiptoes his way across its border. The change in sensation is almost immediate as he enters, as if he was passing through a veil. It ripples around him like water as he crosses over, leaving his fingertips and lips buzzing with static energy.

Isaac kneels down at the center of it, feeling grateful for the small comfort of the pillow that cushions his knees. He makes to undo the fastenings of his robes one by one, slowly exposing his chest and abdomen to the cool air. He suppresses a shiver that runs through him as he shucks out of the garment, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. Isaac is so caught up in his own ministrations that he fails to anticipate it when Hector rounds on him and makes to straddle his lap, bare chested, his shirt left somewhere in a forgotten corner of the room. His breath hitches in his throat at the sudden feel of hot skin against his own as Hector splays a hand across his stomach, runs it up his chest and coaxes him to rest on his elbows. He peppers Isaac’s chest and clavicles with searing, open mouthed kisses, hot and damp and absolutely intoxicating. Isaac’s hips buck against the weight that pins him down, he groans low in his throat, frustrated and aching.

Isaac cranes his head back and offers Hector the length of his neck, partially because he wants to and partially because he hopes that the other man will soon grow bored with his teasing. He allows his eyes to fall shut and bites his lower lip as Hector’s tongue dips in the notch between his collarbones. Clever lips start to trail their way up with biting kisses along the length of Isaac’s throat, over his Adam's apple, under his jaw, catching the sensitive top layer of skin between his teeth on occasion, mean and sharp.

Isaac’s patience is starting to run thin, but he can hardly think under the fog of sweet agony, caught between the dual assault of tenderness and cruelty. Hector is beginning to annoy him, however. His colleague is starting to grow much too willful to Isaac’s liking. He needs to remind Hector who is in charge here lest the other man will grow overly confident in himself and start making out the rules.

“Enough,” Isaac huffs, a little louder than he intended to.

He pushes Hector away, only to allow himself enough room to wrap his arms around him and reverse their positions. For a brief moment Hector looks taken aback, eyes wide and distraught, hands hovering in front of him in a universal sign of surrender. The expression is so short lived that Isaac nearly misses it before it is replaced with a knowing smile, as if Hector is playing a game without Isaac’s knowing. He cranes his neck so that he can whisper in Isaac’s ear, voice husky, his breath hot and heady against Isaac’s skin.

“And what will you do to me if I refuse?” he asks in a slow and provocative tone, while stretching his arms above his head, wrists crossed in a poorly concealed offering.

Isaac lets out an amused huff, catching on to the bait laid out in front of him. He likens Hector to a lion cub, challenging an older pride member despite not being able to outmatch its opponent. The only difference is that Hector is well aware that he wouldn’t be able to take Isaac on, which he guesses is the entire point of it. Isaac thinks that he might like this game.

Slowly, deliberately, his hand skates along the length of Hector’s arm, making the man beneath him hiss through clenched teeth at the ticklish sensation, until his fingers come to wrap around the other man’s wrists, gripping them firmly. “You will find out soon enough,” he murmurs, punctuating his words by scraping his teeth along the shell of Hector’s ear, lacing them with the promise of pain, of punishment and sweet, sweet torture.

Isaac softly brushes his lips over the tanned column of Hector's neck, earning him a contented sigh as Hector cants his head to the side to accommodate him. He swipes his tongue across the soft flesh once, allowing himself a good taste of him before he bites down hard. Hector's voice comes out in a shuddering moan as he sinks his teeth in, loud and desperate. The other forgemaster groans in pain as the pressure of Isaac's bite increases, his breathing growing rapid and shallow, chest heaving with every panting exhale. He whimpers and Isaac is certain that he must be hurting him but he cannot will himself to care when Hector's hips keep bucking against his own in harsh rutting motions. It is an enthralling sight to behold as Hector writhes beneath him so prettily, lean muscles pulling taut like a bow string with every intense roll of his hips.

Isaac supposes he can grant him this small mercy. He reduces the pressure on his jaw somewhat though his teeth never leave the other man's neck. Isaac growls in warning, low and deep within his throat, just in case Hector might get the idea to struggle against him and settles for simply allowing his bite to pin him down. He rakes his nails down Hector's chest, agonizingly slow, leaving red lines of raised skin in their path until they reach the band of Hector's breeches. Hector shudders beneath him, urging him on with needy little whimpers that cascade from his lips like the saccharine call of a siren. Deft fingers make quick work of the laces there, tugging at them harshly until the offending piece of clothing can be pulled down his hips. Hector eagerly arches into him, lifting his hips to ease the process and kicks out of the rest of the garment by himself, cock springing free from its tight confinements and bouncing against his abdomen.

Finally, Isaac's teeth let go of him and Isaac is surprised by the small protesting whine Hector gives him. He reaches between them and wraps his fingers around the velvety, overheated skin, achingly hard with a rosy flush and dripping with pre-come. The weight and firmness of it is a gratifying feeling within the palm of his hand. Isaac gives him a few languid strokes, his thumb teasing at the slit and over that sensitive patch just beneath the head, completely enraptured by how beautifully Hector squirms beneath him as he fucks into his hand and unfurls in front of him.

" Fuck , Isaac. Just fuck me already, stop drawing it out." Hector huffs at him through clenched teeth.

"And why, pray tell, would I grant you such kindness? Perhaps you should try to ask me nicely."

Hector's face splits into a defiant scowl at the implication behind Isaac's words. He bares his teeth at him and shoots him a hard glare, which frankly doesn't do much to intimidate Isaac. Hector knows that he wants him to beg, he feels torn between the prospect of humiliating himself for Isaac's sadistic amusement or not getting anything at all. In the end, his own straining cock makes the decision for him. He huffs out an annoyed breath with all the petulant indignancy of a child and begrudgingly resigns himself to settle for the latter. He is not too happy about it but it is still better than the alternative.

"Please," his voice comes out so quiet and reluctant, Isaac nearly doesn't catch it.

"Please what , Hector?" Isaac's breath is a damp puff of air against Hector's ear. He shudders at the dominance and control in Isaac's voice, its low and sultry vibrations shooting straight to his cock.

"Please, fuck me Isaac." The crack in his strained voice is embarrassing. He winces internally at how it comes out at least an octave higher than he intended. He is rendered helpless against the clever skills of Isaac's deft fingers that keep stroking him and the suspense, the uncertainty of not being in control. It is slowly driving him into despair until his will becomes soft and pliant like butter in Isaac's controlling hands.

There is however, a sense of peace within the relinquish of control, of not needing to know what is to come and simply accepting matters as they are. Hector soon finds that it is an oddly comforting state of mind, floating within this limbo of utter helplessness and the strangely liberating lack of responsibility on his part.  

“Isaac… please ,” his voice is small, whiny, desperate. Tears sting at his eyes, hot and alkaline as they nearly threaten to blur his vision. “Please... please, please, please, please . I need this. I’ll be good, I promise.”

“You promise?” There’s a satisfied purr to Isaac’s voice, he is almost surprised it took so little to break him. His hand comes up to gently wipe at the tears that well up in the corners of Hector’s eyes, easing some comfort in him before his vulnerable state of mind threatens to undo him. “Then show me, Hector. Show me how good you can be for me.”

Hector answers him with a small nod and feels Isaac retreat. The hand on his wrists pulls away, allowing him the freedom of movement he needs to maneuver his body around. Without much preamble, he twists his back and positions himself flat on his stomach. Hector props himself up on his elbows, lifts his hips from the ground, back arched, legs spread as wide as his body allows him. He glances at Isaac over his shoulder with one pleading blue eye, baring himself all prettily and tempting like something from a lust frenzied dream.

The first kiss lands at the small of his back, just above the base of his spine, warm and surprisingly gentle. It is followed by another, and another, trailing their way up until Isaac’s body is close enough for Hector to feel the heat radiate from him. Hector can sense that Isaac is naked, can feel his straining and long neglected erection brush against the cleft of his ass. Hector arches into him, eager and wanting, his breath hitches in his throat at the slight contact and the foreboding promise of what is soon to come.

He bites his lip, stifling a needy moan as Isaac’s oil-slick fingers come to play with his entrance. Isaac swirls them around once, twice, before a blunt digit gently presses into him, breaching the tight ring of muscle. Words becoming too difficult to string together, Hector lets his entire body scream his desire, from hungrily pushing back to eagerly arching into the heavy and solid form above him. Please , he silently mouths the word over and over like a prayer that won’t stop spilling from his lips, as if he was pleading to a higher power.

The smooth feel of Isaac’s cock pressing into him is like an instant relief to his lust addled mind. It is larger than his own, well endowed and with an admirable girth. The mere prospect of finally having it inside of him has his mouth watering and his thighs trembling. Isaac’s pace is relentlessly slow as he enters him with utmost care and precision. Hector can feel him drawing near as he engulfs him inch by inch, can feel the comforting weight of his chest against his shoulder blades, the hot mouth that settles against the nape of his neck, the strong line of Isaac’s muscular stomach pressed flush to the small of his back. Hector sucks in a sharp hiss of breath through his teeth followed by a shuddering exhale as Isaac closes the distance between them, slotting their hips together intimately. His gut clenches at the chills that ripple through him, leaving his hair standing on end and his fingers curling in on themselves. He whimpers .

As if sensing his distress, Isaac's mouth comes to lave his neck with hot, damp kisses as he is given a brief moment to adjust. Hector can feel the broad palm of a hand softly press against his hip, its calloused thumb stroking in calming circles, soothing him through the intrusion. Hector bends his head. It is a bit of an awkward angle but eventually Isaac’s lips meet his own. He peppers Isaac’s mouth with chaste little kisses, needy, desperate and wanting. It has been too long, too long since he felt this full, too long since he felt this intimately conjoined with another person. He breathes out a contented sigh and carefully gives the other man a single roll of his hips, testing the waters. Isaac bends over him, his heavy and solid form a comforting weight, easing him forward to lay his face against the pillows that cushion the floor beneath them. His arms come to coil around Hector’s own, entwining them until Isaac’s hands are once again firmly wrapped around his wrists. Hector grits his teeth, bracing himself for the first punishing thrust. But it does not come. 

His breath hitches, a surprised gasp pours from his lips at the tenderness that follows in its stead. Hector’s previous encounters had been nothing but messy, lust frenzied, heated collisions of the flesh, each person too caught up in chasing down their own pleasure to care for the other. He did not expect the shallow, measured thrusts that carefully breach him open until he is fully relaxed and Isaac can start moving into him in earnest. Even then, he is not once made to feel rushed, to forgo his own needs for the sake of somebody else’s. It tears at a wound he didn’t even realize was there before. Hector knows that it is not love that is shared between them, but Isaac has always been a decent person to him, so why would he expect his decency to end here? The realization sends a sudden burn to his core. It stings him to know how different it could’ve been, had he only been a better judge of character. He swallows against his dry throat, forcing down a sob that threatens to bubble up before it can make itself known. 

Hector trembles beneath him. Each calculated thrust of Isaac's hips sends his hair fluttering about his face like a curtain and makes him cry out so beautifully. Isaac can't recall that he has ever bedded someone who was so responsive, so sensitive. It feels special in an odd kind of way to watch him come undone like this. He slows his pacing just so he can reach down and brush some of those sweat-damp curls from Hector's face, to see his features twisted with the sweetest kind of anguish. Hector's eye peeks open. It is bleary looking and unfocused but Isaac can tell that he's looking directly at him. It is so shockingly intimate, so vulnerable, it makes Isaac's gut clench and sends another sharp wave of pleasure straight to his core, winding the coil even tighter that sits low in his belly like an adder waiting to pounce. Softly, he strokes the back of his hand across Hector's cheek. Isaac watches as he keens into it, as his eye slides shut again and white teeth come to bite down on kiss swollen lips. 

Hector's back arches further, allowing for Isaac to take him even deeper, fuck that's nice . It's like he can't tear his eyes away from him even if he wanted to, he is all but rapt with the way Hector moves beneath him like water, so soft and pliant and squeezing around him so sweetly, just for his eyes alone.

One particularly angled thrust and an especially sharp cry on Hector's part tells Isaac that he must've hit something good. He does it again, and again, until Hector's moans are like a continuous stream that spill uncontrollably from his parted lips. Beneath the fog of lust there is something else stirring, somewhere deep within Isaac's veins. It is achingly familiar. Isaac has known it ever since he first discovered his abilities, yet it is at the same time so very different, so unnervingly foreign it nearly puts him to a halt. It is stronger than he knows it to be, as if it were amplified by tenfold, wild and unrelenting and it almost threatens to tear him apart at the seams. It pools low in his stomach, heavy and foreboding. With a sharp rush Isaac feels it course through his arms and all the way to his fingertips. It slices through his flesh like tiny splinters of glass or like the worst case of pins and needles he's ever felt. Until his body can no longer contain the energy of his own magic and ignites from his hands like bright red flame. It spreads over his body in a thin layer until it completely engulfs him and calmly laps at his flesh.

"Isaac, what are you doing?" Hector's voice sounds frantic and strained with each hard fought breath that is knocked out of him, but Isaac can barely hear him in his shock induced stupor.

"Why are you so cold? Isaac, it burns, you're hurting me." 

That finally appears to smack some sense into him. But Isaac feels lost, panicked even that he appears to have so little autonomy over his own powers. He does not like the feeling of not being in control. It fills him with an icy, bone chilling kind of anxiety that claws up his spine and over the back of his skull. His mind desperately scrambles for anything that could regain him some semblance of measure. His eyes fall upon the man beneath him again, something he can control, it clicks in his mind and suddenly the realization becomes crystal clear to him. As if acting on instinct alone, Isaac surges forward and clamps his teeth around the soft flesh at the crook of Hector's neck. He laces their fingers together, pinning him down, and starts fucking into him with abandon, filling the air with Hector's exquisite cries as he writhes beneath him, trapped between the dual sensations of cock and teeth.

Isaac feels before he sees Hector's magic surface. Stark blue that contrasts sharply with his own red, like a fiery sunset against a deep blue, frosty November sky. Hector’s flames mingle and twist around his own, its comforting warmth a welcome balance to Isaac's excruciating cold, like a hot ceramic cup that brings a soothing heat to frostbitten fingers. He nearly loses himself to it, completely entranced by how their combined flames appear to bleed into each other like watercolors, merging, transforming into something new.

"Isaac. Harder, please, I need to come ." Hector cringes at how his own voice sounds more like a drained whine but he can't help himself. It all feels like it's too much yet not enough, he is desperate and aching for release.

How could he deny him that?

Isaac’s breath is hot and heady on his neck as he fucks him. The flesh that is trapped in Isaac’s bite feels swollen, tender, and Hector is certain he’s going to have bruises there the next day, shaped like Isaac’s teeth. Hector tries to move into him, angling his hips just so that Isaac’s cockhead grinds against his prostate with every well aimed blow, but he can hardly move with how tightly he is pinned down. Isaac answers him with a low snarl in warning. He tears at him hard enough to nearly break the skin there. Hector whines , high and breathy, but he manages to keep himself in line, complacent and submissive to the man above him. 

He tucks his arms under the cushions beneath them and buries his face in it, though it does little to stifle his own cries. His feet scramble for purchase against the cold unforgiving marble, bracing himself against the mounting pleasure that sits deep within his gut. He is so high strung, like a cord that keeps twisting and twisting until it snaps. Each powerful thrust of Isaac's hips sends him further into a lust addled frenzy until he is drowning in the mind numbing bliss of it all. His hips lose any semblance of tempo they might've had, his muscles clench and Hector screams, low and guttural. It grates against his vocal cords until he can feel his own voice grow hoarse and yet it is still not enough to appease the crushing euphoria that rips through him like a tidal wave. Hector can feel his own spend as it splashes hot and sticky against his thighs, can feel his muscles convulse around the unflinching cock inside of him, squeezing and contracting like a vice until it wrings him dry. His legs quiver, his lungs gasp for enough air to breathe and Hector struggles desperately to keep himself upright.

Just when he is about to slump forward Hector feels a strong arm wrap around his stomach, firm, calloused fingers supporting his chest gently, keeping him on all fours. Teeth gone from his neck, he lets out a breathy sigh of relief and allows himself to be held. Hector tilts his head, brushing their cheeks together as Isaac’s hips slow down to a smooth grind. He moans with each long, deep thrust that he is graced with. His head is still swimming in the afterglow of his own peak and Hector closes his eyes against the dizzying feeling to no avail. He grits his teeth, nerves frayed and in tatters. Hector bites his way through the overstimulation as the pace gradually picks up speed. 

Isaac's grip tightens around him. Hector feels his sweat-slick body pressed impossibly close against his own, can feel the rumble of each grunt as it reverberates through him. His breath is knocked clear from his lungs with each powerful drag of Isaac's hips. Insides nearly rubbed raw, touch almost too much, he bears down as the cock inside of him falters. He reaches behind him, nails digging into the dark skin of a pronounced pelvis. He sees to it that he milks him of every drop. Sharp, angular bones dig into the flesh of his ass as Isaac buries himself as deeply as he can physically muster. Breath hot against his skin, he catches the sound of bitten off curses, ragged hisses, muffled against the nape of his neck with every pulse of Isaac's cock, a heat and fullness spilling inside of him. He groans softly, lips parted on a silent whine as a softening cock slips from his ass, his solid weight collapsing on top of him.

Isaac slides himself off of Hector with little preamble or ceremony. He tucks one arm beneath his head, rolls onto his back and waits for his breathing to even out. His lungs burn for oxygen and his body feels sticky with a coating of sweat, oil, and their mingled spend. Flames gone and dissipated, he briefly wonders to himself if their ritual had been a success, but he feels much too drained to put much thought into it. He feels a shift in weight beside him, dipping the pillows beneath them as Hector scoots closer. Isaac freezes; this he is not good at, whatever usually comes post coital. But he finds that it’s not entirely unpleasant when Hector presses his front against his side and timidly hides his face within the crook of Isaac’s neck. Isaac reasons with himself that he could school Hector later for being so needlessly clingy. But for now, he could allow himself the small reprieve of having someone to be close to. 

He steals a glance in Hector's direction from the corner of his eye. Hair tousled and curled in on himself like this, the other man looks incredibly small and reminds him even more of a cub than when he made a fruitless attempt to defy him. Isaac rolls his eyes and wearily reminds himself that he must be spending too much time in Hector's company as of late. His noxious habit of making sense of the world around him through animal metaphors was starting to rub off on him. A sudden jolt in movement pulls him out of his own thoughts. Hector is shivering beside him, likely from the now quickly cooling layer of sweat that coats his skin. Isaac rolls onto his side with a small huff to face him while quietly chastising Hector for not taking care of himself. He reaches out for a blanket and makes to cover the both of them, uncaring of their sticky situation. They could always bathe later.

Curiosity eventually grips him. He hesitates for a brief moment, his hand hovering mere inches away from Hector's head. He lightly runs his fingers over the messy strands of silver hair. It is surprisingly soft and none like the coarse texture that he always imagined it to be. The kiss that is pressed against his lips catches him entirely off guard, yet he cannot find it in himself to pull away. Hector tastes of sweat, of salt, of them , and still smells of the heady scent of sex that cloys around their bodies. His hand timidly searches for Isaac's own, he laces their fingers together. Before Isaac can think better of it he finds himself welcoming the touch as he curls his fingers into an answering squeeze. 

Something unexpected happens then.

It pricks at his skin, like a static energy that sits heavy in the air just before a lightning strike. His fellow forgemaster appears to sense it too. Suddenly, Hector's eyes fly open and anxiously start scanning the area around them. When his blue eyes fall upon Isaac's own it feels like an electrical charge igniting around them. Sparks fly up and manifest themselves as violet flames that cloy around their skin, pulsing in time with their heartbeats.

Hector's expression is an exact mirror of how Isaac feels inside. He stretches his arm out in front of him and stares at his hand wide eyed and dumbfounded, studying it from every angle as if his mind fails to comprehend what his eyes are showing him. He gapes at Isaac, lips moving as if he's struggling to string the words together.

"Did you… did we just…"

You fool. You oafish, babbling fool of a man , Isaac thinks to himself but his thoughts hold no real bite to them.

Before he needs to hear anymore of Hector's gibberish he grabs him by the wrist and pulls him into another kiss. Simply because he feels like it and because it's proven very effective in shutting him up.