Godperv

Kravitz gives up pretending he isn't listening roughly around the time he hears Istus' dress hit the floor.

He can recognise their moans and soft sounds now, with his hand jammed down his pants, stroking himself with his face in a hastily-conjured cushion to muffle himself.

The thing about his Queen's castle is that the walls are so thin, since they're fake and created from an imagined ether, just like everything else. And his Queen- She never silences Herself. It's… he's disgusting. Disgusting, and wrong, and he must be <em>sick</em> because that's half the appeal.

He whines into soft down and squeezes his erection in his palm.

Disgusting.

She'd say as much.

She'd call him filthy things, <em>true</em> things, about how much of a- how much he <em>wants</em>- and with <em>Istus</em> there, always quiet and contemplative but with a humour in Her eyes when She looks at him like She <em>knows</em>--

"Darling. If you're going to be a pervert, do it where I can see your pretty face."

He's so close that hearing his Queen's voice in his head almost sets him off, but guilt and anxiety has his hand flying back to the arm of his office chair just in time.

"I wasn't--" he starts, but bites down on his tongue. Unwise, to lie to a Goddess. Though neither speak, he feels Her vague approval in his chest.

"Come. I'm distracted by your heartbeat. I'll allow you to join us, if that will calm it."

"I don't think that'll make it much better," Kravitz mutters, but he stands and lets his chair, work desk, and pillow fade into smoky nothingness.

He takes a few steadying breaths, and then a few more, as he strides to her neighbouring chambers. Of course She heard him. Heartbeats are uncommon, in the Astral, and when he conjured a flesh form to- do <em>that</em>… ye gods. It was as if he <em>wanted</em> to be found out.

(Disgusting.)

He's at Her door in an instant, and he barely has time to shake his mind clear before that door is opening, and before him is a sight he can't look directly into.

He blinks reactive tears from his eyes, and when he looks back, he recognises the forms of his Queen and Her lover more definitively.

The Raven Queen covered by nothing more than a palm's width of black fabric. The soft thighs of Istus in delicate silk stockings and little else.

They are beautiful, pure <em>perfection</em> compressed into their mortal shapes. Kravitz finds he still cannot hold their gaze.

"Darling boy, my sweet," his Queen croons, "do I not take care of you? Is that why you behave like this?"

He feels struck.

"N-No," he breathes, edging on desperate, "my Queen, you <em>do</em>, you are wholly fulfilling, I want for nothing…"

"Untrue," Istus interjects, Her voice as beautiful and lilting as he remembers, "or, so it appears."

She raises a silver-white brow and eyes the seam of his suit pants. His Queen laughs behind Her fingers, and on Her giant bed, draws closer to Her lover.

"It doesn't suit me to share, currently. And Istus will not take a man. But," the Raven Queen eyes him, and Kravitz feels more exposed than when he is skeletal, "you might watch. If you're so badly in need."

An invisible knock to his chest forces him to sit as an obsidian chair manifests behind him, hard and uncomfortable. A creation of his Queen's mind; he supposes he deserves no luxuries.

Getting to witness them is indulgence enough. Enough for several thousand endless existences.

Istus' form remains the same as when he last glimpsed Her; stockings of pale lace and little else. Her consumption is not for him or any other man, he knows, but while She deigns him to look, he does.

His Queen's fingers, thin and sharp-nailed, drag up that wide thigh. Kravitz inhales deep. He knows that feeling. Down to his bones and beyond that still, he knows.

He is rapt in Istus' reaction, the shiver of Her glimmering mortal form he can see even from these paces away. A plume of smoke from which something is conjured draws his attention soon after, though, and by the time his eyes settle again on his Queen, She is dressed in not only underwear, but a garter and stockings, and a chest piece that clasps as a collar around Her neck.

"May as well give him a view, hm?" He hears Her hum in Her lover's ear. He knows he was meant to hear it, or else he <em>wouldn't</em> have heard it, so he does his best to form words and respond.

"M-My Queen… no language has expressions broad enough, you are- you <em>both</em>--"

"Shh, dear one. Save your flattery for that which needs it." Harsh, crisp words, but Her painted smile remains. "Use this time to enjoy yourself. Or disgrace yourself. One in the same."

He nods, but if She sees, it's not with Her eyes. They're closed and pressed against Istus' neck, peppering bruises and black lipstick marks on Her brown skin. Istus spreads Her legs, allowing the
Queen to come between them, and Kravitz finds himself mirroring the action.

His hand finds himself again, clumsily undoing the clasp of his pants to pull his erection free and rub, rutting against his palm. <em>Like it was Her boot, or thigh, or cunt.</em> He can't feel Her in his head, distinctly, but even the idea of Her hearing those lewd thoughts has him whining in equal portions shame and arousal.

"Beautiful," his Queen breathes, and for a moment, he can almost convince himself She might be referring to him. "My Lady, my all-coloured one, tell me what you'd like."

Istus must respond in some manner, but Kravitz isn't privy to it. He watches as the Queen's nails turn shorter, more human, and they find their way between Istus' parted thighs.

He can't see, exactly. This is not <em>for</em> him. He is simply allowed to bask in them. Still, a moan slips past his lips, and he pumps himself more shamelessly.

The Raven Queen does not take Her eyes from Her love, but he feels the warmth of Her surround him.

"Would you have us both, Kravitz," She speaks between Istus' chordal moans, "if we let you? Would you be <em>able</em>?"

If there is a correct answer, he can't fathom it. "N-No," he decides, carefully, "unless it was asked of me. Which- Istus wouldn't-"

"I wouldn't," the Lady of Fate confirms, "but your Queen has mused often on having us two for herself. Supposing I were to share her-"

Her voice is cut off by the thrust of fingers, a sweet moan echoing on the walls and making Kravitz's head feel clouded. He's not sure if there was any riddle there, but he's too far gone to formulate a response regardless. The wet sounds of them, the look of his Goddess stroking at Herself through sheer black underwear. He's lost in them; their vision, under their gaze, within the knowledge that he's- <em>disgusting, lecherous</em>--

Istus reaches a hand to squeeze his Queen's breast, and Her resulting moan is what has him tumbling, fucking his fist through an orgasm that feels like it's passing through his very marrow. His eyes squeeze shut but he still sees them, like sun-spots behind his eyelids, like <em>judgement</em>, and passion, and endlessness.

When he comes back to himself, his fingers are sticky, and holding a physical form feels like monumental effort. Eyes still closed, he considers regressing to his soul light form, if only to reset the residual tingle in his bones. His heart still patters constant, but he feels as if he could sleep forever, if allowed.

As he thinks his thought, the hard stone chair begins to disintegrate beneath him, and he has to scramble to not fall on his ass.

"Oh, darling." comes the Queen's voice from within his head, and it feels somehow even more intimate than Her barely-clothed form before him. "My sweet thing. Did you really think we'd let you rest so soon?"