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tower of light

April 2017

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Brothers in Sin (World of Warcraft, Thassarian/Koltira)

Title: Brothers in Sin
Author: Renata Lord (snowlight)
Pairing: Thassarian/Koltira
Rating: R
Note: Written for my partner in crime, hex12.

Damn that Deathweaver. He was always turning up somewhere.

Orbaz Bloodbane was skeptical when Thassarian plucked that cursed elf out of the embrace of death and into the service of the Lich King. He was downright scandalized when Thassarian insisted on having Deathweaver serve by their side. A whole lot of good did that do for him, when those two were surrounded and outnumbered by the ice trolls. Deathweaver had dragged Thassarian's motionless body back on a horse, but if he was there, none of this would have come to pass.

It was fortunate that the necromancers had done a particularly fine stitch job on Thassarian. Even from this distance, Bloodbane could see where the blade went in and swirled back out in a jagged curve. It had missed the heart by barely half a finger's width, and almost sliced off Thassarian's shoulder. The resulting wound, so imprinted on Thassarian's naked form, was quite something to look at--a dark sigil of blood, a brand of ruin and fire.

And Deathweaver was kissing just below it.

Bloodbane was not so much shocked as offended as he observed the scene from afar. As if it wasn't bad enough that Thassarian was consorting with a bloody elf, now he was getting fucked by one, too.


He was at An'owyn again, still looking for the mooncrystal. This time he had ventured here alone, without the Scourge army behind him. The night fell deep, so dark that nothing cast a shadow. But he could hear them. He could hear the elves' laughs in a distance, the sound of the living....

Then the blade came. The second death, the true death. The metal rammed into his body, tearing through the armor. His bones cracked under the blunt force, and he heard the tip of the blade bursting through his breastplate. At first he could only feel sheer shock, but after a brief moment he fell, the pain devouring him whole even before he hit the ground.


He didn't know why he said it. He wasn't sure if he even had a voice, and that name burned on his tongue like fiery poison. It was wrong. It was all terribly wrong. Koltira didn't use a sword back then. It wasn't....

Yet the darkness receded, he woke to even more pain--and one Koltira Deathweaver.


"That was a sharp blade," Koltira was saying. "It must had hurt."

Thassarian grunted, though not out of displeasure.

"No more than when I killed you."

"I imagine not," Koltira half-smiled and sat down on the bed, looking at him directly. In the wane lights of Icecrown Citadel, those eyes glowed like a secret unspoken. And it was a secret that they shared, if a death knight could hold any thoughts hidden from the Lich King. Brothers in death, brothers in sin.

Koltira did not waste any time by asking if he wanted it or not. He used one hand to hold Thassarian's shoulder, as if to steady the human's weakened frame, and the other hand went between Thassarian's thighs. That elicited another grunt, accompanied by the smallest intake of breath. Thassarian was covered by nothing except for his wounds and scars, and though he did not fear Northrend's icy winds, there was no defense for him in front of Koltira.

The kiss came with not the flesh but the steel. Koltira’s voice may had been gentle, but his gloved hand was frozen and unforgiving. Thassarian glanced down and saw the perverse sight of those fingers, dexterous even when coated by saronite armor, playing with his exposed cock. He shuddered inwardly at the coldness, but he didn't try to escape from Koltira’s hold.

“Did you have a good dream, Thass?”

That name stung him more than it should. Thassarian glared at the elf, who grinned back at him as if apologizing for a bad joke. Yet the painful caress continued without mercy, and Thassarian was caught in between the instinct to wrestle Koltira's hand away and the impulse to thrust into that very palm. Predator and prey, the line always blurred dangerously between them ever since the first battle at An'owyn.

Yes, he wanted to say. I dreamed of killing you again. I dreamed of desecrating your body on that scorched earth. I dreamed of thrusting you open with both my flesh and my sword. And you lied there underneath me in a pool of your own blood, your empty blue eyes unblinking…

Instead Thassarian said, “I dreamed of you.”

Koltira laughed. The echo of that sound bounced off the Citadel's inner walls before disappearing into the void. One finger brushed against the tip of Thassarian’s half-hard cock, teasing with deliberate cruelty. But it was still Koltira's touch, and he found it difficult to fear the steel. His body thirsted for Koltira on its own, like parched farm lands longing for rain.

Soon the rest of Koltira's hand enveloped him, the strokes slow and rough. Before long Thassarian's breath was coming out in small gasps, and he cursed his injured shoulders for holding him back from Koltira. He wanted to reach out to touch in return--hand, wrist, face, cock, balls, anywhere, everywhere, it didn't matter. Yet Koltira was walled off from him behind the full armor, silent and distant even as those fingers urged him towards a blood frenzy.

He closed his eyes, swallowed a scream, and came all over Koltira's saronite glove.

The elf released him and stood up. The half-smile was gone, and Thassarian saw the perfect death knight before him--powerful, menacing, and merciless. It hit him suddenly that Koltira came to visit him right before heading out to another battle with the ice trolls. Something about unfinished business.

"Kill some for me," he called out as Koltira turned to leave.

Koltira didn't look back.