Legend of Ransera

"Thanks, little man," he said, ruffling Timon's hair as he passed. It was a graduation from kid, but of course, he was still fucking with the kid. Breezing past like he owned the place - or perhaps it was just the level of confidence he exuded - Timon was soon left to his macroeconomics.

When he walked into the forge, the sight of Torin nearly broke his heart with joy. This wunderkind of his craft, this kind and beautiful young man, saw Aurin and not only accepted him with all his ragged, razor-edged faults, but loved him, cherished him, and worshiped him. The fox had been put on a pedestal before, usually unearned, often the result of some clever deception and manipulation. This was different, and it was more than he deserved.

Even so, that pure rush of emotion was easily transmuted into lust. Often, it was difficult not to take Torin when there were other priorities to be met. There would be time enough for that, though. Even without his sembling trick, he could tell that Torin wanted to share whatever idea he had.

Aurin gave Torin a rib-bending hug, then crooked his finger. He took a seat where he normally sat when watching Torin work, or when waiting to offer what aether he could. It was his comfortable space within Torin's little world, and he pulled Torin down into his lap.

"Tell me, boy. You look ready to piss yourself."

He smirked, but the teasing had no teeth. If ever Torin doubted his own genius with aether manipulation, Aurin was there to correct him. Torin knew by now that his talent and his ideas were just more things for which Aurin adored him. The ginger's one concession to desire was to slip his hands up under Torin's shirt, the better to pet strong, hard-earned muscles and - thankfully - a bit of substance to support them.

People thought Aurin was a slut and he certainly could be, but as much as he had learned to master his vices, he was able to have a beautiful man straddling him and quash his arousal. Torin was talking business, at least, how his genius could be put to good use for Aurin's business. That was deadly serious. Time with Torin, as well as his ability to sense the patterns of his work, helped him understand a runeforger's work better than most, especially given Aurin couldn't do it himself. It took a few moments for his mind to process it all, but eventually, it came down to...

"...a little black book."

Aurin laughed.

"Aye, that could come in handy. A place to keep track of things without fear of any eyes but mine seeing it." He considered. "Of course, a Mesmer could still crack me open, I suppose. But aye, that could be good for business, my boy."

He grinned, admiring. "What do you need?"

It was rather silly, really, but Aurin paid Torin for his contributions to Portions for Foxes and Torin paid Aurin for his contributions to his runeforge. Renault still helped with some of the wards, but Aurin could as well, and he had the trick of illusions that he was only too happy to work for Torin's benefits. Following the money was important. Timon understood even if Torin didn't; in fact, Aurin considered eventually pulling the little man into Portions for Foxes as a numbers man, the better to teach him how the shadier sort of thing worked. Though he teased him, he gauged the lad's charisma and knew it would be formidable when he came into his own.

A bemused smile played upon Aurin's face as he listened to Torin work out an outline of this project he wanted to do for his master. He was unaware of any other business that had a genius runeforger working for it, and while Aurin didn't believe that safe existed, his anxieties about his people were certainly lessened for having many tools and defenses at their fingertips, courtesy of Kilvin's Forge.

The contents of the basement were well known to him. He kept a strict tally on it, stricter even that Torin. Aurin often kept things down there until they needed to be passed along.

"So..." he drawled slowly, dangerously. His rough hands moved higher up his boy's flanks, thumbs brushing his nipples. "You don't need me anymore...?"

There was a fire in his eyes, the normal hearth-fire warmth when regarding Torin smoldering into something more, something familiar but decidedly different. The smith would become quite aware that he was straddling Aurin's lap. As much as he disciplined the smith when he erred, he enjoyed rewarding him for work well done, and Torin always seemed to be thinking of ways he might be useful, both to the man and to the business.

This fox liked his portions hot and frequent.

Aurin made an approving growl that vibrated through their locked lips. When he came up for air, he wondered aloud, "And how will I ensure that I have the entirety of your attention when you start the work?"

He wouldn't have minded Torin having nominal access to the book's interior. If there were things he didn't want Torin to know, a simple spoken interdict would prevent it. He had faith in Torin's obedience. But Torin could be twisted by a Mesmer, and so it was probably wise to make it an artefact entirely at Aurin's disposal. Later, he would ask about a failsafe - should he die, he would want his secrets to pass unto someone. Perhaps Rivin, whom he was molding into quite the little spy.

There were times when he came in, pushed Torin down, yanked at his trousers, and had his way with him. Today could be one of those days, but he seemed content for the moment to leave clothes on and tease as much as he gave away kisses and breath. But perhaps he would draw things out, only to leave Torin full of his master's aura and seed to begin his work on the book. His body would remember even as his mind shifted into creation rather than recreation.

Mists, this was the place where they procreated - joining their aether in the creation of Torin's wonders. The artefacts were like their children, marked with their signatures, sent into the world sometimes to find their places.

Short nails trailed down Torin's bare back like a predator's claws, though this was light and teasing, and didn't draw blood.

Aurin could feel the blood diverting back to Torin's brain, and he just laughed quietly as the smith began to talk about the project. Thankfully, the burly boy didn't trip over his third leg, and Aurin just admired the sight of him from behind as he practically bounced with excitement, trying to scrawl his ideas in charcoal and parchment so he wouldn't forget any details when the time came to craft them out of aether and parchment and leather.

If he was left wanting, it didn't bear interruption of the genius mid-inspiration. Torin's love and lust were a neverending well, and there would be time later.

When the lad turned to him, cheeks flushed and eyes alight like some avatar of the missing spring, they found their fox with his hand down his pants, taking care of his own business.

"Fuck... yeah... I'll be here whenever you need me... Mm..."

He would. Aurin had always supported Torin's business and his craft, and he always would, even if the products weren't for his benefit. But he loved this about Torin, as well, and it was just another bit of the boy to meditate upon while pleasuring himself. Even as Torin opened his aura for the express purpose of sharing his idea, Aurin wasn't dissuaded. He was, after all, a bad man. Some might even call him a monster, those who met him under the correct circumstances.

Aurin leered.

"Get to work, boy," he growled. "Don't mind me..."