FLUFFTOBER DAY 1: Winning a teddy bear for the other (Nick x Reader)
“What are you doing?” You laugh as Nick winds up another throw, launching a baseball at a stack of milk bottles, managing to knock half of the bottles down.
“Damnit-! What does it look like I’m doin’?” He huffs, grabbing another ball.
“It looks like you’re trying to win a teddy bear.”
“Yep.” He’s too focused on the shot to pay attention.
“Trying to win a teddy bear in the damn apocalypse. When you could just, ya know- grab it?” You tease. You had watched him walk past the stuffed animals twice now when he was setting up the bottles and rounding up the baseballs.
“Yeah, well… ya know, I’m trying to be romantic I guess.” He shrugs shyly, throwing the ball again just to have two of the bottles wobble and not fall over. “Damnit!” with a huff he slides across the counter of the booth and starts setting up the bottles.
“Ya know they’re rigged, right? They put sand or some shit in the bottles so they don’t fall over easily.” You muse. As sweet as it is that your boyfriend is trying to do something nice for you, it pains you to watch him get so frustrated when it would be so easy to grab the teddy bear and leave before the others got worried.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just let me do this.” Nick rolls his eyes, jumping back over the booth and throwing another ball at the stack. He cheers for himself when he knocks over five of the six bottles. He throws another and the bottle wobbles back and forth for a second before toppling earlier. “Fuck yes!” He yells, jumping over the booth and grabbing the largest stuffed animal as you scold him for being so loud. He slides back over and kisses you quickly and handing you the bear, beaming about his accomplishment.
You chuckle and hug the teddy bear tight, “Thank you, this is very sweet of you.” you smile, kissing his cheek in return.
“Thank you, glad someone appreciates what I do around here,” Nick says sarcastically, making you chuckle again, leaning your head on his shoulder as you two start to walk back to the rest of the group.
Clementine had found a rollercoaster that Alvin had gotten running. Luke and Carlos had just gotten off the ride- Sarah and Clem insisting they go one more time- when you guys got there.
“Hey! We were wonderin’ where you two ran off to.” Rebecca says as she crosses her arms.
“Where’d you get the bear?” Luke asks immediately after running up to you both.
You beam and hug the plush toy tightly, and Nick wraps an arm over your shoulder. “My awesome boyfriend won it for me.”
“Well that’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”
-He's insecure. Constantly. He always needs reassurance but it'll take a lot of reassuring your reassurance to REALLY reassure him that he's doing great
-And no PDA, at all. It makes him really nervous and he really likes to act tough.
-"I didn't know you two were a couple!" Is probably a common thing to hear, even from your closest friends.
-Like even Luke. Especially Luke. Yall know that one Scooby Doo season where Shaggy and Velma start dating but Shaggy tries desperately to keep it a secret from Scooby? Yeah it's exactly that.
-He's horrified of telling people you're dating because after his mom died, he's scared of losing you too. He figures if he acts nonchalantly in front of the others, if one of you lost the other, you could move on quickly without constantly reminding him or you of it often and making it worse.
-He's very protective over you. Won't let anyone touch you, will actually lose his shit and point a gun at them, yelling that they need to back off right now and give you your space.
-Will always try to walk in front of you in case anything or anyone jumps out at you two.
-You'll have to be the one to say "I love you" first. He'll be so stunned he won't say it back. He'll just leave and come back a week later and be like "yeah- I uh- I love ya too or whatever"
-Nick worries about being too cold to you in public so he tries really hard to be romantic when you're alone.
-He'll be very cliche about everything and only realize have way through planning, and then wanting to throw everything away and forget about it.
-Things like a candle lit dinner with champagne (or moonshine, since he probably got some from the shack), with little scraps of paper that are supposed to look like rose petals leading the way to the table.
-Will also do a lot of little acts of kindness for you, like heating up water and filling the bathtub so you can have a hot bath, or cleaning your guns and knives for you.
-Will pretend he has no clue what you're talking about when you thank him, he's not used to being appreciated so he doesn't take compliments or thank yous very well.
-You have to initiate pretty much everything, cause he never wants to cross a boundary with you or make a mistake.
-He might kiss you first though. He'd still ask for permission first. (First kiss with consent >>> first kiss being a surprise/used to interrupt the person)
-He's very loyal and loves you a lot, but especially at the start of your relationship he gets very defensive very quickly. You have to get him used to letting his gaurd down and relaxing around you because he's afraid of messing up.
Andd that's all I have. Writing in this app sucks so bad- see ya
Not sure if anyone is still following this oneshot, but I ended up writing a second chapter. Turns out I couldn't stop thinking about giving them a happier ending. (Rated M now 👀)
Rolan x Fem!Tav (Unnamed)
Good Night For Company - ch. 2
Tags: Mild Angst, Sexual Content
Word Count: 4,794 [Read on AO3]
Rolan had spent many hours cursing his timidity that night.
He’d lain sleepless at his camp as the sky lightened outside the Emerald Grove, replaying each moment in his mind. The look in her eye when she asked to kiss him—her hand tugging him toward her tent—the lovely way she collapsed against him when his lips found her soft neck.
He'd escaped the very fires of Avernus itself with his whole family miraculously alive and in tow. Yet confronted with the puzzle of her hands drawing him down to her bedroll, his mind had seized up in uncertainty. How much easier could she have made it for him?
Although, he allowed himself, he had made some sense that night. For one who daydreamed of her face as often as Rolan, the strain in her features was instantly noticeable by campfire light. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and shadowed with dark, tired circles. Even her skin seemed drained of its usual color. She needed a good night’s sleep more than anything.
But as they said their goodbyes that night outside his campsite, Rolan's hands still holding her shoulders, he could have sworn she wanted him just as badly as he did her.
Rolan shut his eyes with a groan—her face only swam behind his eyelids, that same invitation drawing him into her gaze. He pressed palms to his eye sockets until she burst apart into popping stars.
When he opened them, he was back in the torchlight of Last Light Inn and sitting in his grim new reality. There was empty silence on either side of him where Cal and Lia should have stood chattering.
Rolan dragged his tankard back towards him across the bar, until he peered down and saw the bottom.
"You two," he snapped at the little Tieflings behind the bar. The boys' conspiratorial giggles hushed immediately as they both looked at him. "Are you tending bar or not?" He waved his empty mug toward them.
"I don't know," Ide said, brows lowering in a skeptical line. Rolan tutted at him.
"It's not difficult. Bottle," he pointed at the open dry red behind the bar. "Cup," he continued, waving a hand in front of him.
"Mistress Jaheira said not to over-pour," Umi piped up, clearly not knowing the term but understanding the sentiment behind it.
"Mistress Jaheira didn't save both your hides from the Shadow Curse, did she?" Rolan snapped. He badly needed another drink; unwelcome lucidity threatened to close in. "If it weren't for me, who knows whether you two would still be out there right now."
“Stop it, mister Rolan,” Ide insisted. Rolan was opening his mouth to chastise him before he caught sight of Umi’s lip trembling.
The child was already a timid thing. Through the recent memories of too many kin lying on the road, Rolan recalled Asharak, the childrens’ fighting instructor from the Grove. He’d been cut down before their young eyes just days ago. Umi seemed especially affected by the loss. No doubt the man’s body still lay spread-eagle on the path up the hill; the urgency of survival had left no time to bury their dead.
Rolan gave a heavy sigh as he watched the child’s forlorn face. Yet again, he felt like a monster. “Go. I swear I’ll practice moderation. And if Jaheira asks, tell her I ordered you off.”
The two of them scampered away without a response, clearly eager to get away from Rolan at the first chance. If only he could escape his own unpleasant company just as easily.
But that, Rolan reminded himself, was what all this wine was for. He lurched across the bar for the bottle and tipped the rest of its contents into his tankard. Its heat down his throat welcomed him back toward oblivion.
If he still lived, their errant paladin had everything to answer for. Whether he’d lost his senses to the curse or just lost his mind entirely, Rolan cursed Zevlor for the umpteenth time for fucking off with the cultists and landing him in this unwelcome position of authority.
Rolan was no leader…at best a very, very uninspiring one. The yoke should have fallen to someone brave and selfless. Someone like broad-shouldered Ikaron. But Ikaron was now another empty body lying along the Risen Road, to be slowly consumed by the shadows.
Rolan knew he was no beacon of encouragement. He’d done his best to herd the other panicked survivors onward, however, using every last bit of evocation knowledge he had to keep them surrounded with light and flame.
He also knew it was sheer good fortune that saved them in the end. If they hadn’t found the sanctuary of Last Light Inn when they did, they’d all be shambling undead by now.
Yet somehow in the days since the ambush, he found all the children hovering around him with frightened eyes, asking him questions he barely knew the answers to himself. How were they going to save the ones who’d been taken by the cult?
Perhaps his unpleasant habit of ordering others about was finally coming around to bite him in the ass.
Nevertheless, Rolan felt vexed and inconvenienced by the unasked responsibility. Weren't his siblings enough of a weight on his shoulders already? Saving everyone would be a miracle; all he could privately hope for was Cal and Lia returned to him.
If they’re still alive. Those were the thoughts that drove him to drink, and drink he did, tipping back the pewter vessel with abandon. In between bouts of liquor, however, Rolan’s mind was working as hard as it ever had.
Cal and Lia would be at Moonrise Towers. No question. Moonrise was the headquarters of this insane Absolute cult, the one whose small patrol had butchered their numbers on the road. And a fortress of that size had to have a dungeon of some sort on the lower level. Why would they go through the trouble of taking them alive just to kill them? They must have plans for them all—ones Rolan tried not to imagine in detail.
He had to think of a way to slip through unnoticed—possibly by river, if the rumors he’d overheard from the Harpers were right. How far could he get on his own? Asking any of his fellows for help was out of the question.
Rolan glanced across the common room at what pitiful few remained. Alfira sat near the open hearth, fingers going through the motions of tuning her lute strings. Her usually cheerful eyes were blank and distant. Rolan hadn’t heard her play a single note since Lakrissa had been taken with his siblings. He should have thought to comfort her, but that kind of gentleness never seemed to occur to him.
Rolan crossed his arms on the bar and dropped his horns to them. If only he’d thought faster, acted sooner, left the others to fend for themselves in order to grab hold of his brother and sister before their screams grew distant. His sharp nails dug into his palms as the sound replayed in his mind.
He wished he had anyone besides himself to be angry at. He wished he could be angry at her.
If only she'd never taught Cal and Lia how to hope to fight back or be heroes. If only she'd never taught him how to hope…for anything, he decided. For any single single thing he might wish were possible.
Through his haze of drunken self-pity, his ears pricked at some kind of shouting and commotion out front. No doubt another attack by some new shadow-cursed horror. Rolan heard one of the little ones begin calling his name.
"I’m coming, I’m coming,” Rolan spat, sliding petulantly to his feet as one hand reached for the quarterstaff leaning against the bar. “The damned hells is it this time?" He didn’t care what language the child might hear, but young Mattis was unphased.
“Stow your frown—” Mattis was grinning toothily. “Goblin killer finally made it!”
“What?” But the boy was already gone, bounding away from him through the front doors. Rolan swallowed dry against his fuzzy tongue. He felt fully awake for the first time in days, and he gripped the bar to steady himself before his feet stumbled forward.
Jaheira's enchanted vines were disentangling from her legs just as Rolan entered the courtyard. It was fortunate; he'd grown to respect Jaheira, and it would've been a shame to have to hex her. Rolan jostled through the gathered Harpers without a care in order to push closer.
She and her companions had been waylaid just past the bridge. Harper Lassandra was relaying a report in her defense, it seemed, but all Rolan could concentrate on was her face.
Her cheeks were splattered with dark, shadow-magic blood. One of her sleeves was ripped open at the shoulder, displaying another patch of blood-stained skin at the seam of her leather jerkin. By the dark circles under her eyes, she still hadn't slept properly since the Grove.
She was the most beautiful thing Rolan had seen in weeks.
Her eyes came to rest on his own face then; he watched her blink hard, as if she might be dreaming.
"Rolan?" She croaked out softly.
He had already half-closed the gap by the time she started toward him. They caught each other so hard Rolan felt the air leave his lungs in a huff, but he gathered whatever of her familiar scent he could, tinged with coppery blood though it was.
“I’m so glad you’re—I’m so glad,” she laughed shakily into his shoulder. Rolan wished he could kiss her, but it didn’t feel right in front of so many other eyes. He settled for standing back with his arms circled tight around her middle.
"Where's Lia and Cal?" She glanced around behind him, her smile fading. Rolan should have expected her constant concern for others by now, but could only look at her. Her eyes landed back on his face. "Zevlor?" She added quietly.
“Come inside.” Jaheira’s voice interrupted the silence between them. “We can talk over a drink.”
As the druid directed forces back to their posts, Rolan felt her slip out from under his arms. She approached Gale to ask something—Rolan saw the wizard glance his direction before he replied.
“Come on,” she said, jogging back into his embrace.
“What about Jaheira?”
“Gale can handle it, he’s good at talking.” She notched herself back firm against his side as they walked in. “I’d rather hear from you.”
Rolan tried his best not to stumble up the stairs beside her. He cursed his impulse to reach for the bottle at any sorrow—he must reek of it. If he did, she was kind enough not to say anything.
He led her to the empty room beside the cleric’s and shut the heavy door behind them.
“We were ambushed,” he said in a rush, before she could open her mouth. “Cal and Lia were grabbed up by those monsters on wings. Along with others. They’re being held at Moonrise.”
“We’ll find them.” Her voice was automatic and steely-certain.
Rolan nodded, borrowing what strength he could from her eyes. “We will.”
“I thought…Zevlor was leading you,” she prompted him slowly, as if she might not want to know the answer. He only shook his head at her. How could he explain what he didn’t understand himself?
“We took the same path here that you did,” she admitted to him. Rolan knew what she was saying. He remembered each and every blank, upturned face that shrank to a pinpoint in the darkness as he led the survivors away.
“I’m so sorry, Rolan.” His numbness was broken by her two hands rising to hold his face. “I just—I’m so fucking sorry—”
For some reason, his grief felt more real than it had yet. Rolan looked down at her bloodstained face and folded his fingers around one of her wrists. It would be idiotic to cry in front of her, so he kissed her instead.
His lips shook against hers, from sorrow and from want in equal measure. Rolan didn’t want to think about his dead friends, or his family waiting for rescue in a dark dungeon—just for a moment, he wished he could lose himself in her. She was the one person he could let himself unravel with.
“Rolan, wait—” But she didn’t want him to wait. Rolan heard it in her breathless voice against his lips, felt it in the way her hands clutched at his clothing to pull him closer.
He knew she must taste the alcohol on his breath. Hadn’t he said something to her that night in her tent? Something about wine and sex being a bad mix.
Foolish words of a foolish man who still thought he'd have time to do things properly. Rolan couldn’t remember them, and right now, this seemed like the best thing that could ever happen in such a desolate place.
Was it so wrong to want her? Even now, with the rest of his life crumbling around him?
Only his very real feelings for her could have broken through the haze. With a lurch of effort, Rolan stumbled back from her. The four walls of their room pressed in unbearably quiet without the sounds of hands and lips filling the air. Her eyes shone dark to him in the candlelight, pupils blown wide in a way that his deepest instincts recognized with primal satisfaction. He was certain his eyes blazed with just as much desire.
Rolan licked his lips, gathering his last shreds of control. “Tell me to go,” he rasped. “Say it, and I will.”
He was rooted to the spot to await her judgment. She was silent before him, only a soft pant from between her lips. Rolan stood there for what felt like an agonizing eternity as her eyes traveled over his face.
So slowly it felt like a dream, she raised one arm across to her opposite shoulder. The gesture made no sense to him at first. Until Rolan heard buckles clicking and watched the plates of her leather armor shed from her chest like scales to the floorboards.
Her tunic was next, and before Rolan could ready himself it was up over her head and thrown on top of her armor, her bare breasts covered only by a few stray wisps of her hair.
He swayed where he stood, lightheaded; her darkly shining eyes didn’t break from his for a moment, even as her hands were already moving to the fastenings of her belt.
Rolan felt an ache like loss. Those should be his hands—gently undressing her, taking his time as he slowly unveiled each new and beautiful expanse of her flesh—not the two of them rushing through this first moment of newness that they’d never get back. Because even as the thought occurred, he himself was ripping his own robes off his shoulders without a care for the state of them. They would have time enough some other night.
She was faster, already kicking her pants off her bare feet. She wore nothing underneath—the realization brought a groan from his throat. Once his last garments dropped forgotten to the floor, she practically pounced.
Rolan had just enough reflex to catch her as she threw her body against his. Her bare skin on his was electric, filling his mind with wild want even as he tried to take in every sensation at once. Her taut breasts pressed against his chest—fingers lovingly exploring the ridges on his shoulders and back—the heat between her legs barely grazing against his thigh, yet enough to send his mind reeling. She made him feel real again.
And her lips—how could he have already forgotten how sweet she tasted? He kissed her back with hunger, wishing he might dissolve into her soft warmth for good.
Rolan wasn’t as strong as he wished, and he was tipsy as all hells, but he did his best as he guided their bodies down on top of their clothing. Her hips and shoulders thumped under his weight against the wood boards. Surely it must have hurt her—but then he felt her legs cross behind his bare flanks, rutting their hips together, and every other concern was lost.
Slick wetness pressed against his pelvis as she rolled herself against him. The proof of how much she wanted him, if Rolan had any lingering doubts. He fell braced on his forearms around her.
“I missed you so much,” she gasped against his lips. Rolan paused everything as his eyes opened to meet hers, almost too close to focus. “Rolan, I wish we—I should have—” Her face shone with more yearning than he could bear.
"I know, dearest, I know—" The endearment fell with shocking ease from his lips. Though he might share them, tonight was not for regrets. There were enough of those going around to last a lifetime.
Rolan stopped them with his mouth, licking and tasting her as deeply as she would let him, one hand splaying under her thigh to angle her hips deeper against his own.
With anyone else, Rolan might have felt self-conscious about how hard he’d been since the moment she undressed for him. With her, what would be the point? She'd confessed more with her body and her words than he'd ever expected.
His ridged length pressed between them, his underside slickening with each rocking motion she made against him. He broke from her slightly.
"Tell me." The words came out husky. Rolan didn't mean them to tease her, only wanted her to direct him, but the way she squirmed under him was addictive.
"I want you," she breathed, and he felt fingers clasp behind his neck. "Please, Rolan—"
How could he deny her anything? Rolan grabbed himself to guide and nudge his tip to her folds, spreading her wetness along his length best he could. She deserved so much better than a hard floor in the middle of nowhere. But everything felt too urgent, like they were at the edge of the world’s end. And her face held nothing but eagerness as she watched him.
Gently, slowly, he guided himself just inside her. She was perfect; Rolan's head dropped to her chest as he exhaled with a shudder.
"Oh—" She only let out the little gasp, but her hands hooked under his ears, tilting his head back up so she could press lips to his forehead and eyelids.
"More," she purred against him.
Reflexive, Rolan pushed into her to the hilt and let out a groan at how perfectly she gripped him. She hummed in satisfaction, her legs pressing tighter around his hips to hold him there.
It was somehow tender and frantic all at once. Rolan's hips rolled into her with increasing urgency, even as he cradled her face up toward his with both his forearms, wanting to watch each sensation play out over her face.
When he hit a new angle inside her, her fingers actually gripped one of his horns as her lips gasped open. It sent a shudder reverberating through his core.
"So good," she gasped. "You feel so perfect—"
He would do anything to keep it feeling that way for her. He ducked his mouth to her breast, sliding his tongue over one tight bud and sucking her into his mouth.
"Fuck, Rolan—" Her voice canted up a register, and he felt her walls tremble and grip around him with each thrust. Her fingers clutched sweetly at the ridges over his shoulder blades.
In the back of his mind Rolan wondered whether the whole inn could hear his name on her lips, but he wasn't sure he cared, wasn't sure he didn't fucking love the idea in fact.
Both of them were starved for it, and neither of them could last much longer. Rolan groaned something into the flesh of her breast, words lost to the way her body shook under him just as he unraveled all around her. He collapsed against her soft chest and held her tight with trembling arms.
—---
"What did you say before?"
As he drifted back to reality, Rolan lifted his head from her to rest his chin on her stomach. "Hmm?"
She was looking down at him with shy curiosity. "When you came," she said. He loved hearing words like that casually tumble from her. "You said something, I didn't recognize the language."
Rolan realized with some embarrassment that she was right. "I did, didn't I." He moved to press his lips along her abdomen, as if it might distract her from the topic. But she was far too stubborn for that.
"Going to tell me or not?" He felt his insides melt as she traced her thumb along the lines of one of his pointed ears.
Rolan regretted letting her in on that fact about Tiefling anatomy, and he told her so with a grumble. She only laughed and gave his ear point a teasing tug.
Rolan closed his eyes against the feeling instead. "It's Infernal," he admitted to her. He hadn't spoken the tongue in many years; the fact he remembered any was a surprise even to himself.
"Oh." She didn't sound put off, only curious. "What did it mean?"
He carefully considered how to answer. "There's…not a word in Common that directly translates." Rolan met her eyes as his lips brushed absently near her navel. "A feeling that cleanses like holy fire. 'Love of salvation.'"
She gazed down at him. "That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard," she whispered.
Rolan reached to smooth her hair across her forehead. "Is it? To be cleansed, you have to be corrupted first."
"Is that an offer?" she asked, a grin teasing at the corners of her mouth. “I mean, we’re all pretty corrupted around here. Don’t forget I’ve already got a worm in the head.”
Abruptly, she pushed herself seated upright; Rolan caught himself back against his knees.
"I’m an idiot," she gasped. “Rolan—that’s how I get to the Moonrise dungeons. This tadpole makes me a True Soul. I can walk right through the fucking front door!”
Anxiety gripped him as he watched the excitement unfold on her face. Rolan wasn't sure he could watch her willingly rush into a den of vipers.
"I'm coming with you," he insisted, already knowing she would tell him no. She shook her head at him.
“I wish you could,” she told him, and he believed her. “You're not tadpoled, the guards would know. But I'll take as many of my companions as I can, I swear. We can do this," she added, gripping his forearm.
It was all too fast; Rolan caught her hand before she could rise. "Wait," he implored firmly. “Let me travel with you to the bridge, at least.”
That she agreed to. They dressed quickly—though Rolan couldn't resist grabbing her a few times to kiss what bare flesh was still exposed, absolutely adoring the way she melted under his hands and mouth each time.
When he and her party stood at the bridge to the Tower, Rolan regretted agreeing to this all over again. She only gave him a quick peck on the lips with the soft promise of more later, and headed down the walkway with her companions.
Rolan stayed back in the shadows to watch her speak with the guards. His heart pounded in his throat. There was a short exchange; even his sensitive ears couldn’t catch the words. But then the guards stood down, and she and her friends walked freely through the front doors of Moonrise Towers. He allowed himself to feel a sliver of hope.
Back at the Inn, Rolan paced around the hall for what felt like an eternity. Mol complained he was making her dizzy. In reality, it couldn't have been more than a few hours.
When he heard the soft shout of the patrol below, Rolan rushed through the wide doors and down to the underground port.
Cal and Lia stood alive and well on the wooden docks. Her too, further down the line—she even caught his eye with a smile. Rolan could have laughed in relief, but the guards curtly ordered him back while the Harper on duty checked them over with Jaheira's bottled tadpole.
Rolan deeply wished to aim a cantrip at the man's skull, but he clenched his fists to gather his last remaining shreds of patience.
When they were cleared, all of them dashed together. Rolan gripped Cal and Lia's heads with a hand each, holding them tight against him.
"You absolute fucking idiots—" Rolan was half scolding, half trying not to cry. "Don't you dare stick your necks out like that again, do you hear me?"
"I'll remember that the next time we get kidnapped by murderous lunatics," Lia's voice said into his shoulder, but she was squeezing his ribs tight.
"Sorry," was Cal's only meek response, and Rolan stifled the juvenile urge to rumple his little brother's hair.
"Just get inside," Rolan said as he released them. "When was the last time you both ate?"
They both complained over his continued fussing, but each of them obeyed him in the end. The return of bickering and normality somehow eased a weight from Rolan's heart.
As the Tieflings he knew and the deep gnomes he didn't all made their way up the stairs to the Inn, Rolan linked his arm around her waist beside him.
"I love you," he told her first, low so that only she could hear. Then—"thank you."
"Thank those lot up there," she told him, though he heard through the smile in her voice that she hadn't missed his confession. "They were ready to fight tooth and nail out of there. I just unlocked the bars."
In the dark Rolan placed a swift kiss on the crown of her head, and was rewarded by the feel of her cheek leaning sideways against his shoulder.
Last Light Inn still had an undeniable gloom to it, but it was lightened considerably by the reunions of friends and lovers. To Rolan's eye the hall seemed practically packed compared to a few hours earlier.
His siblings settled back at the bar, removed from the chatter at the hearth. Rolan watched them toast each other with two very well-earned pints. As they both launched into conflicting narratives of their adventure, Rolan felt a deep sense of ease soak into his bones.
"This one's fucking amazing, by the way—" Lia was gesturing her mug to the woman at Rolan's side. "Watched her cut down a Moonrise guard with one swing of a sword. You better have thanked her properly, Rolan," she added.
His sister was clever; Rolan strongly suspected she knew what she was doing. He decided to play dumb for the sake of the dear person beside him, whose cheeks he could practically feel burning from here.
"Believe me, I will," Rolan said. As he spoke, he drew her toward him again with an arm around her middle.
Cal was significantly slower on the uptake. "Eughh." He let out an amused noise of disgust. "Why don't you two just kiss each other alre—"
But Rolan's lips were already on hers, tilting her chin up and back with a hand so he could capture her mouth. His other arm wrapped her shoulders back against his chest, and he felt her fingers grip tight over his forearm. As they gently broke apart, the quiet lasted only for a second.
"Twelve pints at the Elfsong." Lia smacked the bar next to Cal. "That's it, you owe me."
"Taking bets on my fucking love life now?" Rolan began, his indignance slightly undercut by the fact that his love in question was shaking with laughter under his arm, both hands clasped over her face.
In the end, Rolan left his siblings to argue over the details. He was too overwhelmed with embarrassment and the desire to save her from any of the same.
As he drew her back up the stairs, Rolan felt her shoulders shaking with laughter again under his arm. He glanced sideways, wondering what had ruined the mood now.
“What?” he prompted her.
“Nothing, it’s just—” She was positively sparkling as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Can we use the bed this time?”
With a mortifying jolt, Rolan realized there was indeed a perfectly serviceable bed in the room where he’d unceremoniously taken her on the floor.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
“Plenty of time for that,” she agreed, biting her lip as she drew him with her hand. “Now come on.”
Request Information: A set of possibly two or three parts surrounding one my mutual's favourite, non-companion characters in the game: Rolan. This in a look at how Rolan and Tav's relationship builds over the course of the story from a friendship to something more.
Tav is not referred to by name.
Content Warnings: She/Her Tav
Word Count: 2.1k words
╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
The scent of rust mingled awfully with the flowering bushes surrounding the grove. Something felt wrong about strolling into such a place with goblin blood still drying on her armour and the cling of an abduction over her shoulders.
She did so regardless, muscles strung tight from a battle nearly lost and an argument she could scarcely defuse. Who knew helping somebody out would cause such trouble.
“We’re off to a great start,” she said to nobody in particular. “Barely free of some wretched pod and already we’re wrapped up in another conflict.”
Her companions and her had crashed into this isolated area of coastline just the very morning they stumbled into this grove. How they’d managed to get themselves involved in whatever impossible argument was occurring between tieflings and druids escaped her understanding.
“This really isn’t our business,” she admitted to them when they looked at her. “But I suppose if we’re going there anyway, the least we can do is talk to the head druid? It won’t do any harm.”
She lied to herself like that sometimes.
If somebody asked her for help, she’d never been able to turn them down. Offering her assistance felt negligible in the grand scheme of things and this conflict really seemed to have a solution she could find. It would help also, to have the grove’s knowledge on her side.
Those excuses really didn’t feel genuine when the threat of a tadpole behind her eyes lingered.
Yet despite having it in mind, when she overheard an argument, she couldn’t help herself but stop to listen. The trio of tieflings sounded so irritated with one another as they fought about whether they should remain with the group or forge their own path to the city. A fight they’d clearly gone over before if the exasperation said anything.
“Don’t be ridiculous, we don’t even know these people. I’m not sticking my neck out for every person we come across. With my magic, we have nothing to fear about the path to Baldur’s Gate as long as we leave now.”
“Just because we don’t know them doesn’t mean we should abandon them here. What use are all our spells and blades if we don’t even use them to help people.”
She listened curiously, not planning on interjecting but also wondering about the goal of Baldur’s Gate. Some things unfortunately rarely changed and she couldn’t help but worry for this group. “Does Baldur’s Gate welcome tieflings at all?”
Her question directed itself at nobody in particular and yet, she must have spoken loud enough for them to hear as the three all turned to her with various expressions of disinterest or appreciation. She shifted uncomfortably beneath their gazes and smiled to show she hadn’t meant to get involved.
“More so than other cities,” one of the tieflings answered. “Perhaps they’ll stare but nobody will pull a blade out. It doesn’t really matter either way because I’ll be welcomed. You’re speaking to the recently accepted apprentice of the great wizard Lorroakan.”
Tall, haughty, and certainly pretty enough to be a wizard rather than a fighter, she could tell he had a great deal of trust in what he said.
Maybe even too much.
Lorroakan sounded familiar but she couldn’t place why it felt wrong. A wizard certainly but not one whose name carried very good rumours alongside it. She could share what she knew but to do so felt wrong and so she smiled.
“Congratulations,” she urged. “You must certainly be very talented to earn yourself such a grand apprenticeship.”
“I assure you, I am.”
“Then it sounds as though your help could be invaluable to these people who are blessed with neither magic nor fighting skill.” Her gaze drifted to where children and others attempted to spar with sloppily created training dummies. “Honestly, I believe they’ll need all the help they can get.”
He frowned; caught in the small trap she’d created through his own confidence. She felt a little bad for taking advantage of his arrogance but she hadn’t been lying when she commented on the tieflings.
They probably wouldn’t survive a day against the goblins.
“That’s what I’ve been saying. We have to stay and help.”
The wizard looked between her and the others before he threw his hands up in agitation. “Fine but if we end up rotting on a road because of this, it’ll all be your fault.”
He stormed off and she glanced awkwardly at the others. Perhaps she had overestimated their skills but she doubted their chances even more if they split from the group and tried to do it alone.
But if they died, the weight would never lift from her shoulders.
“Thank you for intervening. Rolan can get obnoxiously stubborn at times but he’s a good person. He’d have regretted choosing to leave later.”
She laughed awkwardly, unsure how to respond beyond offering her name as a means of introduction before hurrying off. They had so many problems to face, far more dangerous than even taking on a slew of unending goblins. Such a thing could wait until after the worm got removed.
One poisoning later and another child rescued and they took on the very task she’d tried to avoid, regardless of Astarion’s unimpressed complaints about it.
They ended up fighting through a, quite frankly, impossible number of goblins after rescuing a massive druid from the dungeons. Followed it with a battle against shadow druids who were disguising themselves as rats. And then still ended up standing exhausted at a party with the blood not fully washed from her hair.
As tired as she was, she couldn’t skulk away into her tent so early into the night. Everybody wanted to speak to her and she was now avoiding Lae’zel as best she could after the gith caught her off-guard with the strangest proposition she’d ever heard. Flattered, but uninterested, she looked around for help and eventually caught Lia’s eyes.
“What are we doing?” she asked.
“Rolan’s going to put on a show for us,” Lia told her, excited and a little teasing. She, like many of the others, appeared a little tipsy as she gestured to her brother. “Watch.”
“Patience,” Rolan chided. “You have no respect for showmanship.”
“Performance issues,” Cal whispered to her and she laughed behind a palm despite the wizard’s glare.
After all the near misses with fireballs through the day though… well, she really hoped whatever magic he wanted to use involved snow or water. Anything she didn’t have to dodge.
He surprised her pleasantly with neither and the small cascade of dancing lights lit up the sky in pretty shades of blue. She’d seen children do similar magic when first learning of their abilities and it never failed to make her smile.
“He can also make them purple,” Cal told her proudly.
She politely clapped and tried to keep her expression supportive of the tiefling trio. Rolan had skill enough to make something of himself in Baldur’s Gate… if his tutor held up to his expectations.
And, of course, the group had to get there first but she had faith. Zevlor, if nobody else, looked well equipped to shield his group from danger.
“You’ll do brilliantly with the proper training,” she complimented when she noticed Rolan’s gaze hover over her for a second longer. “You can ask Gale about some spare scrolls we found while exploring. They may come in use during your travels.”
Rolan straightened his spine beneath the praise, pleased with his successful show. “I have no need for scrolls but I thank you for the offer.”
She laughed and raised her glass to him. “If you say so. The offer still stands.”
She bid the three siblings good luck with their further travel and stepped away to clear her head, finally seeing an opportunity to seek peace and quiet. The shadows provided some solace as she made her way into the forest.
When she came across a small clearing, she settled on a log. It had been a long day filled with unending waves of enemies and her eyes felt heavier than ever.
She’d almost drifted off when she heard footsteps behind her. Footsteps, clumsy and unused to stalking through the dark. At least she knew it not to be an assassin, she imagined.
Although she’d expected Karlach or Gale rather than the tiefling she saw.
“Rolan?” she asked, confused as to why the wizard had followed her and now hovered uncomfortably at the edge of the clearing.
“Lia made a very good point,” he said, straightening imaginary creases from his robes as he spoke. “Scrolls could be useful if we get into a situation where my magic is lacking.”
She frowned for a second before she remembered her offer and waved back at the party with a smile. “Oh, right. Those are with Gale or one of the others. I don’t know what spells they have but any magic is useful, right?”
“Obviously but they’re mainly for Lia’s peace of mind. I don’t think we’ll have any problems when I have my thunderwave to handle threats.”
She smiled. “I’m sure. Make certain to aim for the nearest cliff.”
A wince followed as she remembered shoving a goblin from one of the rafters earlier in the day. She hadn’t appreciated the crunch of bones or the smear of blood… she hadn’t cleared out a goblin camp before the day and it really didn’t suit her.
“With any hope, you’ll have no need of spells at all,” she said. “I think the path to Baldur’s Gate should be open.”
“If it wasn’t, I don’t think they’d be singing your praises so highly,” he scoffed.
He took a few seconds to place the strange jealousy in his voice as not related to handling the goblin camp but rather the heroism of it. Strange, she’d never thought of a battle as something to be envious of. She certainly left with a great deal of pain in her ribs to show for it and little else.
“Something wrong?” she asked, fixing him with a soft gaze.
Rolan shrugged but she noticed the way his tail flicked, irritated, back and forth. He watched everything besides herself, not truly meeting her eyes as he gazed around the clearing.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just hoping you haven’t given my siblings any ridiculous notions about going off and being a hero. They’re not the type to walk through a goblin camp with no problem.”
She smiled, understanding his concerns. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. It’s not about being a hero, it’s about giving help where it’s needed and… I suppose it was selfish too. I needed a healer and Halsin was my only option.”
“A healer?” he repeated, gaze lingering over her bruises. “Did he manage to fix whatever’s wrong with you?”
Her heart thudded a little and her stomach sank. He hadn’t been able to do anything for her. Halsin pointed her in a direction and promised to help but he couldn’t remove the tadpole from her head. Every day, she ended up closer than ever to becoming a creature from her worst nightmares and she could do nothing.
Honestly, it may have contributed more to her mood surrounding the party than the actual exhaustion had.
“No, then?” Rolan asked.
She shook her head and tried to shake free of the worries. “Unfortunately, my condition goes a bit beyond his talents but he did give me a way forward. We’re heading toward Moonrise Towers to look for answers.”
‘You don’t sound confident.”
“It’s hard to be sometimes,” she admitted. “But I don’t really have much of a choice in what I do next.”
He coughed, a little awkward as he shifted his weight from side to side. “Well, I mean you’re clearly more than capable of handling things. I’m sure getting to wherever will be easy enough for your little group of heroes.”
She laughed at the unexpected and strange praise. “Thank you, Rolan.”
He nodded and seemed about to turn around and leave so she stood and the movement momentarily froze him. She leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to cheek in thanks.
“You’re going to do great with your studies,” she said. “I’ll be sure to brag to everyone I know once your name becomes renowned.”
Somebody once told her tieflings couldn’t blush but she swore she saw colour darken the tops of his cheeks even in the dim light of the forest.
Alright, so hurt/comfort won the fic vote, so here we go! Written on mobile since my laptop is broke, so forgive formatting errors. Yall, this is so long. I got carried away. This is part one of a two parter, the other will take place in act 3.
Them. pt 1.
Summary: When Rolan fails to stave off the shadow curse after leaving to find his siblings in the shadowlands, he ends up more than a little bruised and lost. So, of course, it had to be them who showed up to save him again. It just had to be Tav.
Rolan wasn't quite sure where he was. Where anything was, now that he was thinking about it. The shadows and darkness that obscured the land around him made it hard to see if he was anywhere near moonrise towers or if he was truly hopelessly lost. He could feel frustrated tears pricking the corners of his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away and squared his shoulders, reminding himself of the whole reason he had come out here - Lia and Cal. He *Would* find them if it was the last thing he did.
He set off down the path once more with renewed determination. He would move the Heavens and Hells to find them. He would cast himself into Avernus once more if it meant they would be safe. If they could be saved...if they weren't already dead. What if they were already dead?
The thought has him stopping in his tracks and clenching his first. Damn this. Damn Thorm for taking them. Damn Zevlor for freezing on the group. Damn himself for going after the children first. And damn that stupid cretin Tav for playing hero at the grove and then leaving them to the darkness. If they had stayed with the group of teiflings, would they be in so much trouble now? Would it have changed anything? Would Lia and Cal be safe?
Rolan aggressively wipes away a tear that's escaped and is rolling down his cheek. He takes deep breaths to try and hold back a sob and looks around once more. He's stopped under a lantern, like the few that seem scattered around the area. Probably left by those long gone. Selúne's blessing keeps him safe from falling to the curse, but he's still grateful for the light. It gives him a moment of comfort. One that is quickly cut short by the sound of inhuman shrieks and groans. Rolan quickly whips around, a cold shard of fear running through his spine. Shadows.
4 of them, to be exact. And they're quickly inching their way closer to him, not willing to step into the light but also unwilling to let him escape. He immediately conjures the first cantrip he can think of - a ball of fire - and without thinking, launches it at the nearest shadow. It shrieks and evaporates into itself, leaving three still staring at him with their featureless faces. He grounds his feet and readies himself to take them on or die trying, anything but being dragged off into the shadows.
His focus is broken when the shadows move in, enraged by the fall of their compatriot, no longer afraid of the mere light of a lantern. Before he can even move necrotic claws are ripping into his flesh, horrifying shrieks and screams fill his ears. He's desperately trying to focus, to conjure something, anything, to free himself long enough to have a chance at a fair fight. But as the shadows advance and drain him of any hope he had left, he begins to give in. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he'd be with Lia and Cal again. Maybe he could stop constantly running for his life...
Just as he's about to finally stop fighting and let go, a blast from somewhere up the hill sends the three shadows flying back. Not yet defeated, but away from him. Rolan lifts his head. When had he bowed it? When had he fallen to his knees?
The first sight he's met with is *them*. Tav, in all their glory, advancing with both weapon and magic, a look of furious determination on their face. They make such quick work of the shadows that had almost taken him that he's almost embarrassed to have fallen to them. As the last shadow falls they whip around, immediately making for him.
"Rolan! Thank the gods, you're alive! Are you hurt? What in the nine hells are you doing out here alone? I heard you yelling, thank Selúne I found you in time."
He had been yelling? Their hands are flitting over him, not quite touching him. Their face holds concern, their brow pinched with worry. Why were they here? Why the hells did they follow him? Why couldn't he do anything for himself anymore?
"Damn it! Damn you. All I came here to do was to look for my family, and I can't even do that! Not without needing you to swoop in to save me," his voice catches and his shoulders hunch, his will finally leaving him, "and if I had that much trouble just walking through the woods...they're dead aren't they? Lia and Cal are dead."
Bitter tears leave his eyes before he can stop them. They had come all this way, survived so long! And for what? Just to be taken by shadows and monsters. To be taken by what resembles a child's nightmare. He's about to scream every foul word he knows when two hands cup his face. Tav now kneels in front of him, having joined him on the ground. They stare into his eyes with stallworth determination and care.
"Rolan, Lia and Cal are back at the Last Light Inn. When you told me where they'd been taken I set out immediately. Lied my way into the dungeon and snuck them out of a hole in the back of their cell, the others who were taken too. And some other friends of mine. We got back, and you were gone. Umi said you'd set off into the dark alone, and I immediately came looking for you. Gods, how awful would that have been? To get them out only to lose you?"
This whole time, they've been holding his face, trying to get through to him. He was vaugley aware of their thumb stroking his cheek. He wondered if they knew they were doing it. He felt a sort of numbness spread over him. Lia and Cal were safe. They were at the inn waiting for him. His family was alive. He doesn't speak, merely tries to struggle to his feet so he can run back there as fast as possible and strangle those two idiots for worrying him and then cry on their shoulders later that night in the privacy of their room. However, as soon as he puts weight on his feet, he finds himself falling back to his knees, Tav scrambling after him.
"Rolan, stop, stop! You're hurt. There's blood everywhere. Gods, have you even noticed? Those claws shredded you like an owlbears lunch!" They're fussing over him and trying to pull him back, now searching through their pouch for something.
Now that they've mentioned it and the adrenaline is wearing off, he's keenly aware of pain blooming over almost every part of his body. The blood soaking his robes, too. Fear strikes through him once more. Would he get back to Lia and Cal after all? Just as he's about to let doubt creep in, tav places one hand on his shoulder and holds a bottle to his lips.
"Drink. It's a healing potion. It's not enough to heal all your wounds, mind you, but enough to get you back to Last Light."
Rolan drinks without another word, the bitter taste sliding down his throat. The pain lessens. Small wounds mend themselves. He let's out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Thank you." Is all he can utter. Tav helps him to his feet and braces one of his arms over their shoulders. Slowly, they begin their trek back to he inn. Back to safety. Something feels odd as they walk. And it suddenly hits him what it is.
"Where are your friends? I've never seen you travel alone. are they okay?" He questions, wondering if their found family had fallen the way his nearly had.
Tav's face flushes just a little, along with the tips of their ears. Rolan worries for a moment that he's upset them, that their friends really are gone, before they pipe up in a voice that is laced with embarrassment.
"They're fine... they're at Last Light still, I imagine. I, uh...I wasn't kidding when I said I ran to find you after Umi told me you were gone. I don't think any of them were able to keep up with me." Tav's smiles a little sheepishly at him as they walk, and he feels his own eyes soften at them. They really were such a hero, weren't they?
They approach Last Light so much more quickly than he'd thought they would. He hadn't been very far at all...damned shadows must have had him walking in circles. Despite his embarrassment, he feels himself trying to pick up the pace as the lights come into view. He wants to see Lia and Cal for himself. He wants his siblings.
Tav complies, and they quickly approach, nodding at the guards who recognize them and moving straight to the main building. Sitting at the back of the room at the bar, he spots his brother and sister, looking just as worried as he had mere hours ago. Lia sees him first.
"Rolan! There you are! What in the hells were you thinking?! What happened to you?" She's a mix of angry and relieved, he can tell, and he wraps her in a hug before she can scold him and more. After a moment, he releases her and moves to grip his brother in the same manner. A bolt of nervous anger overcomes him he wasn't truly mad, but when someone scares you in such a way what else can you be?
"You're okay. What is wrong with you two?! I was worried sick, I thought you were dead!" He begins to bark in return. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks to see Yav giving him a look.
"I was expecting a bit of a warmer reunion." They say with an eyebrow raised. He growls at them.
"I thought my family was DEAD. But... You're right. This isn't the time. I... thank you. For everything." He sighs before turning to his siblings once more, "Are you okay? Do you need anything to eat or drink?"
Cal smiles at him and grips his shoulder.
"We're alright, we promise. We're just glad to see you." And Rolan can't help but sigh, his bluster gone.
"I know. I know. I was just so worried about you."
"And we're still worried about you. Look at you! Covered in blood and bruises! You need to get that taken care of. Is there a healer in this camp?" Lia cuts in, angry little sister that she is. Tav smiles, that same kind smile they always have.
"There's not, but I know a bit about medicine. I could take care of it." They say calmly, as if afraid to trigger more yelling. Lia only smiles in relief.
"Could you? We'd be so grateful."
"Now hang on a moment, I never-" Rolan begins before a wuthering look from Lia shuts him up. He sighs and simply nods along, knowing she won't be pleased until he's well. Tav chuckles quiet before putting a a hand on his back and guiding him to one of the few bedrooms in the inn.
"Little privacy, yeah? I'm probably going to have to get your shirt off to bandage you up." Tav says with quiet encouragement. Rolan nods and finds himself sitting on the bed, pulling his robes over his head. Tav pauses when they see him, and for a moment, he swears he sees tears in their eyes. He looks down at himself and finds deep bruises and gashes covering his abdomen. He truly looked like he had been cast back into Avernus.
"What? Don't I look as handsome as ever?" He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Tav blinks a few times, fighting the watery feeling in their eyes and smiling sadly.
"Of course. You always look handsome." They say it with such earnest that Rolan feels himself blushing with heat. Thank the gods for red skin. He goes silent and allows them to look him over, applying salves and bandaging cuts where they need to. They work with such gentle hands and a feather-light touch that he wonders at them. These same hands cut and slice enemies down without hesitation. He's rarely seen These hands not covered in blood. And yet, in this moment, he could mistake them for the touch of a healer or a nurse maid. He sighs despite himself when Tav's hands caress over a particularly sore spot on his shoulder blade.
Tav gives a gentle smile and laughs quietly, their fingers smoothing over the ridges in his skin without judgment. They finish and pack up their healing items and give him a gentle smile.
"You should rest now, okay? I'll get your brother and sister and send them up. Let them keep an eye on you." All while saying this, Tav is gently pushing him to lay down and drawing the blankets over him. He nods without complaint.
Tav smiles again and leaves the room. Moments later, Lia and Cal appear, fussing over him and continuing their scolding. They stop, however, when Rolan begins to cry in relief. His family is alive. He is safe. And it's all thanks to that stupid hero. His hero. Tav.
They hush and talk and jabber on as the night goes on, until eventually he falls into a peaceful half-sleep. He can hear the voices of his siblings but not discern what they're saying. His relaxes in the moment and welcomes the oncoming sleep. He thinks he hears a door opening and a third familiar voice joining the others. Who is that?
He is too far gone to wake and check for himself, but when he feels the unmistakable sensation of a cool hand gently pressing against his forehead as if checking for fever, he knows. Its them. He finally let's go and allows himself to give into a full sleep, but swears the last thing he feels before all fades to black is a mouth gently kissing his forehead. Them.
A smut piece for Rolan that became a 7k word fic. I don't know what it is about him--I just need him to be happy. 🖤 For anyone else who feels the same!
In Amber
Rolan can't remember what made him this way. Bitter, insufferable. He only knows he wants things with her to be different.
A series of encounters between Rolan and the person who is teaching his black heart how to hope.
Tags: Fem Unnamed Tav, Explicit Sexual Content, Mild Hurt/Comfort | Word Count: 7,033 [Read on AO3]
The beloved hero of the Grove has saved them all from the Shadow Curse, apparently.
Word spreads fast, and it's all Rolan hears the Harpers talking about in their rush to take final leave of Last Light Inn. Nearly all had gone to Moonrise Towers with the Druid, but a small group stayed behind with Isobel in case the fight turned to the worst.
Rolan was the first one packed. With the shadows lifting, all he wants to do is travel the road to Baldur's Gate and finally reach his destiny. Leave this hollow place behind him.
At last they are finally moving in the right direction again--the three of them along with Lakrissa and Alfira, led by the Harper rangers.
He glances at Cal and Lia walking beside him. They're in the middle of chatting about the first things they want to do when they reach the lower city. Rolan can't seem to stop checking that they’re still there–as if he might look to find them gone once more.
He hasn't seen their savior since the night she brought his siblings back to him. That made twice now that she'd saved all three of their lives. Few things bristled against his nature more than owing a debt that couldn't be repaid. Rolan didn't like the feeling of being under anyone's thumb.
She wouldn't even accept a reward for saving his brother and sister's lives, just waved him away with a smile on her lips. The memory frustrated him endlessly. He couldn't understand why she took such an interest in helping him and his family. He was even beginning to consider that goodness of heart might really exist…at least when it came to hers.
Half of his mind felt tormented by her inscrutable kindness. The other half thought he'd very much like to kiss her.
Before he could brush away the alarming idea, the Harpers in front threw up a cheer. Rolan looked around to see the commotion.
She and her companions were covered in more blood than he'd seen on them yet, but they were still standing as they led their small army down the path from Moonrise Towers.
His eyes light automatically to her face–it shines with a radiant smile, but Rolan recognizes the way her shoulders slump under her armor. He is flooded with relief. At least she's alive.
Their groups converge on the road outside the tower. Everything is a jumble of cheers and shouts as the Harpers jostle forward to reunite with their comrades; a man he's never met claps Rolan’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince.
"Go on, then," says Lia beside him. She's following his gaze knowingly. "While you've got a chance."
He only manages to throw his sister a scowl before she trots away. Is it that obvious?
He decides to take her advice after all. She was right that this could very well be the final time their paths converged. Baldur's Gate was a large city, and whatever grand adventures their savior would face next, he doubted they would involve spending much time browsing magical emporiums.
She gave him a little wave as he approached, the kind one might give an old friend. It pricked his conscience. He'd thanked her for saving Cal and Lia, true, but his mind tossed up all the countless other times he'd been needlessly unpleasant toward her.
"Seems we owe you thanks yet again," he said, hoping it came off sincere.
She shook her head wryly. "I've never done any of it alone, you know that. Every one of these people fought like hells in there."
Standing close, his nose was hit by the thick tang of blood that coated on her armor. How much of it was hers?
"You should go to see Isobel," Rolan insisted. He'd drag her straight to the cleric himself, if she'd let him.
"Do I look that bad?" She was teasing, but there was a strain to it. "As long as I make it to my bedroll in the next hour, I'll be fine. You're sweet to worry, though."
"Stop saying things like that," Rolan snapped, unable to contain himself. "You're so nice, and I'm just a bastard."
Her eyes widened at him, taken aback. "I don't think you're a bastard."
Rolan looked down at his hands. "That's what makes you so nice," he said. He had to get to the point. "Look…I know I haven't been the easiest person to get along with. I've been rude and awful, ever since the Grove, and you didn't deserve it. So." He straightened up properly. "I'm sorry for that."
It's far less eloquent than he'd rehearsed, but she seems to understand the sentiment.
"Don’t worry about it," she tells him. "You feel responsibility for the people you love. That can make anyone forget themselves for a while."
"I suppose," is all he can manage to say. How well she seems to speak what's in his mind.
Her Githyanki companion approaches with a clear intention to speak with her, and Rolan turns away, not wanting to intrude on the company of her true friends.
"Rolan, wait–"
The flutter in his stomach humiliates him. Will he ever get used to her saying his name?
She rummages in the pack at her waist. "Almost forgot. I found something–well, stole, but it doesn't matter now."
A fist is held out to him, closed around something.
Uncertain what to expect, Rolan offers his hand. Her fingers graze softly against his as they deposit something small and hard. He looks down at his palm.
"A rock," he says, deadpan.
"Not just any rock, it's a topaz."
Rolan blinks at her. "And…what am I supposed to do with this, exactly?"
"I don't know," she shrugs. "Keep it, or don't. It just made me think of you. Matches your eyes." The admission brought a flush of pink to her cheeks.
He felt his heart skip at the sight, followed by a jolt of fear–as if she might be able to see the hope blooming inside his chest.
He turns away with a tut. "Absurd."
She gave only a satisfied laugh before taking her leave. Once she'd retreated out of sight, he tucked the gem securely into the folds of his robe.
-
Rolan has long abandoned the fantasy that he is his master's apprentice.
Whipping boy would be a more accurate job description. Perhaps test subject. He is trapped in an impossible game that he can never win, and his highest purpose is to be the canvas where Lorroakan paints his next magical experiment.
His mind shudders at the way the red wizard's eyes rest on him during "lessons": casually devoid of all concern or care. No matter how hard Rolan concentrates, no matter what he answers, it won't be good enough. And then the pain will follow.
The mindless Constructs are worth far more to his master than he is.
There was a time when someone made Rolan feel like he could deserve more, but that time is gone now. All he can hope is to learn enough, train hard enough, and one day claw his way through to something better.
Today, however, will offer the chance of a reprieve. He's been sent to deliver a message on foot across the lower city. Weeks ago he would've seen the task as an insult. Now he wonders whether it might take all morning, if he's lucky.
If he often feels like a drowning man, these moments of escape are like a sweet gasp of air. He walks with his face tilted up to soak in the sun's warmth.
The marks of abuse that paint his features have long stopped troubling him. An occasional passerby might stare at the bruises, but since the Absolute army's march, most Baldurians give Tieflings a wide enough berth not to notice. One wearing fine robes is no different to them.
As he passes the bridge to the Counting House, his eyes land on her figure. He stops short in surprise, earning himself a rude remark about clumsy devils from the woman behind him.
Rolan would recognize her face in any crowd. She stood on the bridge in the middle of some kind of confrontation between two women; one of them a beggar, by the state of her, the other finely dressed.
As he watches he very clearly sees her invite the rich one to "piss off", to the woman's indignation.
An affectionate chuckle escapes him. Then he winces, hand rising to the cracked skin on his lip. He tastes a drop of blood.
Swift panic grips his chest. She can't fucking see him like this, not once–more broken and pathetic than ever. Not after how many times she's already played rescuer to him. He cringes in shame at the thought.
At least she hasn't found him trapped behind his desk, there's a chance he can slip away unnoticed yet–
"Rolan?"
He missed his moment by a hair. It's unfortunate that hearing her voice after all this time freezes him straight to the cobblestones, or he might consider dashing away like a coward.
"I thought that was you! I'd recognize those horns anywhere."
Resigned, he turns back toward her. But he keeps his face cast down toward the pavement.
"What do you want?" He asks stiffly.
"Hello to you too," she laughs, and he stifles the impulse to watch her do so. "It's been a while. Cal and Lia, they're good?"
"Thanks to you," he concedes. No thanks to me.
"I'm glad to hear it." He watches her boots step closer, tentative. "Everything okay with you?"
She can never just leave him alone, can she. Why does she insist on caring when so many others don't bother?
"Fine, busy with my studies," Rolan deflects. "I've got to get back to the Sundries."
There's a tight pause, and then her voice grows firm. "Look at me."
He curses himself for being unable to disregard her, and for his eyes wanting to take her in despite everything. Slowly, he raises his head to meet her gaze.
Her face is somehow lovelier than he remembered. As he watches, it shatters in shock. He can see her eyes flit from mark to mark as if taking inventory.
"Who did this to you?" She whispers, aghast.
He turns away, unable to hold her gaze. "Believe me, it's nothing that can be helped."
"Rolan–" Her hand extends toward his jaw.
If the thought of her touch thrills him, the thought of being touched by her with pity is unbearable.
"I don't need your help," he spits, slapping the hand away with his own. "And I certainly don't need your damned sympathy!"
The shock and hurt on her face are the last things Rolan sees before he turns on his heel.
-
The archwizard was not pleased with his late return. That night, Rolan comes home with a large fresh bloom of purple over his left eye.
Lia's already limited patience snaps. She flies into his face with angry tears and threats that she'll march straight into Lorroakan's tower herself with shortsword in hand. Cal stands between them, pleading for peace, eyes wide and sad.
"Enough," Rolan orders them both. "Don't you see we're nothing but hellspawn refugees to these people? My position is the only thing keeping us under this roof, the only thing."
He doesn't stop Lia as she storms out–she didn’t take her sword with her. The door rattles on its hinges as it slams behind her. He pushes wordlessly past Cal to his room, and collapses in a heap against his bed pillows.
His face aches enough that he knows sleep won’t come easy tonight. One hand reaches into the robe at his chest, and he slowly pulls out the small amber stone. His fingers turn it over and over as he closes his eyes once more to escape into imagining.
In some other world, he could've been the one powerful enough to save and protect her. Even be the person who makes her smile.
He would not be the pathetic, broken man that he is. He could feel worthy to return her tender touches with his own, drawing her close to him instead of pushing her away. Feel her lips on his own…her hands circling his shoulders…
Rolan rouses himself to stare down at the topaz shining in his palm. He feels his rotten heart crumple.
He can't remember what made him this way. Bitter, insufferable. He doesn't like the man he is. He wants to be different–he wants things with her to be different.
The stone grows warm in his fist as he clenches it. She crept deep into his heart a long, long time ago. He'll probably never get the chance to tell her, so he might as well admit it to himself.
And even if he did see her again–what chance did he have that she might feel the same? None. She single-handedly managed to improve every part of his life that she touched. What could he possibly offer her?
In this world, precious little.
-
Lorroakan of Ramazith lay dead on the ground.
Rolan felt a numb hatred as he stood over his former master, eyes frozen wide in the final shock of death. Months from now the expression might have given him cause to laugh. Today, Rolan can only stare mutely.
One more sick megalomaniac who possessed more power than Rolan could have dreamed of wielding…brought down by his insane, insatiable lust for more. Always always more. For what? In the end, he was just another corpse.
It was she who dispatched him, of course. Why wouldn't it be?
After all this time, it was perfectly inevitable that she and her friends would be the ones to fly in and deliver him from yet another tragic end. He felt like he was stuck on a wheel going around and around. He couldn't escape her, either in reality or in his own mind.
Rolan comes to himself and looks down at his robes. Blood splatters his front and soaks up to his elbows; a crust of frost coats his boots, from whose spell he can't remember. All at once an overwhelming tiredness soaks into his bones.
The dream of destiny that had carried him here…had it ever existed, really?
He decides to slip away while she's distracted, speaking urgently to one of her companions. Her plans probably extend far outside this room and beyond, but this is where his path reaches a bloody dead end.
He allows himself one last look at her profile before stepping quietly to the portal. He wants only a bath and the release of sleep.
His feet drag along the streets of the lower city as they carry his body home, ignoring any frightened stares at the state of his clothes. Silent as he can, he slips through the front door and down the hall to his room. Cal and Lia's voices carry from the kitchen. He'll face their questions when he wakes.
In the end, exhaustion and relief overtake him. There will be no more lessons. He falls to bed in a heap and drifts off, still wearing his master's blood on his hands.
-
In retrospect: letting Lia discover him face-down in his bed covered in dried blood was not the smartest decision Rolan had ever made.
After he'd groggily yelled himself hoarse enough to stop her screams, a sharp pang of conscience drove through him like ice. During the time he thought the two of them were lost to the Shadowlands, he wanted nothing more than to drink himself to an early death.
He never wanted either of them to feel that emptiness. For once, he let Lia hold him tight without protest.
With a few days' rest, and some of Cal's better efforts in the kitchen to date, Rolan's spirits had rallied sufficiently that he felt well enough to leave the house. Even to attempt a cautious return to his place of employment.
To his surprise and distinct confusion, no one at Sorcerous Sundries had a thing to say about Lorroakan's disappearance, or about any possible employee involvement.
If anything, the mood around the shop was noticeably lighter. He even caught Tolna humming a soft little tune to her bookshelves. “The tomes never respected him, you know,” she whispered to Rolan.
And once he got over the bizarre sight of Lorroakan's projection, hovering with a vacant smile behind his former desk, he found a perverse humor in it. Who was the fucking errand boy now?
Most of all, Rolan found himself free to finally do what he came to this place for: study magic. He had no archmage master, but he was intelligent, and he now had free access to all of the tomes in the tower library that Lorroakan had enjoyed dangling under his nose.
These days he preferred to spend his days alone in the upstairs, absorbed in theory and practice. His skills grew, and so did his confidence in himself.
If he also felt drawn to the spot because it was the last place he'd seen her…well, he was far too late on that score. He could've finally confessed the feelings that had long been bursting through his chest.
Instead he had slunk away in silence, too scared to stand in front of her and admit how misguided he'd been all this time. She must think very little of him. She probably didn't think of him at all.
Who knew if she was even still in Baldur's Gate? He searched every face he encountered on the streets, hoping for an answer. It had become a reflex.
At the end of another day, he trudged alone across the twilight square. His hands ached from practicing the gestures for elemental conjurement over and over. One of the Steel Watchers clomped mindlessly past, looking about like Rolan felt.
The thought of going home filled him with weariness. Cal and Lia's cheerful bickering always annoyed him, in an affectionate way. But tonight, he truly felt he might not be up to it.
He felt sad. Lonely.
Glancing up, he found that his legs had carried him to the steps of the Elfsong. A drink…that would soothe his sorrows for an hour or two, at least.
The doors swung open to usher a wave of stimulation over his senses. Warm firelight, the smell of roasting venison, tables packed with conversation and clinking glasses.
He was grateful that many others seemed to have had the same idea this particular night. It made it easier to slip through the crowded taproom unnoticed, catching meaningless slices of gossip and flirtatious banter on his way to the bar.
The surly bartender didn't look overjoyed to be serving a Tiefling. He took Rolan's gold without comment, however, and left him alone with his wine.
As the alcohol spread a welcome relaxation through his limbs, Rolan passed the time by idly watching the groups around him.
A halfling sat alone with shoulders slumped, staring down his tankard as if he wished to drown in it. Across the way, a large bearded man was leaning across the table in open pursuit of his female companion. Clearly getting nowhere, from her expression. But he looked far too drunk to notice.
In front of the great hall fireplace, a pale elf sat in conversation with a pretty dark-haired young woman.
Rolan's brow furrowed; he knew those two. His eyes quickly scanned over the room's faces until he found her.
She was removed a ways from her usual traveling companions, seated at a small table in the far corner. He watched her swirl the cup in her hand idly. Her eyes followed the liquid’s pattern, but the look behind them was leagues away.
For the first time in days, Rolan felt his heavy heart lift. She was exactly the person he wanted to be with tonight. Even if it was just sharing a drink.
This was it, he told himself. He had to speak with her or he'd regret it the rest of his life.
But first–he knocked back a very large mouthful.
His heart pounded in his ears as he drew closer to her. With each step he expected she might look up, piercing him with those eyes that visited most of his dreams. But she remained transfixed by the wine even when he drew up beside her table.
Improvising, he cleared his throat. "Hello."
She glanced up at him in pleasant surprise. "Oh!"
They stared at each other for an awkward silence. Then, somehow, he found himself laughing with her.
"Sorry, it's so strange. I was just thinking about you," she said, her face brightening.
The fact that he occupied any space in her brain would consume him later, but he shoved it aside for the moment.
"Mind if I join you?"
She patted the chair next to her. As he sat, he wondered if the spot had been a tactical choice on her part. Their table had a view of the whole room and both exits, yet the wall behind offered a sense of privacy.
"You're not drinking with your friends tonight," Rolan observed.
"Just taking a little break. We're celebrating another family reunion," she explained, gesturing her glass toward the group around the blazing hearth.
Rolan looked back over his shoulder. He recognized the one-eyed young man with curling horns, but not the older one whose hand was clasped on his shoulder. Quite clearly father and son to anyone with eyes.
"I'm glad for them," Rolan said. To his surprise, he found he truly meant it. The Absolute had ripped apart so many families in so many ways, including his, leaving the lower streets flooded with the hopeless and broken and displaced. He counted himself and his siblings incredibly lucky, and it heartened him to see another happy scene among so much misery.
“You know–” She eyed him curiously. "I was hoping I’d see you. You ran off before we could talk that day."
He looked down at his drink. "I know. I've regretted it since then. At the time, it was just…a lot to take in."
Her eyes narrowed, but not at him. "I hope you don't mind me saying, but that man can burn in Avernus for all I care. For what he did to you. For what he tried to do to Aylin."
Rolan recalled the runic circle in Lorroakan's library, the one whose mysterious power had at first awed and enthralled him. And then he'd seen the aasimar with the shining wings, and watched the demented hunger in Lorroakan's eyes, and the horrible realization had run through him like a sickness.
"Lorroakan was a monster," he agreed. "I just wish I'd seen it sooner. Or even found the strength to open my own eyes."
He felt a hand rest on his forearm.
"I saw what you went through to get here,” she said. “It’s natural that you thought you had to see it all through, no matter what.”
Rolan said nothing for a while, just let her kindness soothe into his chest like a balm.
“On the bright side,” he added suddenly, “He did keep an excellent library. I’ve learned more from one of his books than I ever did from him.”
“That’s because you’re a proper talented wizard,” she laughed. “And he was an idiot.”
“A dead idiot.”
“To that,” she said with a lift of her cup, and they both drank. He noticed she used her free hand, not moving the one that laid on his arm.
When he caught her eye after, she was watching him with a smile. "You look so well, Rolan."
He knew what she meant. The last time she saw him, his face had been dappled in marks and bruises from Lorroakan's brutal instruction, with more that she couldn't see under his robes.
Now, the last mark across his cheekbone had faded almost to nothing. He hoped it would take the memories of the meaningless pain he'd endured along with it.
"Thank you," he said simply. "So do you."
He meant it; he realized now that he'd only ever seen her dressed for combat. Tonight she wore soft hide pants tucked into her hunting boots, a linen shirt half unlaced at her collarbones. It softened her. Close beside him and bathed in firelight, she set his heart racing again.
Perhaps it was her closeness or her touch that gave him the courage, or perhaps it was just the wine. He shifted his arm slightly to capture her hand in his.
"No one else has ever shown me the kindness you have. Not even Cal and Lia, though I do love them."
She watched him speak in silence, and he gazed back at her, as if the answers to everything might be found in her face.
"I don't understand you,” he said earnestly. “Why you've kept giving me chances. You've been so much more generous with me than I deserve. I've insulted you, yelled at you, I've been an absolute unbearable prick–"
Before he could think, she leaned in to silence him with her lips.
The kiss lasted forever and only a second all at once. Rolan closed his eyes, breathing in the faint smell of lavender on her skin.
Before he was anywhere near ready, she gently pulled away.
"Because," she murmured, "you're a good man, Rolan. And I like you." Her words, the lingering taste of her on his lips, they made his head spin. He felt like he was watching the door to a new world swing open before his eyes.
Before anything else, Rolan had to kiss her again. He released her hand to smooth the hair back from her face, watching the way she tilted into his touch, and gently guided her toward him.
It was deeper this time; he tasted the heady wine on her mouth, her breath a soft tickle against his cheek. As his fingers tangled her hair, he felt her hand wind sweetly over his shoulder, holding on to him.
A wet stripe flashed across his lips. His mouth gasped open in surprise, allowing her tongue to softly meet his, then draw slowly over his pointed teeth.
The unexpected sensations brought his mind back to reality, and to the fact that they were in a public place. With effort, he wrenched himself out of the kiss. They breathed against each other for a moment.
"I've got a room upstairs," she murmured. "If you want to?" Her cheeks were flushed from firelight and wine, and possibly even from him.
Whether or not he wanted to was no question: her words sent a fervent rush of blood to his groin. But first, he mustered enough control to hold her back from him for a moment. Her lips were parted in question.
"I adore you," he said. "I think I have for a long time. It's–very important to me that you know that. Before anything else." Even if the anything else was a dream that had kept him awake more nights than he could count.
Her soft hand cupped his cheek; he thought he might combust if she didn't say something. "Thank Gods," she laughed breathily. "I swore you hated me for a while there."
"I had no idea what to do with my feelings for you, I was a fucking idiot." It was all tumbling out of him now. He opened his mouth to continue, but her fingertips went to his lips.
"Rolan–" Her voice was full of relief, and he was charmed to see the blush across her face deepen. "I feel the same way. I really, really like you."
His rotten heart could have flipped with joy.
“Now.” She cocked her head askance, and he felt her fingers twine with his. "Make it up to me?"
Yes. Please, please, yes. He nodded in a daze, reeling like he'd sustained a blow to the head. All he could feel was the elation and anxiety swirling around and around in his stomach as he followed her toward the staircase, let her lead him by the hand like a lovesick idiot.
As they passed her companions he pointedly averted his eyes; he couldn't afford to lose any of the nerve building inside him. He'd need every bit of it in a moment.
The dark staircase seemed to ascend forever. Part of him wanted it to–he was no virgin, but the hand she held tight was shaking with anxiety. He wanted to make this perfect.
Overthinking proved pointless. The moment the heavy door closed behind them, he found himself pinned against it with a thud by the length of her body.
His involuntary groan was lost in their kiss. She was everywhere around him at once: hands pinning his shoulders back against the wood, hips grinding into his thigh with no pretense, her tongue pressing against his lips and slipping past his teeth to taste him. She moaned against his mouth, and the sound reverberated from his head to his feet.
His erection was practically instantaneous. He hooked his thumbs over her hip bones, sharp nails finding purchase in her pants, and rolled himself against the yielding softness between her legs.
Whatever release the pressure provided multiplied it tenfold. Desire coursed through him, burning in his veins hotter than he thought possible.
The maneuver brought an approving hum from her throat, however. Encouraged, he ground her into him again, and again, as slowly as his body could be convinced to go.
Her hands released his shoulders to rake upward through his hair, pulling his face toward her.
Pulling him deeper into the room, he realized. He stumbled slightly against something; tasting her lips was infinitely more important than breaking the kiss to look where he was going. He trusted her lead, impatient to reach whatever destination she had in mind so he could freely explore her.
Their connected bodies bumped up against the edge of something soft. She pulled away, and his immediate disappointment rapidly turned around as he felt her fingers fumbling with the clasps of his robe. He guided her hands, struggling at the same time to kick off one boot and then the other.
As his robes pooled on the floor, her palms pressed him away for a moment.
Rolan stood frozen and panting in his trousers. She licked her kiss-swollen lips as she looked over his bare shoulders, his chest. When her eyes reached the obvious hardness straining in his pants, she let out a delicious sound.
Rolan's hands grabbed for her of their own volition. They slipped under the hem of her shirt, against the bare skin of her waist, and wrenched the garment up over her head in one motion.
To look at her directly was almost too much–he felt love and desire churning together inside of him. "Beautiful," was all he could say.
He buried his face in her shoulder instead, fang-like teeth brushing over her skin as he left a trail of kisses along the curve of her neck. She let out a gasp when his hand gently stroked her breast.
"You're so warm," she murmured into his hair. To him, she was pleasantly cool; he shivered when her fingers traced the small set of ridges that ran from his collarbone to his sternum.
But he needed more of her. He hooked both thumbs over her waistband and tugged ineffectually. She quickly took over, shucking them off with a shimmying motion.
The sight of her bare, for him, was almost enough to make Rolan come then and there. He reached out to her hips to steady himself. She was so much more divine than anything his paltry imagination could have conjured.
Through his blazing arousal, he was barely aware of the hands unlacing his pants until she tugged them down to finally let his cock spring free.
A sigh of relief escaped him. He watched her take him in, her eyes half-lidded with arousal.
"You're incredible," she whispered. Then her arms slid around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss.
He tried to concentrate on her mouth, but the way his cock brushed and nudged against her skin every time she moved was taking over his brain.
With a motion of her hips, she captured his length between her thighs and rocked forward and back, sliding her dripping wet center over his cock. The revelation of her own state of desire sent his mind spiraling with want.
Rolan let out what could only be called a whimper. He clutched her to him, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth as firmly as he dared, as if she might suddenly disappear and leave him in an aching pile.
She made a pleased sound, then gave his shoulders a push. With his pants still around his thighs, he lost his balance–knees buckled as he fell backwards onto the mattress behind them.
He propped himself up on his elbows just in time to see her kneel on the floor in front of him. Her two hands pushed his knees apart, as far as the straining fabric would allow–
Rolan tried and failed to breathe normally, heart pounding in his ears. It felt like time was slowing to a crawl. Her eyes glanced from his face to the stiff erection between them. A droplet of moisture shone at its tip.
"Can I–?" She was asking him for permission, hands poised on his thighs, her expression heady with arousal.
"Anything," Rolan swore, and he meant it. She could do whatever the fuck she wanted to him right now. Before he could prepare himself, her mouth closed wetly around his tip.
Truly, nothing could have readied him. He let out a gasp–his head dropped back as his hips rose involuntarily to seek more of her soft, cool mouth.
He had scarcely adjusted before she took him in further, sliding her tongue down along his length to his very base–then slowly, achingly slowly, back up again.
He heard the rip of fabric as his nails gripped the bedding. He gathered the will to raise his head up to look.
Rolan was mesmerized by the sight of her lips wrapped around taught red skin, his length disappearing into her mouth and returning wet with saliva. She was working him over almost reverently slow, eyes closed as if tasting him.
Tasting herself on him. His cock twitched inside her mouth at the realization. She glanced up at him, releasing him from her lips with a soft, wet pop.
He could have groaned at the loss of her. Instead, he used the moment to work off his constraining pants and toss them away. Before she could reach for him again, Rolan pulled her up and onto his lap.
Her knees sank into the bed on either side as she straddled him, but she kept herself hovering well above him without contact. He pushed aside the ache between his legs to focus on more important things.
He leaned forward to press a soft kiss between her breasts, allowed his mouth to explore. She sighed with pleasure as he alternately licked and kissed across each curve, then drew sharp breath as his teeth sucked at the soft flesh under one breast.
Her hands, at first resting on his shoulders, flew to grab two fistfuls of his hair. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine.
Rolan pulled away for a moment for admire the purple mark blooming on her breast. He glanced up as though looking for approval. She gave it, tugging his hair to tilt his face into a waiting kiss.
Ever so carefully…mindful of his fingertips, he placed the flat of his palm on the heat between her legs.
“Rolan–” she gasped, breaking away.
The sound of his own name had never been dearer to him. He was run through with a thrill, and a fervent desire to do whatever it took to make her say it again.
He massaged gentle circles into her, the base of his palm pressing against her clit in slow rhythm. Her wetness coated him with each stroke. She quaked under his touch, eyelashes fluttering, and his other arm circled her back to support her. He felt her lean against him without a second thought. Trusting completely.
“I can’t believe I have you,” he heard his voice say, perhaps to himself.
As he spoke he felt the core of her tightening under his hand. Abruptly, her fingers closed around his wrist to still his ministrations. He froze, immediately afraid he had scratched her somehow. But her face shone with nothing but desire for him.
"On your back," she directed.
Rolan nearly pinched his tail under himself in his haste to obey. He swept his legs out from between hers and stretched out as she climbed over to straddle him.
Now they were finally here, she wasted no time leaving space between them. Her hips rolled down onto him and drew the wet folds of her center across his tip. His entire length throbbed at the blessed return of her touch, the head of his cock burning against her.
Smoothly, simply, she lowered herself onto him.
The shuddering exhale from his lips met against her moan of relief. Rolan willed himself to keep his eyes on hers, even as her inviting walls gripped him, even as he practically felt his pupils dilate with want. Her features relaxed into a state of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.
Then she started to move her hips.
She pushed her palms against his chest for leverage, riding his cock at a steady pace that felt entirely too slow. Whatever will he had to follow her lead was immediately tested; he was overcome with the need to touch her everywhere at once.
Care forgotten, he gripped the soft flesh of her back with his fingertips. She cried out softly as his nails dragged from her shoulders to the base of her hips, but he felt her walls clench around him in response. His tail curled up and around her waist of its own volition, holding her as she took him in further with each bounce of her hips.
She gasped and fell over him, hands braced on either side. She was already losing control. He felt his own release closing in, used the new angle of her hips to thrust up into her.
“Oh, Gods, yes–” Her mouth dropped open. She moved her hips back with each of his thrusts to take him more deeply.
Rolan thought he might shatter apart. Waves of searing desire swept harder and harder through him. She took him so perfectly, his cock almost painfully gripped by her tightening walls, so wet and lush and sweet and for him–
A hand flew up to the back of her neck to grasp and to pull her down so he could taste her as he came. Lips crashed together frantically as the pace of their bodies started coming apart at the seams.
In one bright concentrated moment, she shook and trembled violently into him as she grasped for whatever part of him she could reach. He managed one last stuttering thrust before his climax was ripped from him by her own, spilling inside of her clenching center, hurling him outside himself and into the wide Astral plane.
They shuddered against each others' bodies as white-hot waves receded outward farther and farther. Her head dropped to his shoulder as though she'd lost all muscle control.
He felt her slowing breaths fan out across his chest, and he rested a hand on the back of her head to keep her there.
-
As Rolan stared up at the wood-paneled ceiling above them, something cold dripped down at the base of him. He realized he was still inside of her. He swung his free arm over the side of the bed–still woozy enough from his climax that he nearly slid head-first to the floor–and snatched up his rumpled robes to clean them both.
She rolled off him then and cuddled up on her side to watch him. He mirrored her pose, adjusting against the pillows to make a spot for his horns. One of her fingers found the point of his ear and began tracing.
“How do you feel?” She asked.
Rolan sighed deeply. “Happy.” He could cast around for another dozen words, but he’d rather take her in. He smoothed a hand up and down along the curve of her side.
“So do I.” She leaned over to spread light kisses along his lips, then his jaw and cheek. His tail brushed against her leg in an idle caress.
She glanced down. “I didn’t actually know about…that.”
“Am I your first Tiefling?” He teased, though the thought genuinely pleased him.
“First and last,” she replied. The words were instantly locked away in his chest.
She gave a little shiver then, tucking her body against his warmth. He dug the covers up over themselves and wrapped her up tight with his arms and legs. The simple feeling of holding her brought him a deep sense of calm.
“I love this, Rolan.” Her lips moved against the hollow at the base of his neck. “I wish I could take tonight and carry it with me everywhere.”
Something sparked in him at her words. He opened his eyes and reluctantly released her to feel around the floor at the floor for his stained robe.
"What are you doing over there?" She lifted her head curiously to peer over the bedside.
"Just need to find something." He rummaged through his layers of discarded clothing before finally, his knuckle grazed something hard.
He slid back up under the covers beside her. She propped herself up against him, resting a palm on his chest with an expectant look.
He held out his thumb and index finger. Between them, an amber stone glinted in the dim light.
Her mouth fell open in recognition. For one second, he was afraid she might cry.
Then she buried her head in the crook of his neck, wrapping both arms tight around him. "I knew you were a darling all along."
Sometimes you just gotta chill on your own porch with the love of your life. Add some steaming tea in your favorite mug, pj's and a blanket, and the evening becomes a perfect way to wind down.
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