❝ I could no sooner choose a favorite star in the heavens.❞

Selective Multi-Muse Written by Noon featuring muses from DC, Hunger Games, Star Wars, BG3 & more!

[justbrcathe]

Welcome! This is a mutuals only multi-muse blog for characters across mutliple franchises including Avatar,Hunger Games, Star Wars, and Baldur's Gate 3. All the rights and credits belong to their rightful owners and creators.

A warning: I am a slow and anxious  writer and I don’t approach people often but I am trying to improve. I die of happiness when mutuals approach me. If you follow me, please feel free to send me a message or just randomly send in memes. Make my day brighter and all.

I’m 21+ because well I really don’t want to roleplay with anyone underage. That is just preference due to my own age. Personals DNI.

Be sure to check out my carrd for info about my muses and my rules.

Carrd - Memes - Promo

You can also find me on solo blogs at @katzchn @onlyarogue @cheeseburgersandwarbirds and @dr-foster

Muse List

Zuko - AtlA

Diana of Themyscira - DC (Headcanon, comic, and Justice League Cartoon Based)

Rey - Star Wars

Katniss Everdeen - The Hunger Games

[perditos]

Rolan's hair, dark gold, shimmering bronze, fell like a cascading curtain off his shoulder, the ending strands of it brushing her shoulder and throat. Small curls that caught the torch light and ignited into molten halos. Almost obscuring the rest of the world escape the familiar features of his face and his eyes darkened by lust. He was so close now, his nose almost buried against her throat, inhaling her scent, and her lungs filled with him too. Laid in silk and their bodies intertwined with each other, Basil could never had imagined such warmth, intimacy, and tenderness, on a thousand cold nights, camping on the ground with only a bedroll for shelter.

She wouldn't give up her years of freedom for anything but Rolan caged and tamed her, and she was all too eager to be domesticated. To curl up by the hearth of his heat and sleep away the rest of her days in relative comfort, never having to beg for a meal again. (This was untrue, Basil would be at work by first light, but she dwelt in fantasy for the moment). There would be nothing to mourn or lose; only Rolan to gain and their new life together, whatever shape that took. As he now claimed and owned, and melded them together as a forge fused two metals into one lump. Gods he filled her, a perfect stretch, Rolan heavy in the slick of her cunt, rocking into her.

Basil grabbed at his shoulders, clutching at him, holding him closer. Each thrust rubbing against the velvet interior of her walls, a spark plate of pleasure that had her inflamed, and twitching beneath him. The common was beyond her, forget the infernal. But the dulcet of his tone, cracked with pleasure and want for her was clear enough. Quiet gasps turned into languid moans, repeating his names in harsh whispers. Certainly, no one could hear them through heavy stone walls but by this point Basil no longer cared. Instinct, an almost primal and animal desire, had her roll her hips to meet his. To take every inch of him, bury him deep. A need and want, to feel him deep inside her, fill her, take all of him. Almost breeding, even if Basil knew very well she'd cast a cantrip to negate any risk of conception once they finished tonight. The last thing either of them needed was to throw a child into the mix of their chaotic and transitioning lives. But a part of her still thought of it, dreamed of it, indulged even.

"Fuck," her nails scraped down his back. To Rolan's point of tiefling durability, her blunt nails barely scratch the strong hide of his ridges. Whereas his claws pricked into her thigh and the sharp dagger of pain threw her over the edge of a sudden climax. Her legs clutched around his waist, knees almost hiked into his shoulders. Basil couldn't even breath for a second, much less make a sound of her wordless, unvoiced pleasure. A drop of blood dripped down the curve of her leg and it felt almost scorching. Instead she pressed her heel into the base of Rolan's tail to encourage, enforce him to keep going. Let him chase his own high, to take what he so clearly needed. Even if feeling him bury into her again felt like agonizing ecstasy, chasing so close to her own orgasm.

But she had no doubts about her stamina, that was for sure.

"Gods, Rolan, so good," she praised, her hand wrapped around the heft of his bicep where his arms braced beside her head. "Ha -- I know, I'll want this, you, every night. Could I ever say 'no'?'" Breathless and yet she scraped her teeth against his throat, bit at his shoulder. "I'm yours."

And to reinforce her proclamation, when she felt him hilt into her and the heat of him spilling inside, she grabbed his thigh. To keep him close and inside.

[justbrcathe]

The drag of blunted nails down the ridges of Rolan’s spine strengthened the inferno burning inside of him. The sensation, coupled with yet another surprising expletive dropping from the cleric’s lips, his handiwork and he was proud of it, pushed Rolan even closer to the edge. If he had more space in his mind to contemplate such things, the wizard might have wondered if such words were limited to sex. Rolan had certainly seen her angry, but if the cleric swore then, he did not recall it. Then again, her voice at the time had not been so entirely steeped in pleasure and need- again his doing.

After his claws dug into her skin, Basil’s body suddenly clenched around him, her legs pulled at his waist and applied firm pressure at the base of his tail. The tiefling moaned and his rhythm faltered, practically seeing stars then, he was so damn close. Unfortunately the touch had not quite been what he would have needed to finish, though. Rolan would have to teach Basil exactly where and how to do that later. It was a power over him that the tiefling was more than willing to surrender; and hoped Basil would frequently make use of. Her message was received though, even through the thick fog of his own desire, do not stop. 

Rolan thrust harder, fucking Basil through the feeling of her warmth tight around him. He was teetering on the razor thin moment just before bliss, muscles tense and screaming for release.  Basil’s breathless voice surrounded him, and flowed with praise. He was good. Basil wanted him. Not just friendship, but their bodies joined like this. She could not resist, her desire was so strong. It was uncanny how she had seemed to know exactly what Rolan needed to hear when he had not given it voice. Not to her. Not to any previous lover. Perhaps the wizard might have been nervous about whether that meant his desires were painfully and mortifyingly obvious to everyone, except at that point Basil chose to scrape her teeth along his throat before sinking a bite into his shoulder. Her teeth were dull, yet flames under Rolan’s skin exploded all the same as pleasure seared through his veins and he slammed into her one last time. In that moment, he forgot the existence of everything except for Basil and the two extraordinary words she had just uttered. His. All his, as much as Rolan was completely hers. He had been for weeks now and would have continued on with his heart unknowingly owned by her even if Basil hadn’t wanted him in return.  Her arms drew him in, holding Rolan close even as his hips continued to push against hers, chasing down every last bit of the euphoria he could catch.

Finally Rolan stilled, his arm eased his weight down - partially on top of her as he panted against her neck. He felt wrung out, contentedly so...also sweaty, with hair sticking against irritatingly the back of his neck. Yet, he possessed no inclination to separate yet as long as Basil was comfortable. Rolan placed a kiss against her shoulder, struggling to summon words that fit the gravity of the moment. What did a person say when sex was more than mere release? When it was genuinely all the flowery affection that bards penned saccharine stanzas about. Rolan tilted his chin, propping it against Basil so he could take in her face, lined in the dim lamps of the room.

“...So does the room meet your satisfaction?” He didn't even bother concealing a sly grin.

[bootscooted]

                               I  AM  AT  ALL  TIMES

               SPIRITUALLY  IF  NOT  PHYSICALLY  

                    NEW  BOOT  GOOFIN'

                                [ᴜʀʙᴀɴ ғᴀɴᴛᴀsʏ ᴏᴄ: ʀᴀᴇғᴏʀᴅ ɢ. ᴅᴏᴄᴋᴇʀʏ]

[justbrcathe]

From Astarion. Who gets a far more complete bingo card. The tiefling one is just because it's not his decision and Act 1 Astarion is not that nice.

Duri will be careful not to burn him, and she knows that by Act 3 he would help save them, so it’s okay. 😊

Wanting to keep her pets in the tent will be and is a discussion.

[justbrcathe]

From Basil.

Yeah, the two ladies just sort of stumble into realizing their attraction and have to learn things together. It’s kinda sweet that they are equally clueless. Amnesia and Being Sheltered 🤝

Sad that she isn’t down for some more innocent, yet illegal shenanigans, but nobody is perfect.

[justbrcathe]

[perditos]

Rolan is all warmth and lean muscle, nestled against her. But also cartilage and ridges, the jut of his hip; just a bit bony. Basil decided decisively then that she liked every inch of him, that they complimented each other perfectly. His arm hooked around her and pulled her close, leaving nothing to the imagination, including his continued arousal. Ah, happy to learn that the second round was on the table still.

The pillows were soft beneath the weight of her head and the rumpled silk of the covers invited them to lounge. If there was anything that could make the moment more perfect, Basil could not think of it. Although, Rolan kissing her throat and trailing those clever lips down to her shoulders was certainty a good idea. If his goal was to seduce her to further activity then he was already succeeding. Not that she needed much convincing. Her legs bent, heels pressing up against the mattress and turning her hip subtly into him. Basil hummed in ascent, eyes closing to savor the feeling of his lips against hers. In a life time she would hold these memories most dear and they would be a consolation on the coldest nights in the twilight of age. Hopefully, there would be a lifetime worth of memories to keep burning in the hearth of her heart. The warmth of him, the feel of him, the gentle slide of his mouth against the line of her collarbone. If only he could leave imprints on her, leaving her forever marked and changed. Write these feelings down onto the pages of a book so that they would always be accessible as merely cracking up a familiar, well worn tome. Her fragile, fallible memory, would have to suffice.

And yet, for all his tenderness, there was the points of his claws catching on her skin. She shuddered and shook, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder blades. And his teeth, gods his teeth. That had been a revelation for her too. One that Astarion keenly coaxed out of her, as a predator would swipe prey out of its warren. An honesty that Rolan could now revel in and appreciate, hearing her low moan, head tilting back. Gods his teeth were different, just as sharp but not the two piercing fangs of Astarion's vampiric bite, but instead the sharp maw of daggers. Like a cat gnawing at her, all pointed tips and yet playful restraint. She loved this too. There was no point in comparison; Basil was not one to see merit or demerit in her lovers. She only enjoyed having all the more to love and cherish. Gods, he was teasing her too. The restraint needed not to demand he bite down.

"You have seen me in battle," Basil protested. Her arm slung behind her head and she reached up to play with a strand of hair. "I am not so delicate as I appear."

No, she's killed devils, the chosen of the dead three, werewolves, vaporized a vampire lord; Basil no longer denied her own ability. That wasn't a concern right now. She laughed as he adjusted, 'devilish handsomeness,' Basil would have to remember that one later. But she sighed softly, his forehead to her, opening her legs to let him settle between them.

"I appreciate much about you," she whispered. Nodding her consent, murmuring 'yes', encouraging by hooking her calf around his waist to pull him closer. "Your loyalty to your kin, your incredible intelligence, creativity, resolve," a soft gasp, feeling the weight of his cock press against her, "skill in spell casting, ah, Rolan, the gold in your eyes... your strength and -- and resilience."

She could not think, could not speak as he slid into her. Lips parted in open gasp; Rolan stretched her, there was always that slight discomfort, the fluttering of her breath. Urging herself to relax even as instinct had her clench. Until he settled inside her, almost hilted, so warm and close, she grabbed at his shoulders. Filled suddenly with the feeling that this was good and right, the pain eased into a pleasant burn.

"My wizard," Basil murmured, and turned her head to kiss his jaw. "I love you."

[justbrcathe]

The praise hit Rolan with a force entirely unexpected as he prepared to enter Basil for the first time. Against all odds, she appreciated the tiefling’s infernal attributes. But before Rolan could overthink and his self-conscious lead him to suspect those were the main reason Basil was in his bed, she followed with a shower of compliments. Each descriptor offered touched his heart, speeding the organ’s beat. It nearly quit altogether when the string of worship fractured in a breathy moan of his own name. If only Rolan had prepared a spell to record the sound and replay with whenever he wished; or the way words faded into gasps and sighs as he stretched her open. For years he lived in something of a desert of this kind of positive reinforcement and affection and now all he wanted was to drown in it. He would die happy submerged in Basil’s affection and warmth. 

He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of soap and herbs radiating from Basil’s skin and filling his senses as Rolan waited. He could feel Basil’s breath, quickened from the discomfort she concealed within arousal. In agreement with her protests, Rolan was aware that Basil was not weak. Her strength outmatched his own on the wizard’s best days. Even seeing the cleric in the guise of her former self, Lady Guinivere Ulbrecht, had not given Rolan any false notions of fragility. Basil was the strongest person he knew and it was only his previous experience with humans that set his expectations of what she might appreciate. No, Basil was not delicate per se, but the skin pressed to him now was a far cry from the firm ridges of a tiefling or even the roughed texture of hands used to work. Still, if Basil had a preference for a little pain then he was delighted to be the one she trusted to mark her; to be the one she clung to as she did now.

Her Wizard. Her love. These titles meant more than taking over as Master of Ramazith’s Tower or Archmage of Baldur’s Gate. Rolan lifted his head, molten gold eyes looking down at Basil with utter devotion. One hand still held his weight off her, but his other cupped her jaw tenderly, thumb stroking the corner of her mouth.

“I love you too.” Basil had confessed to returning Rolan’s affections less than an hour ago and yet there was not a single doubt in his mind that he would love this miraculous woman the rest of his life.  He waited until tension eased from her muscles before experimentally rocking his weight into her.  Hips met flush and the pressure of Basil’s body around Rolan’s had him shudder a gasp.

“Hells, Basil.” He pulled back, starting a slow rhythm as their bodies slid together. It felt like coals glowing under his skin, every slide before joining once again sparking pleasure. Hand left her jaw and pressed to Basil’s leg hooked around his hip, sharp claws curling and dimpling her skin. When her hips began to move and match his pace, Rolan thrust harder, increasing the rhythm. 

“Do you have any idea how many times I dreamed of this?” He growled the words out in infernal that Basil would fail to understand. It was honestly an embarrassing amount. From the moment she had allowed him to partner with her, took a chance on him when so few would, his feelings towards her shifted. Rolan had thought Gale’s pining and unrequited desire for the cleric had been obvious, his own must have been broadcast for the entire Sword Coast to witness.

 “You feel incredible.” He could admit that in common without any sort of mortification. Rolan’s lips parted on a groan, offering more praise. “So beautiful.” The coals inside him were now a blaze, searing his skin and gathering into exquisite tension where their bodies joined. His grip tightened, claws digging into the blankets and Basil’s thigh. Tiny pin-pricks of crimson welled up from where the points pressed deep into the cleric’s flesh.

[suredid]

[ S U R E D I D ] an independent and extremely au darcy lewis of marvel comics and film as written by tristan. 18+

[perditos]

How quickly sensibility and decorum were lost when pleasure barged its way in. Priorities shifted, that base animal took its reigns. Rolan's tongue worked into and through her cunt, the soft, malleable interiors of her walls clenching. Her whole body shuddered and Basil moaned softly, eyes fluttering half closed. She rolled forward, shoulders hunching in. The bridge of his nose pressed against her clit when she rocked into him, and she almost flinched, heat pooling in her guts. Gone was her trepidation about pressing her weight into his jaw or face, or even the burning shame of such a sensual act. Hesitation lost to want and need, Guinevere Ulbrecht dying a merciless death to Basil's base desire. She clutched at Rolan's horn, the blanket, her own thigh, anything she could get hand onto to steady herself as she drowned. "Fuck," fruitless and unusual vulgarity for her. Her traveling companions have worn off on her; gods she really was a different woman. And Rolan was as eager as a starving man, offered his first meal in a year, clever and devious. His strong hands pulled her down to keep her trapped against his tongue, preventing any attempts or thoughts of escape. Even his tail coiled around her, like a rope; everywhere he touched her inflamed and flushed.

But Rolan had yet more, finally, those claws dipped into her skin, and he dragged them down in five long, pink lines across the soft skin of her outer thighs. At the same time, he switched his ministrations to the sensitive and swollen bud of her clit. Far faster and more teasing than her own fingers would tease, and she had nowhere to go but to be victim to Rolan. It was ecstasy, agony and lust; it was said the sweetest divine revelations hurt. This was not suffering, it was pain and sensation, and everything all at once, like plunging into an ice cold lake then walking across coals. She cried for him, almost sweetly, his name and desperate whimpers. Basil came like that, grinding against Rolan's face and with his claws drawing lingering lines into her skin. Her thighs trembled, legs having all the viscosity of a pudding or jelly, and she sat back almost onto his chest. Hand falling onto the mattress to guide herself off the side of him, gasping and panting, chest heaving. Gods forbid he touch her clit again when she felt like a single spark could incinerate her. Spontaneous combustion would be an exciting end to the night.

Gods, she couldn't even think for a moment, the interior of her thighs coated in her own damp slick, and her head lulled back. One leg still thrown over Rolan's hips. She pressed along her outer hip and then into the lull of her pelvis, as if to sooth the tensed and clenched muscles. But all the rest of her was relaxed and washed in the joy of post-orgasmic bliss.

"I think that's a good start," she managed, surprised by how hoarse her voice was. Basil half-laughed, opening her eyes to look at Rolan, his hair was a mess. Her handiwork. "A very good start."

She reached for his hand, giving him a tug to urge him up with her towards the head of the bed with her. Basil didn't have much of a plan, she was still catching up to her own run away reason. She hoped for a continuation on the current themes and was certain that Rolan would nudge them along in that direction shortly. From her own experiences she knew she could go all night; so Basil felt no rush. They had eternity, or at least, until the sun rose.

"I liked the claws, in case that wasn't clear," Basil said. She sat back onto her elbows, one leg still hooked around Rolan's waist. "It-- it feels good when it hurts a bit, for me."

Such a strange thing to admit.

"I suppose, when you heal as well as I do. 'Pain' isn't as frightening for me as it is for other people."

[justbrcathe]

There had never been a sound with more magic in it than Basil uttering his name with such wrecked desperation. Rolan refused to let up as she reached her climax, drinking in the taste of her and drawing out those honeyed whimpers for as long as he could. He held her in place as her muscles trembled under his palms, only relenting when sat back. Rolan unwound his tail with obvious reluctance and let her go as she slid off his body and landed flat on her back beside him on the mattress. He was far from finished with her, but the way Basil was panting gave him some pause rather than dragging her back to him immediately. There was a sort of satisfaction in watching the cleric’s chest rise and fall as she struggled to regain her breath. He had caused that, along with the taste that lingered on his lips. Pride showed in his pointed smile when Basil’s rough voice spoke. Another accomplishment.

“A start?” He raised an inquiring eyebrow, allowing the weak tug on his hand to guide him towards where Basil had moved, propping herself better on the pillows at the other end of the bed. An understatement? A challenge? At the very least an acknowledgement that the evening’s activities were not concluded. Rolan stretched out next to her, luxuriating in the feel of her body against his as his arm curled over her waist. Another confirmation of more to come was the insistent press of his manhood against her side- obviously hard and wanting.

Rolan occupied himself as Basil worked on regaining her breath and spoke, kissing at the curve of her neck and shoulder. She might have less urgency within her, a fact the wizard was proud of, and yet he had not joined her in that bliss.

“I did surmise as much.” Rolan answered, his breath hot against her skin as he trailed kisses across her collar. He would never have guessed before now that the sweet and kind cleric desired pain with her pleasure, not that he altogether minded. “My kin and I have claws and fangs…such things are a relatively normal aspect of intimacy for us.” To punctuate the point, Rolan  circled a sharp claw around the rosy tip of her breast.  “But I did not expect it from…” His voice faded away, wondering if he was harping too much on the subject of the differences between humans and tieflings. Instead of finishing that original thought, Rolan nipped at the dip in Basil's collarbone, letting her feel the sharpness of his teeth. “Somebody with skin so delicate.” He soothed any hurt away with a gentle lap of his tongue. Although he had known of her abilities, her had not even considered their influence on Basil's appetites and preferences.

“You really weren’t just being kind when you said you appreciated my devilish handsomeness.” It was the tiefling’s best attempt to joke on the nature of his insecurities. He lifted up, kissing her mouth as Basil’s breathing became more even. His tongue sought hers out, mirroring the ministrations she had quite obviously appreciated against other parts. Rolan groaned softly, grip on her waist tightening as he rested his forehead against Basil’s. 

“Are you ready?” Can I have you? Rolan couldn’t control the sheer longing in his question. He waited for Basil’s consent before adjusting his position, hand pressing to the mattress to hold his weight as he moved between her legs. Rolan took himself in hand, nudging just against her entrance before focusing his attention on Basil’s face- beautiful and flushed as she looked up at him. He pressed forward slowly, watching her expression change as he did so. Every second of this first time had to last in his mind til the day he died. Fully seated, Rolan dropped his head to her shoulder moaning out a muffled string of infernal at the feel of Basil around him; of their bodies entwined so that they were practically one.  He held still for each of them to become accustomed to the other, save for his tail which thrashed impatiently against the bedsheets

[justbrcathe]

@perditos hunger .   give  my  muse  something  to  eat  /  drink . Astarion would like some blood pls

When Astarion first revealed his nature as a vampire spawn, it had been from insufficient hunting and needing blood in order to continue. The pale elf swore to only take enough to sustain him until he found better prey. If he had been struggling then, Duri could only imagine the difficulty he faced as their party traveled through the shadow cursed lands. Animals that would have been fair game before they passed into this territory were all now tainted by dark magic. Inedible, just as much as Gale’s necrotic blood or Karlach’s flammable touch. The enemies they faced were seldom goblins now or anything else with a pulse. They were usually undead, which would make it hard for Astarion to follow through on his promise to try and slake his thirst with their foes.

Over the last few days he had started to appear more wan. Movements while fighting were a fraction slower- not enough for anyone who did not usually pay attention to notice. Maybe it was even embarrassing for Duri to admit that she had been keeping such a keen eye on Astarion. She simply liked to be aware of where he was during battle - to have his back if there was danger.  Surely that was normal for comrades? Friends? Was what the tiefling was about to do normal? Perhaps if one had a friendship with a vampire it was. Duri found Astarion by his tent, fingers laced together in front of herself to keep fingers from fidgeting and demonstrating tells. 

“Astarion, I-” Duri began, tongue feeling a little clumsy. Was it from anxiety or an eagerness that she dared not dwell on. Her tail swished as she hesitated and she had to suppress the urge to stomp on it and keep the thing still under her boot. “I was wondering if you were uh…hungry.” 

A ways off the rest of their group was eating whatever concoction that Gale had managed to scrape together with their limited ingredients. He did his best with seasoning, but the Shadow Cursed lands made food scarce for everyone and the wizard had to get creative. At least there was something most could eat, even if the party needed to pretend eye stalks and chopped vines in their broth were something else in order to choke it down.  Duri scuffed her boot against the dirt, lifting her averted gaze. 

“I don’t mean for soup.” Her twisted fingers tightened and she suppressed the purr that the urge in her chest longed to release at the idea of him sinking his fangs into her neck. At returning the favor. "I mean. I am offering, if you need or want..."

[perditos]

She could dance. Katara had learned from childhood the dances of her tribe, with and without partners, although, such celebrations had been far and few between when she had been growing-up. They were too focused on survival to spend time or resources on feasts, festivals, and parties. She remembered being a small child, before mom died, and holding her father's hand as she, in youthful exuberance, skipped all the steps and just followed the beat of the drums. That was a long time ago, Katara had not danced much since; spent far more time on chores, actually. The older members of her tribe found partners, seemed so much more comfortable in the arms of others. Katara remained on the sidelines, happily blending in and out of sight. But now she was blending in, and out of the way with Zuko, which meant she could look up at him. (He really had gotten so tall). With a pleased, almost teasing smile, her hands hooking behind the small of her back while he started to tell her about prepping for the meals tonight. Perhaps now would be a good time to submit a review of the dried jellyfish? Katara could think of some constructive criticism that would much improve the dish to edibility. Instead, Zuko took her completely off guard.

Katara had noticed how the ladies of the court, dressed in utter finery and resplendence, lurked like sharks around Zuko. Like a swarm, clinging onto the fresh meat that was the new Fire Lord. She imagined him quite the bachelor: rich, powerful, handsome, and compassionate. Katara imagined that any girl in the nation would almost fall over themselves to marry him. But Zuko didn't seem thrilled with the constant attentions and Katara couldn't blame him. Her own assessment was that the the boldest of them were beautiful but they didn't care for him. They didn't know him, they only knew his position, and wanted only the infamy that the title of Fire Lady offered. For this reason, Katara dismissed them out of hand, and for no other reason. But she knew they would be good picks. There would be a beautiful girl, well educated and trained, with a good heart, who would support Zuko in all his endeavors and be the perfect Fire Lady. Katara absolutely refused to even attempt to evaluate herself for the position; she rejected the idea completely. After all, she wasn't here to flirt with the Fire Lord but be his friend.

Maybe his only friend, in these fraught waters.

But then Zuko extended his hand to her and had almost a tinge of desperation in his voice, asking to dance. Katara nearly startled, without word for a second. She demurred, thinking that she didn't know this song nor would she be her most graceful self in this dress. Then, she thought of Zuko dancing with another girl, and recalled that she was never someone to walk away from a challenge.

"Don't worry, Zuko, I'll save you," Katara teased. He then almost dragged her out onto the dance floor and Katara had to hop-skip to keep up with his long stride, laughing. "But don't blame me if I step on your feet!"

Their hands joined. Katara glanced around them, the other dancers were already arranging themselves in preparation of this song. They seemed to know it; all of the Fire Nation dances has a sort of formal but vibrant quality to them. Dancers held each other at arm's length, making broad turns and dips, that showed off the brilliance of their robes. No fancy footwork like she'd seen in Ba Sing Se. Katara almost could compare the fluidity to water bending. Alright, she could work with that.

The dance began with a bow and Katara could not help but to find her own embellishment, her body recalling the movements of her tribe and training. Before rising, joining opposite palms together to circle each other. It felt almost, like the start of a sparring match; all at once, the room vanished from view, and it was just Zuko. Zuko who she knew and trusted, like the back of her own hand.

"I didn't know you were a dancer, Fire Lord Zuko," Katara observed. The melody changed and they swapped directions, she mimicked easily the flourish of the other dancers. If she could get him to laugh, "this little peasant will do her best to keep up."

[justbrcathe]

Stepping on his feet was preferable to enduring another dance as trapped prey to a noble lady. Katara could entirely forgo dancing and simply stomp on them and it would still have been Zuko’s choice. She might have been joking, but it was essentially saving him. It would have been easier if Zuko had been as clueless as Azula always said he was, ignorance being bliss. The Fire Lord frowned inwardly at the thought that his shrewd little sister probably would have seen this coming before his first social invitation even arrived. Personal connections were not her speciality, but Azula understood the court and political machinations in a way that made Zuko envious. He was here struggling to do his best and she was-  No. Zuko forced his thoughts back to the present. He didn’t want to think about Azula. Not right now. Not when Katara was back and he was supposed to be happy.

Zuko bowed, a formal sign of respect towards his partner, who did the same. Arms rose and their palms met in the centerpoint between them as they began to circle. From the first touch, Zuko's thoughts were thrown back to his offering his hand to assist Katara into the carriage earlier. It was all perfectly proper and yet it felt intimate all the same; more so than with any other young woman he had participated in these steps with before. Of course it did. Katara was hardly a title seeker or a throne hunter. She was his friend and didn’t place importance on lineage or a crown. Nor did she eye him like a predator stalking a kill. It was just Zuko’s perpetually rotten luck that she was in love with his other friend.

“Part of a Prince’s education.” Zuko explained smoothly, opposite hands joining now as partners switched directions. At Katara’s next remark, Zuko huffed and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling before focusing back on Katara and the mischievous tilt of her smile. He could feel the warmth rising to his cheeks and ears as much as he tried to hide it. “Am I ever going to live that down? How is it different from calling me Prince? ” There was a point in the steps where they turned, losing sight of the other for a fraction of a second before returning. Zuko took this moment to lean in a bit closer, his voice lower but echoing Katara’s playfulness despite his embarrassment. “You were supposed to have forgiven me.”  Zuko took a step back, resuming appropriate posture and previous conversation.

“And so you aren’t surprised later - I also had lessons in history, calligraphy, riding, music, sword fighting, and bending of course.” The last two had always been his favorite. Sword fighting because he excelled in it and did not have to perform next to his prodigy of a sister. Fire Bending because it was an extension of himself, as necessary and natural as breathing. Shockingly, dance lessons were not what Zuko hated most. As much as he put up a front with Aang and the rest of the group when he learned the Dancing Dragon technique, dance had its uses. Much of the motions were similar to bending and learning to move with ease and grace in that setting translated to forms in bending. Even the formality of beginning a dance resembled the start of an Agni Kai. Except that in a fight, forearms touched rather than palms pressing together.

Katara had to have noted this herself. For not being familiar with the dance, she was doing well in mimicking the steps of the dancers around her. Her movements possessed a grace and flow that resembled her own tribe’s bending though. Her blue skirts twirled and moved in such a way that stood out from the traditional red that filled the room around them.  The dance performed by a Water ending master lacked a certain sharpness that separated similar Fire and Water traditions. Fire crackled and had edges whereas water flowed and smoothed out sharp corners with the passage of time. For some reason it reminded Zuko of the lesson about the four nations that his Uncle Iroh taught him. Water is the element of change and the people of the water tribe are capable of adapting to many things…including the traditions of his own people. Zuko was helpless against the brief thought of would Katara be happy making such an adaption? Living in the Fire Nation for longer. Permanently even? She only just arrived that morning and yet the idea of her leaving again already stung. Iroh would advise him against borrowing tomorrow’s grief and to enjoy what he had right then. As usual he would be right.

“You are doing well,” Zuko paused for a moment as they turned again and waited until his gold eyes could meet hers before speaking again. “-for a peasant. You haven't stepped on my toe once” He couldn’t help but grin after, trying to match Katara's joke.

[perditos]

Her hand braced to his shoulder, grip tightening as Rolan's deft fingers slid between the slick of her folds and teased at her entrance. She trembled in his hold, the arm thrown around her waist seemingly all that was keeping her upright. Basil's thigh clenched around his hand, as if she could keep Rolan close, and right there. His feather light touches so damnably teasing, even that tail stroking at her back. He pressed his thumb to her clit, coyly circling the sensitive bud, and did nothing but stroke the fire within her.

"Rolan," she whispered, almost like a prayer. Basil was so familiar with reverence, no being would ever ascend so high into her mind as her god; but Rolan might still crest the horizon yet. Without a doubt, when he nudged against her clit, and pleasure like lightning coursed her veins, he got damn close. The noise that escaped her was a soft keen, cheeks flushing. Yes, yes, she's all his, anything, everything, right now. Was it pride or sheer incoherence that kept Basil from properly begging, she wasn't sure. Perhaps the later, based on how it took her a good moment to understand what Rolan meant when he laid back on the bed.

She blinked, re-focusing her vision on Rolan laid down in front of her. For a moment, she thought he wanted her to ride him. Not at all a bad idea, although at this point Rolan could tie her into a knot and she'd be perfectly happy. (If her encounter with that heretical priest in the Goblin Camp had been any indication, he could many things to her, and she'd find great pleasure in them). Instead, Rolan tugged her forward, and even cajoled her by the gentle press of his claws into the curve of her thighs. Carrot and the stick, she was all to willing to take the bit, and creep up, shifting her weight up onto his chest. Where he then hooked his arms underneath her thighs. He did say that he wanted to 'taste' her, although Basil had never though of doing, nor experienced, doing oral in a position like this. Instinctively she almost demurred at the idea. Where was she supposed to put her weight? Wouldn't it be uncomfortable for him? She grabbed at the bed post to keep her balance, knees placed on either side of Rolan's shoulders.

"Are you sure?" Basil asked. "How should I --"

But his claws touched against the sensitive skin along the outside curve of her thigh and Rolan pressed his mouth into her folds. Basil gasped, feeling the wet heat of his tongue work into her, and she almost jumped. Equally wanting to escape and grind in. Grasping at the post, leaning forward to press her hand into the mattress. Trying not to smother Rolan by rocking down and back into him; then that hand slid back to grasp at his hair, then the base of his horn. The noises in her chest and throat were soft, quiet moans, and haggard panting. Her eyes closed and Basil moved her hand from the bedpost to cover Rolan's hand with her own. She pressed into his knuckles.

A silent invitation to scratch. "Gods, please."

[justbrcathe]

Rolan memorized the sounds Basil made and sealed the sound of her whispering his name within his memory. He wanted more though. Rolan had always been an ambitious sort, but not exactly greedy. He was more than willing to give to others and right now he wanted to give to Basil. Give her love, pleasure, absolutely anything to prove to Basil that he would earn the gift of her affection, trust, and acceptance she had already offered. It just so happened that he was hungry for the same things that would satisfy her.  She was so beautiful, looking down on him flushed and wanting. At the guidance of his hands, Basil scooted forward, her brow pulled in slightly in confusion at what the wizard’s intentions were. Apparently she had never done this, which left them in equal company other than the fact Rolan knew this was something people did. He hadn’t always lived in a pristine Arch Mage Tower and a lack of experience did not indicate a lack of awareness. Throughout his younger years Rolan worked in stables that supplied Elturian Soldiers… he overheard things.

“Very sure.” Rolan smiled at her hesitation, both to offer reassurance and because she was adorable in her concern. That was Basil, always thinking of others. It was a trait he grew to cherish about her rather than find suspicious. Would it even be possible to drive that instinct from her mind?  He could certainly try. 

One hand maintained its grip on Basil’s thigh, keeping her in place and the other settled flat on her hip. Not entirely dissimilar from other kisses they had shared, Rolan’s mouth met her lips and his tongue parted them to slide inside and taste her. It was like finding himself on a divine plain. There was no way the gods could find an existence that was above his now. Basil jolted slightly and Rolan gripped her hip harder, pulling her weight back toward him. Like a tether, lest she float off. At the same time, his tail coiled around her waist in a silent command. Basil was to stay exactly where she was, or move however she wanted, just not away. Whether he could get her to stop worrying or not was another matter.  The cleric's blunt nails smoothed through his hair and Rolan closed his eyes, enjoying the sweet sensation. When her calloused fingers wrapped around his horn and the effect was like lightning down his spine straight to his erection. Hells, how he wanted to be inside her right then, but Basil was worth the wait. A low growl rumbled through his chest, part of him wanting her  to make use of his infernal features and not caring a damn about the headache it might cause him after. Rolan’s own pleased moaning joined Basil’s to fill the room as his tongue delved deeper, massaging along her slick walls and savoring the flavor on his tongue. His hands desperately attempted to drag her closer though there was no more space between them to breach. Basil filled each of his senses and it somehow wasn’t enough. 

Basil’s hand covered Rolan's grasp on the back of her leg, applying pressure as she finally pleaded for something. What? What did she want?  The memory of her shudder as he teased the points of his claws against her skin coupled with force she was applying on his hand now provided the answer. Oh. Oh yes. He could do that if it was what she liked. Rolan squeezed his fingers firmly against Basil’s soft skin, getting as close to breaking the surface as possible without actually puncturing, and then dragged his claws sharply downward. At the same time, Rolan withdrew and centered the full force of his attentions right on the center of her pleasure, tongue almost demanding as it swirled against her clit.  He placed both hands on Basil’s hips now and repeated the gesture from before, digging his nails into her just shy of drawing blood.

Nobody could deny that Rolan was quick when he chose a subject to study.

[perditos]

Basil was familiar with tiefling anatomy, from a medical stand point, of course. They were nearly indistinguishable from a human or elf, except for the obvious infernal characteristics. Which only became relevant in very narrow circumstances. She had provided to tieflings all the same treatment she had provided to any other race. Their internal organs, bones, and important bits, were all in the same places. They reacted basically the same to medicines, albeit hot medicines needed to be intensified to compensate for natural resistences. Differences in skin color or the ridging on the chest, arms, and back, hardly changed Basil's work. She even could explain how the bone of the skull protruded from the forehead of tieflings, encased in hardened, layered keratin. Like any portion of the body they could risk damage, infection, and breaking; she had touched tieflings along the scalp to check for injuries and patched grievously bleeding head wounds. All of this Basil knew and understood; but Rolan invited her to something else. To touch him, even grab at him, in a way that would feel rude if not outright insulting. Her hand had found his horns because well, her hands were in his hair, and it would be quite a trick to avoid them. That was an incident, what she did next would be intentional.

His explanation was understandable, however. The grip into her hair tilted Basil's chin up, her lips parting subtly. Rolan didn't pull or yank, putting undo pressure onto her scalp. Instead the small stretch of skin was almost pleasurable, like getting a scratch along the back of the scalp. A sensation that Basil could grasp even if she would never have horns to empathize with Rolan's experience. As pleasurable as giving the oral had been and kissing him, Basil found she enjoyed this too. Learning about each other, learning more about him. No, she would never appreciate a stranger grabbing a fist full of her hair. But a lover? She herself was almost prepared to demand Rolan do it again, and rougher than the first time. (Put his teeth into her throat and bite down, drag his claws down her thighs, maul her if need be, she loved it when it hurt). But tempered herself lest she scare him. Basil would be the first to admit she had an unusual relationship to pain.

So, she returned her hand, laying her palm first to the side of his hand and then gently, wrapping her fingers around his horn. It made a rather ... convenient hand hold. Perhaps she would keep that in mind for later. Basil would be careful as they got into more strenuous activities not to yank, of course. She even experimented with gently scraping her nails along his hairline and around the front, then back of the horn. Petting her thumb of the rough texture leading from his skin to its base. Measuring his reaction to make sure it was positive and not suppressed, or discomforted. In truth, seeing the horn up close and exploring this feature was rather fascinating. She had always wondered what it was like to have such a constant weight upon the head, or to even sleep with them. Basil suspected she would learn many things in those regards in the coming days. Was there a particular way Rolan liked her to grab him? To hold on? Or keep her grip gentle? What spot was best for tender touches?

"I understand," she murmured softly. "But please let me know if it's too much, or something you don't like..." Her hand traced from horn to the back of his head, carding again through his hair. "In truth, I don't mind a firm hand in my hair either."

They were of one accord, in regards to seeking permission at least, as Rolan's fingers traced down to the interior of her thigh. She shivered and then, shuddered, the powerful muscle beneath his palm almost dancing into his touch. But Basil's consent was eager, her legs parting open for him. She pushed off her hip to better straddle him again, not arching but bending in, her head falling to his shoulder in wordless gasp. Chewing at her lip. Gods she felt like she could combust. Just the gentle nudge of Rolan's fingers through her folds and Basil felt like she could unravel right then, and there, in his arms.

"Yes, there, please there," did she sound too desperate? Already trying to rock against his palm just to find some friction. "Do anything you want to me... so long as you keep touching me."

[justbrcathe]

“Anything I want.” Rolan echoed in a murmur, his breath fluttered Basil’s hair as she kept her brown against his shoulder. The number of possibilities might have been staggering if the wizard could have focused on anything more than the gorgeous woman in his arms and the pressure of her weight on top of him. As it was, he could only focus on two choices - the first was to get Basil onto her knees and thrust into her until need, stoked like flames under his skin, was satisfied.  The vision of her back arched in front of him and Basil moaning enthusiastically into the mattress as he left marks across her silken skin was beyond tempting.  As much as Rolan wanted that though, to hurry and seek that pleasure, he had no idea what it was Basil liked. His infernal attributes were apparently appealing to her, but what else extended beyond that? Anyway, the other option was far greater for this moment. Rolan would only have one first night together with this woman, and his heart never wanted to have another after. He wanted to take the time to unravel Basil properly, to see her face as she felt that euphoria, her his name on her lips over and over like an invocation. Was that sacrilegious when in bed with a cleric? 

The tiefling was careful of his claws as he slid his fingers along the entrance of Basil’s body, loath to hurt her and longing to please her as she moved against his palm- seeking more stimulation. The desperation in her voice and body boosted his confidence further, enough that Rolan felt he could tease her. His thumb circled near her clit once, twice, not quite providing the touch she desired.

“I want you.” The wizard kissed her shoulder, voice deep as his lips continued to trail her skin. His free hand cupped the back of her neck, holding her close and tracing soothing patterns against Basil’s skin. The tip of his tail stroked along the small of her back and down the curve of her backside, adding more sensation to as many places he could. “In absolutely every way you will allow me.” Rolan finally relented, finding her clit and listening to reactions for what sort of touch pleased Basil most. More than wanting to find his own release tonight, Rolan wanted to study Basil’s body and desires and mark in his memory how best to drive her wild. He would put as much time and dedication to the endeavor  as he did his magical studies if necessary.  “But right now I want to taste you, if you are amenable.” Rolan brushed Basil’s hair back from her forehead, guiding her to look up at him and agree. As much as she gave blanket permission, he wanted to see her eyes. He was not disappointed to find they were darker than he had ever seen them from lust.  Rolan lay back fully, his head resting against the mattress. He was briefly grateful to some unknowable entity that his horns curved in such a way to make this next position possible. Hands curved along the back of Basil’s thighs, gently applying pressure to direct her movement.  Rolan even pressed the tips of his claws to the soft flesh, testing a hypothesis after she had reacted so positively to feeling them before. 

“You will need to move forward, please.” She liked being above him so much, he saw no reason to change that currently.

[bootscooted]

COWBOY SAYS:

YOU BET YOUR ASS I GOT THIS STRONG

FROM SCREAMING AT THE MOON AND EATING DIRT

[perditos]

The taste of him, salty and bitter laid heavy on the pad of her tongue. It was like an aphrodisiac, leaving her drunk and head spinning, so she couldn't tell what was up or down. Besides the way her throat spasmed when she took him an inch or too far, testing the very limits of her reflex. Basil's hand flexed, tightening her grip around Rolan's hand, her nails nearly biting his knuckles as she groaned around him. She found her eyes closed, almost lost in the sensations, weight of him on her tongue, the shared heat welling between them. Her thighs clenched around nothing, and her soft sighs echoed in Rolan's own voice. For a moment, her eyes opened, capturing the sight of him, arched, flushed, mouth open in small panting moans. Until he pulled on her hand, catching her attention, and pulling her from here revere. Stop. Her lips parted as she pulled off him, lips pink and wet with spittle she licked off with a swipe of her tongue. Basil felt dazed, lost in the scent of him, and almost a little dissapointed that she didn't bring him to completion. (Proud that she nearly had. Oh, how far had she come since that nautoloid snatched her up). His hand stroked through her hair and Basil's eyelashes fluttered, a soft batting against the exterior of her cheek, head tilting towards his hand. Almost like a cat, leaning its cheek into the coaxing hand of an owner.

"Sorry," she breathed as a half-apology but her slight smirk implied she didn't fully mean it. Almost self-consciously she remembered to remove her hand from his manhood, to avoid stimulating him further. Instead placing it against his hip. Basil sat up slightly and smiled, "Guess I got carried away." That was enough to inspire a small laugh out of her.

She hesitated, unsure of what she should do next, or what he'd want. Basil knew what she wanted, feeling the accruing moisture between her legs. That was an impulse she'd once ignore or swear off as a distraction; not to be fed or indulged in. Basil knew better now and knew her desire wasn't to be shamefully denied. She swore her underthings must be soaked already and the lack of friction was starting to get to her. So, she crawled up his body, laying down beside him on the bed. Then, tilting her chin up to kiss him, her hand returned to his hip to stroke up his ribs, then down to his thigh. Did he taste himself on her? Gods, he was so warm, like sitting next to a roaring hearth or nestling down in the coals of a furnace. Basil thought she could almost bask against his heat; laying in the sun on a warm summer's day. "Rolan," she breathed against his lips, between kisses. Perhaps her need was made clear enough in the almost desperation of her hoarse throat, but she made it clearer when she caught his hand then pulled it to the waistband of her pants. "Help me get me the hells out of these."

Basil let him undo the fastens at her waist but she had to sit up to untie her foot bindings. The knot, which was strategically doubled tied, came apart easily under her scratching fingers, thank the gods, allowing her to pull off the long strips of cloth. With those undone, she was free to shimmy off her trousers. Against the warm air of the night, even within the stone interior of the tower, and especially so close to Rolan, freeing her legs was a relief. All that was left was her underthings which she yanked off herself by hooking her thumb into the waistband. Not much time to think about being seductive when she was worked up and eager, and already laying herself down against Rolan, chest-to-chest, her leg hooked over his hip so she could kiss him again. Their bodies pressed to each other so she could feel every inch of him against her, firm and ridged, rubbing in just the right ways. Thread her fingers in his hair, trace her hand of along her scalp. Almost instinctively her thumb gripped at the base of one of his horns, only for her to pull her hand off. And pull herself back enough to ask.

"Is that alright?" She flushed. "I don't want to assume something about what I'm... allowed to touch."

[justbrcathe]

Oh for fuck’s sake. The sight of Basil licking her lips afterward nearly undoes him right then. Her hand keeping agonizing pressure around his manhood did little help  in the way of restraint either. The wizard closed his eyes, before she did anything else to break him, and recited spells components- a bit of cured leather for Mage Armor, a chip of mica for Shatter, glass for Chain Lightning…. Almost as if she read Rolan’s mind, Basil moved her hand to hold his hip, fingers brushing along his hip in an absent sort of tease. The tiefling’s own thumb gently stroked along her temple as she leaned into his palm, a minute expression of his gratitude.

“Do not be sorry.” His eyes opened to see that the adorable little smirk that curled Basil’s lips was hardly apologetic. ”You are free to get carried away like that whenever you desire.” Rolan returned the cleric’s faint smirk. If he had not already loved her, he would fall for her all over again at this moment. So much anxiety had filled the tiefling’s heart when they started and Basil had proven him wrong- a feat he would resent with just anyone else. 

Basil crawled forward, lithe body stretching out next to his, and Rolan opened an arm invitingly. He tucked her in close, one palm sliding along her back and savoring the softness of her skin under his hand and pressed to his chest. She had accomplished her task to make him feel less self-conscious, there was no room left with all the want that filled him. They kissed and his tongue slipped against hers, remembering the imagine of her lips slick and stretched around him and he could taste himself on her tongue. A very unenlightened part of him rumbled happily at the fact Basil wouldn’t taste of anyone else from now on. Just him. Or breathe another’s name with so much desperation. 

“Of course.” He answered, allowing her to guide his hand. Rolan worked at the fastenings of her pants, placing a kiss at the curve of her breast as he did. No harm in multitasking. Basil apparently disagreed, because she abruptly sat up and removed herself from his arms to strip off her footbindings and pants with a speed that both amused and flattered him. Rolan rolled to his side, propping his head on his hand as she watched more and more of skin exposed. No tail…that would take equal getting used to for him as it might for Basil to adapt to him possessing one. The view was quite fetching anyway. He smiled shamelessly when she turned around, not even bothering to conceal his watchful stare. The punishment was apparently to be assaulted with more kisses and have a needy cleric practically grinding against one’s person. He stifled a laugh in their kiss until Basil wrapped her hand around his horn then jumped back like it burned her.  For the tiniest fraction of a second Rolan worried she had been unsettled, but her question was nothing but concern that she had crossed a line.

“Basil, you have permission to touch me anywhere. At all times.” He kept his tone smooth and patient, despite a rising impatience in lower regions.  It was his turn to guide her hand closer, fingers manipulating herself to direct her touch at the base of one horn. “Right there feels good. Like scratching or massaging the scalp.” He closed her hand around the horn as she had before. “This a bit like-” The tiefling brought one hand up, carding into the hair at the back of her head before tightening his grip. “Doing this. Sometimes acceptable for a lover but never for a stranger.” Or people running an orphanage, but that was a story for another time. Rolan released his hold, running his fingers through the inky strands apologetically. He lightly guided the tips of his claws down her shoulder and then her arm.

 “I don't want to assume something about what I'm…allowed to touch." The wizard echoed her words as he raised an eyebrow. One hand sliding between her legs, claws lightly scratching at the tender skin of one thigh and inching closer to the apex. The pads of his fingers slid easily against her center, already wet from wanting him. If Basil had not already succeeded in convincing Rolan of her desire, the proof was irrefutable now. Rolan leaned in, listening to Basil's quickened breath and whispered into her ear. “Would you like me to return the favor, my love?”

[perditos]

Never. Never. That word rattled around in Basil's skull like the toll of a grieving bell. Did he still doubt her? Was he still uncertain, even as she pressed kisses to the base of his abs, her own cheeks so flush she felt as red, and inflamed as his skin? Perhaps, but if he was uncertain, what she was about to do next would surely reassure him. Although, if Basil was honest, her own nerves did not match her portrayal of confidence. In truth, she had only done this twice, once with each partner. With some guidance on both occasions, at that. But with a small smile, she released her need to be perfect. This was about them, together, so long as they enjoyed themselves, who could fault them? And all she wanted was to make Rolan feel good, feel wanted, and loved; prove beyond a shadow of a doubt her desire for him.

So, she couldn't help but to laugh at his adjustment. Yes, the tail, of course, she would not have thought of that on her own. Such was the fun of learning about a new partner. Basil sat up enough to give Rolan clearance to adjust himself but her hand remained braced against his knee, keeping him close.

"Always a trick or two, I knew it," she teased, settling back down.

Her elbow braced against his hip and she caught eyes before unfastening his trousers. She could see where he already tented the fabric, even as she helped coax them down his hips. Remembering a trick from Astarion, she kissed either of his hips on the way, and then sat up to help him kick them off properly. Her fingers skirted along the exterior of his calf and thigh, admiring the long, languid muscle. Working into the interior seam of his leg, laying a kiss to the skin there. Then, finally, Basil smoothed her palm up the surface of his briefs to trace the shape of his half-hard cock through the fabric. Her cheeks felt like they were burning and for the first time, Basil dropped her gaze. As if to focus on her work, instead of her hurried pulse. Gods, she really was acting like she knew what she doing. But she had committed. So, Basil hooked her thumb over the top of the waistband. To finally pull off his final layer. Where those briefs ended up she didn't know and didn't care.

"I want this," she said. Although her voice lacked the sureness she wanted it to have. She wanted to get this right and not come off as a blithering idiot. "I want you." She pressed her thumb to the base of his cock, her touch light. ("Don't fist it, it's not your staff." Astarion again, ever wise). She barely let her fingers curl around his shaft, sliding up his length to rub the pad of her thumb over the glans and to the tip. Again, her eyes flicked up to him to measure his reaction. She idly repeated the gesture, growing her confidence, a small smile gracing her lips. "Gods, you're beautiful."

And he was, the small arch of his spine, the way she saw the flush deepen the red of his chest and face. Even the noises he made as she worked him to a full stiffness, and then, starting at the base, put her mouth to use. Spit on her lips and slow licks, again working to the top, where she could slide the tip just inside the close of her mouth. This time, she couldn't resist her next glance to watch his reaction, pushing her hair off the side of her neck with her free hand. Then, reaching out to interlace her fingers with Rolan's. To squeeze as she went back down onto him. Basil did not trust her skill to take more than two or three inches, at a time, knowing she gagged easily. Instead, relying on her hand for the rest of him as she sucked and lapped beneath the underside of his cock.

She clutched at Rolan's hand though, even as she found her rhythm. Basil felt as though she was melting, her thighs pressed together and against the mattress, and almost wishing she had pulled off her trousers before getting started. Because even with all this she wanted.

[justbrcathe]

Settled back on the bed once more, Rolan held still and subject to Basil’s continued exploration of his body. He was already half-hard from his own study of her curves and the sheer prospects of what Basil was offering next. The kiss Basil placed at each hip bone might have been the most innocent they shared thus far, but location was crucial in these matters. Her mouth moving even lower had the Wizard closing his eyes and exhaling a deep sigh, head tipping back to the point his horns were precariously close to goring the mattress. It would have been a worthy, albeit expensive, sacrifice. Another string of infernal left his lips at the sensation of her hand on him. Even through fabric it felt good and Rolan was getting desperate for more; to have her touch without any barriers between them. Mercifully, the wait did not last.

The wizard chanced another glance at Basil now that his body was fully bared to her, the gold of his eyes a mere thin ring from desire. He found no disgust or rejection in her expression. Against everything the tiefling  believed probable, he saw desire that mirrored his own. Confirmed when Basil declared she wanted this. Did that mean him or just..well. And when would it even be sensible to tell Basil that nobody had done this particular act on him? Before or after she- 

Rolan couldn’t help the sharp uneven breath when her hand finally wrapped around him. It didn’t matter that her hands were calloused and therefore less soft than the rest of her. When her hand began moving the deep breaths gave way to soft groaning. Rolan was aware she was watching, gauging his reaction and he gave her no cause to believe he was experiencing anything but enjoyment.

When Basil called him ‘beautiful’, he almost choked. If the young tiefling had never expected a human to see his infernal traits and want him more, then he never prepared for being called ‘beautiful’ when they were on complete display. But Basil wasn’t a liar; Rolan knew that with utter certainty.  The realization of her acceptance made his eyes sting, but he blinked the emotional reaction away. The wizard had made his fair share of screw-ups in his life, but he was absolutely not permitted to begin crying while the love of his life was about to suck his dick. He came closer to breaking that rule when her tongue finally touched him. Hells, every single damned level of them, that felt fantastic. More infernal speak filled the room, this time astonished swearing instead of praise. He was going to have that picture of her in his mind for the rest of his days- the intense blue of her eyes locking onto his as her lips circled around him. Basil took his hand, lacing her fingers with his and his heart soared at the silent emotional intimacy she expressed. 

“I love you.” He was panting and breathless, but Rolan’s grip tightened on her hand, keeping them connected even as he lay back. It was all he could do to restrain his hips from thrusting up, into her mouth to seek more sensation - it seemed like poor etiquette despite his lack of experience. His tail on the other hand had free reign to curl tightly and lash about as it saw fit to express his euphoria   “Zurgan, you feel good.” Rolan reached back, fingers clutching the ornate wooden frame at the foot of the bed. Claws gouged the smooth surface, but he didn’t care. Magic could fix a blemish, but it wouldn’t bring back this moment. The sounds he made became needier as a familiar pleasurable tension started to coil within him. 

“Wait, Basil. Stop.” He grunted the command, pulling at her hand but not letting go. Stopping was the next to last thing Rolan wanted right then, but the absolute last in line of his desires was for this to finish fast and leave him embarrassed and Basil wanting. His free hand stroked through her hair, claws curling at the shell of her ear  “You’re incredible, but I would like this to last more than five minutes. If you have no objections.”

[justbrcathe]

Fine. Forgiven. Forgotten. The words both soothed and riled something in the tiefling’s soul. Whatever darkness that had caused Duri to attempt murder, that plagued her thoughts these last days, it didn’t want Ilmater’s cleric to be fine enough to grant such forgiveness. Basil was a perfect follower of compassion incarnate, as she knelt in front of her attacker and placed a gentle hand on her knee. Duri took a shaking breath, lowering her stained hands to face her victim. Basil should never forget this sin. She should be as afraid as Duri was; on her guard forever in case another attempt came.

Glowing eyes caught a glimpse of an open wound through the cleric’s shirt - the white flash of bone and skin magically knit together. Before her crimson thoughts could fantasize about the diversions that ability could offer, Duri slammed them away with such force she physically winced.

“I was sleeping and then…I was blasted awake.” She struggled, trying to reach through her muddled mind and find some sort of memory that would either explain or exonerate her actions. The near constant head-ache Duri felt sharpened for an instant and then an image formed. She was looking down at Basil as she slept, a dagger she’d stripped from a slain enemy clutched in her fist. It felt so natural for her fingers to curl around the hilt, though the sorcerer could not remember a time she had even used a blade. The memory vanished before she even lifted an arm to plunge the blade down.

“It was me, but I wasn’t in control. I had these thoughts for days - urges to harm you." When the confession slipped out her eyes widened and she hurried to insist-

"But I always resisted! ....Or took it out on other people." Duri took a ragged breath, her clawed fingers dug into the fabric of her pants and her tail curled in tight around her feet. She hated to admit this, but the truth was better than deception. “I don’t know what is happening. I don’t remember.” Basil had known about her memory loss, the first few days their party traveled together, Duri had pestered everyone with inquiries about the tadpole in their heads and if it had stolen their memories as it had hers. 

“Could it be the tadpole?” The question held a sliver of hope, but a nagging contrary feeling stabbed her chest as roughly as Duri’s blade had into Basil. “Or is something wrong with me?” The illithid might have some control, but did it explain the appeal or blood and violence? Of how good it felt to hold a weapon despite the natural magic in her veins?

[perditos]

Basil's hand laid still on Duri's knee. She would be lying if a part of her was not wisely and smartly wary. The knife was still on the ground, behind her, but Duri had other means to harm and hurt. A lash of her fire would do as much damage as the blade, but no flames sparked and Duri curled in, defensive, not offensive. All Basil saw before her was a sad, broken, and scared young woman, who had done something horrible but did not understand how or why. Duri had mentioned urges, desires to hurt and maim, which Basil had encouraged her to not suppress but release. Do not act on them, do not feed them; yet, like a dam, perhaps those urges had overflown tonight. Much about Duri was a mystery but her heart, which overflowed with generosity and goodness, was not. Nonetheless, Duri's description of what led to her violent action towards Basil caused her brow to furrow with thought.

She had been asleep, perhaps a case of sleep walking? In sleep, the mind and spirit rested, laying low its guard. Perhaps, the urges which plagued Duri took their chances while she was weakened. Only Basil striking her so fiercely with radiant light was enough to rouse her from this revere. It was a troubling thought: would this be a pattern? How would they ensure Duri didn't harm anyone else during the night? But why had these thoughts focused so heavily on Basil, so much so that Duri had acted on them. Or, felt compelled to act. So, many mysteries plagued Basil. The blood loss probably didn't help. She sat down on her haunches and then crossed her legs under her.

"I don't know," she said honestly. Her voice sounded tired and hoarse to her. Basil reached down and undid the fastens for her ruined shirt. Even with her healing magic, she would need to clean and tend the lingering wound. "None of us have experienced any of your symptoms: the memory loss, these violent urges, or now, the sleep walking. The conclusion is obvious, albeit based upon conjecture, this is something not caused by the tadpole but is unique to you."

That alone asked many questions. Was it mere chance that Duri ended-up on the Nautoloid? What compounding condition could lead to this set of symptoms? Basil knew that there were maladies of the mind that could lead to violent, erratic, or sometimes bizarre behavior. Young, healthy men, bolting in terror while working in the field, chased by nothing. Or, women so lost in hysterics they commit senseless acts of violence against themselves, or others. There were not caused by spirits or evil spells, but by a physical illness which infected the senses and reason. Insidious to diagnosis and near impossible to treat.

"Why... me?" Basil asked. A genuine question, while she considered all that was before her, and now shed the ruined remains of her clothes. To calm Duri, and give her something to do, she ordered: "Fetch my pack, please."

When she returned, Basil continued.

"Why me? What about me do you think caused these urges to fixate upon me, instead of anyone else in camp? Think carefully, Duri, only by analyzing and understanding these symptoms can we hope to find a cause, or a cure."

[justbrcathe]

An obvious conclusion, but one that Duri had done her best to twist and turn away from over the last few days. It was hard to admit that her darkness wasn’t something forced into her mind by an Illithid; something the others also struggled with or might one day if they did not already. Unique to her. The words were white washed and clean compared to their meaning.  The tiefling’s muscles tensed further, drawing in on herself that much more. Just proclaiming Duri a monster would be more accurate and save Basil time.

Oh gods, what was Basil going to tell the others? She had not yelled for them yet, but Duri was a danger to the whole camp if she was going to attempt to slay her friends as they slept. They would need to take precautions or- The tiefling’s thoughts stalled, a lump forming in her throat as she realized there would be some among them who would think it better she died that night. Lae’zel in particular was on the look out for symptoms of ceremorphosis. Even if Basil suspected this had nothing to do with the parasite, the Githyanki might think the group was better off safe than sorry. She didn’t want to die but maybe there was logic to that option. Panic started to rise in Duri’s chest once more, amplified when Basil asked yet another question. 

Why her?

Oh no…no no. Duri had admitted she fought the murderous thirst for days before this, but she had never wanted to confess the reasons they had become stronger. The urges were a whisper of a song in her head when Basil demonstrated the kindness that Duri admired; the actions and generosity that she tried to emulate each day. But then again, the urges thought she should examine the insides of most of the people she met - good or bad. She stared at Basil, wide eyed in horror at the evidence of what she had done and hating to admit what had pushed her violent whispers to a crescendo. Eager to obey as she was wanting to flee, the tiefling scrambled to retrieve the cleric’s pack. It was only a temporary reprieve of the inevitable. Basil deserved the truth after what she had done and maybe it would keep Duri from hurting others in the future. 

Duri clutched the cleric’s pack like a shield as she returned before offering it, arms fully extended so she needn’t get closer to Basil than she had to.

“I was…” Duri’s sharp teeth sank into her lower lip and she stepped away, creating a little distance before sitting down on the ground to match Basil’s level. Orange eyes trailed along the curve of the cleric’s neck remembering the two pin-pricks left behind from vampire fangs, before they healed and disappeared much like the wounds Duri inflicted. Her heart pounded, face flooding with shame and embarrassment. “I was jealous.” She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the rest out. “I was jealous because of you and Astarion.”