He’s a busy man, your vampire. You wish he were home with you more often. But on the other hand, it does make his return that much sweeter.
He keeps himself well-fed, though he greatly prefers your blood to anything else.
When he comes home to you, he lifts you off your feet, spinning you and kissing down your neck until he finds the exact right spot that makes you shiver and roll your head to the side, offering him your life’s blood.
Blood and sex are intrinsically linked for him. No sooner do you nod your approval for him to drink from you than he has you flat on your back, fangs in your neck, with his rock-hard cock pressing against you.
After he’s had his fill of your body and your blood, he’s warm, soft. His favorite thing is to cradle you against his chest and listen as you tell him about your day.
Tav and Kerry get to know each other. Astarion has a hellofaday and comes home to a surprise.
CW: References to physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. Nothing graphically described or excessive, but, yeah. It's there. It's unmistakable.
---
Tav was drunk.
She wasn't knee-crawling drunk. Nor was she commode-hugging drunk, though, if she kept up her current pace, it wasn't impossible.
No, as Tav stood at the far end of the kitchen island, she felt she was channeling the gods. She was strong. She was fearless. Her muscles vibrated with the barely restrained energy of a racehorse, champing at the bit. Her objective, sliding further in stockinged feet across the hardwood floor than the strikingly handsome tiefling dating her husband.
"… TWO! ONE! GO!" Kerry shouted, and Tav took three huge running steps before planting her leading foot to slide across the polished floor as fast as she could. She pinwheeled her arms crazily, laughing and wobbling along before finally careening into Kerry at the opposite end.
He almost caught her. His arms closed around her in a bear hug, but her momentum was too great, the floor too slippery. The room tilted as her feet slid out from under her. Kerry, his feet also clad in socks, lost traction, prompting a surprised yelp of "oh shit!" before both of them crashed sideways into the refrigerator and slid down its stainless-steel surface to land in a giggling pile of tangled limbs.
"Oooowww," Kerry whined, gingerly touching his wounded upper arm. Tav, still laughing and trying to catch her breath, had somehow ended up across his lap, draped over him like a rag doll.
"How'd I do?" she panted.
"A new record in amateur floor speed skating," he said, twisting to see if fresh blood was seeping through the bandage on his shoulder. "Perfect tens, except for the Damaran judge."
"There's just no pleasing that guy," Tav said with a disappointed sigh. Turning in Kerry's lap, she asked: "Can I at least look at it?" She'd watched him prodding the russet stain on the bandage with one tentative finger. "I do know something of healing. Beyond using magic on it, I mean."
"What are you going to do? Kiss it better?"
Kerry's eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed a violent red when Tav's mouth broke into a wicked smirk. It was both the right and the wrong thing to say at the same time - too close to a truth that had been growing between them since their argument ended that morning.
"Of course not," she said, eyes sparkling. "But I could at least make you feel good. Just a little. Please?" She sang the end of the question, and the air around them thickened as it did in the moments before a thunderstorm cracked open the sky. Kerry sighed with resignation. Poor guy. She'd have thought being in a relationship with Astarion would have made him far more resistant to wheedling.
"OK, fine. Just a little."
Before he could change his mind, Tav leaned in, her breath warming the gauze beneath her lips.
"No fortune found, nor faith divine, comes close to topping the fruit of the vine…" Tav sang, her voice warm and low against his bicep. His breath caught, and Tav could see the tension of pain release as the magic flowed through his skin.
"Careful," he murmured, though who he was warning wasn't clear.
"I am being careful," she said. "I won't get you in trouble."
It would have been easy to kiss him. The whisky they'd shared was making a convincing argument for just that. She'd be bold, turning her head just enough to be able to reach him. His fine golden eyebrows would crease with concern for a second before he leaned in. The first kiss would be quick, tentative. Just testing the waters. Then it would slow and deepen, their tongues meeting, sharing breath as Tav let him guide her onto her back. He'd settle his weight onto her, his hands and that delightful tail exploring any scrap of her skin they could find.
It wouldn't be right, of course. Neither of them would feel right about it after, no matter how far it went. Without Astarion there, without his approval, it would be off. Hells, getting tangled up on the floor together as they were was pushing it. But Tav still wanted it. She wanted to learn what Kerry tasted like, to ask for and be granted his touch when and where she wanted. It was wrapped up with and around the embers of need that burned in that deep, hollow place below her belly, making her skin hot, her heart race, and making her ache to be touched.
The fantasy that had sprung to mind vanished just as quickly as it had come with the sound of a key in the apartment's front door lock. Kerry coughed, squirming away from her as if they'd actually been caught in the act, rather than toeing the edge of it.
"I say, what in the hells is going on here?" came Astarion's bemused voice.
—
Astarion hesitated.
He'd let himself into Kerry's spaces more times than he could count. It wasn't anything new. And what was on the other side of that door stood to be much better than the day he'd just left behind. Tav, despite all odds and a thousand years away, was back. And still, standing in that quiet hallway, listening for any sound within, he hesitated.
What if she blamed him? What if she were angry that he hadn't somehow known she was alive and come for her? What if the cult had hurt her so badly and so deeply that there was nothing left of the woman who'd saved him countless times? What if she and Kerry, in a fit of mutual rage and loathing, had gotten into a fight, and they were both dead, sprawled haphazardly amid a scatter of gore and debris?
He dismissed this last possibility as unlikely. Perhaps it was arrogant, but they both knew who they were to Astarion, and he didn't think either of them would want to destroy someone he loved. Besides, he'd have smelled the blood from the elevator.
He did find the two of them in an awkward heap together. They were on the kitchen floor, giggling and drunk, jumbled up beside the refrigerator. Tav's lips hovered over the gash on Kerry's shoulder, the faint eucalyptus-and-ozone smell of fresh magic lingering in the air.
Kerry was smiling, eyes closed. The tip of his tail caressed the back of Tav's calf as it had so often done to Astarion's when they were cuddled together. His nose brushed against Tav's still-damp hair.
It was surprising, to say the least. Kerry had been so angry and so hurt. Civility, let alone whatever this was, seemed like a lot to hope for. But Tav had a remarkable knack for winning people over. Astarion himself was proof of that. Despite his insistence that his feelings were nothing more than a clever game he was playing for protection, she'd wooed him as easily as if falling in love with her had been his idea, his grand plan all along.
"I have good news and bad news," Tav said, smoothing her disarrayed clothes into place. Astarion couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face if he wanted to. This was a Tav he knew. The terrified, humiliated woman who had clung to his side as they fought their way out of the ballroom the night before was gone. Direct, strong, confident - these were characteristics he recognized.
"Oh? Good news first. You know how I detest the bad." Astarion offered each of them a hand to help them up.
"The good news," Tav said, attempting to disguise a small stumble with preening, "is you are looking at the world's first Amateur Floor Speed Skating Champion."
"Brava, darling. I always knew you could do it," Astarion said. If his heart still beat, it would have been bursting. In the days following the defeat of the Netherbrain, when they all had to figure out who they were again, especially Astarion, Tav had made the supremely wise decision to choose silliness. There were nights when so much weighed on him that he could have easily fallen into a well of despair if Tav hadn't subverted his gloom with playfulness. He took it as an immensely good sign that she was doing the same for herself.
Tav squeaked in surprise when Astarion pulled her into his arms and dipped her as if they had been waltzing. She felt good, solid and warm beneath the thick jersey of Kerry's borrowed t-shirt.
The next logical step was kissing her. The necessity of it was as inescapable as gravity. All day, between the meetings and the video calls and the emails, so many gods damned emails, he fantasized about kissing her. Part of him wanted to devour her like the romance stories said - to kiss her like he was a man dying of thirst, and she was the only water in sight. He'd been fantasizing about it for centuries, and yet, when she was there, real in his arms, he paused.
She'd been weak and dazed the night before - hollowed out and numb. She was leagues better now. After rest and, whew, a lot of whisky, and, ew, some kind of food heavy on garlic, onion, and cilantro, she was much closer to the Tav that had lived in his memory for too, too long. But he remembered all too clearly those first few ragged hours, when true freedom still felt like a rouse, like someone would come along and yank it out from under him. He suspected that fear would never leave him, not entirely. And yet, compared to what Tav had been through, his piddling two centuries of servitude seemed like a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of suffering.
Worse, it wasn't over. Orin may have enjoyed siccing her goons on a ballroom full of defenseless, useless wealthy people, but that wasn't why she did it. Gortash certainly wasn't going to give up on keeping Tav hostage so easily. There was a whole symphony yet to come. The gala, he suspected, was simply the overture.
But then, she smiled at him, soft and reassuring. It was a smile he knew, one he'd seen when he would wake from his meditations, cowering against the bedframe and convinced Cazador had found him again.
Something in the vicinity of his heart lurched, and Astarion's throat tightened. She was still in there. Despite everything, she was still her and nothing else mattered - not gods, nor evil plots, nor ghosts - neither freshly slain nor long buried.
Gods, he didn't want to cry. Blubering like a small child was not something a suave, strong, sexy vampire did with a beautiful woman in his arms. But it was too late. He could already feel the tears burning in his eyes.
"I missed you," he whispered. It felt foolish. It felt trite and like he was so woefully understating the truth that he'd blown past cringy and was coming around the far side back to something genuine. Something real.
Tav righted herself and rose onto the balls of her feet to reach him. He traced the side of her nose with his, breathing in her air, his lips tingling with the brush of hers against them as she spoke. "I missed you, too."
Her hands found the sides of his face, fingers bracketing his ears, making them twitch as she held onto him and gently pulled him down to her. It made him wonder what he'd been worried about. Kissing her was as natural as breathing. Of course, it turned out all right. She arched when he wrapped his arms around her ribs, pressing as much of her to him as he could.
He could break the spell, drag them hurtling back into the here and now and the fresh hell of whatever they'd stumbled into this time. But Astarion had always known that he was a selfish creature. He tightened his arms around her, partly to stoke the heat building and tightening in his abdomen, but also to keep her from pulling away, from bleeding through his fingers like sand, from vanishing again like a dream upon waking.
"What's the bad news?" he murmured, keeping his eyes closed, not wanting to relinquish the quiet dark space that had sprung up around them.
"Ahem," Kerry cleared his throat behind them. "There were casualties." He was making a show of rubbing his wounded shoulder, as if physical pain was the cause of the annoyance he wore all over his face.
"There usually are when you play games with Tav," Astarion said, hooking the front of Kerry's t-shirt with a finger. Kerry came easily enough when Astarion tugged him close, pinning Tav between them. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or being obviously interrupted that made Kerry strangely pliant, but Astarion didn't mind. He couldn't. Not when Kerry was kissing him as if it were a competition he was intent on winning. Not when the only two people he had ever truly loved were in his arms.
—
Kerry was confused.
Whisky, anxiety, jealousy, lust, and shame were all boiling in his gut, making it hard to think. Kissing Astarion seemed like the right thing to do. It seemed important to remind them both he, Astarion's partner, was still very much present.
Never mind that, though his arms were around Astarion's neck, his tail had, quite on its own, wound its way around Tav when she tried to squirm out from between the two of them. He didn't even realize he'd been holding her until she leaned back against his hip in return.
Warmth rushed up from somewhere in Kerry's stomach when he pulled away to see that the goofy, smitten expression in Astarion's eyes hadn't faded. Astarion wasn't upset about how he'd found them, or if he was, he was very good at hiding it. Regardless, he wasn't going to take the pass he was getting for granted. Kissing Tav was almost a mistake, one he wouldn't put himself in the position of making again, stupid, stubborn tail be damned.
"I missed you, too," Astarion said, grinning.
"You better." Kerry didn't quite trust himself to say more. Saying more would be opening the floodgates to a verbal diarrhea of "I'm sorrys" and "it didn't mean anythings," and over-explanations that just made him look more guilty.
In an effort to calm his busy brain, Kerry stepped back, clearing his throat again. He needed space and air that didn't smell of coconut and lavender with some indistinct beachy undertone the shampoo manufacturer called "palm breezes." He'd have to get new shampoo. He couldn't smell it again. Not now that Tav had used it and associated herself with it forever in his mind. Not if he wanted to leave his near lapse in judgment behind. And oh, gods, now he was thinking about kissing her again, and the erection he'd thought had receded was coming back, and Astarion would know and-
"Darling, did you hear me?"
Astarion was looking at him expectantly, the corners of his mouth twitching with the same bemused smile he'd had on when he walked in. Kerry blinked dumbly at him for a second, swimming up through the haze of self-flagellation to grasp at the thread of conversation.
"Yes!" he answered too loudly. "Yeah, meetings today. Uh, how'd it go? What did, um, what did Francesca say?" His eyes darted around the room, landing on anything that wasn't in direct eye contact with Astarion.
Astarion's half-grin broadened. "I was asking how your day was," he said slowly, "but we can talk about mine first. Are you sure you're all right?"
Tav drew a breath that was trying not to be a laugh and turned away to busy herself by pouring another couple fingers of whisky into her tumbler. Wordlessly humming the song she had sung when she healed him seemed criminally unfair and unnecessary.
"Sorry, yes. I'm fine," he said, rubbing his forehead. "Day was fine. We got off to a hard-ROCKY start, but it's fine. We're fine." Tav barked out a laugh and inhaled a sip of the alcohol at the same time, coughing and sputtering as it went down the wrong pipe. Astarion moved to pat her on the back, but she held up a hand to stop him, gasping, but better.
"I'll say it was hard," she croaked, still chuckling and trying to massage the alcohol burn out of her trachea. "This man was standing bare-ass naked in front of the window when I came out this morning. No shame. Just launched straight into an argument with me."
"Did he now?" Astarion asked, half-smirking, half-frowning. The blush on Kerry's cheeks deepened to a hot maroon.
"Thank you, Tav," Kerry said, glaring. "Thank you for immediately ratting me out and embarrassing me again." She snorted.
"You did that yourself, mate," she said, her old Baldurian accent deepening. "I'm just the messenger."
Astarion was clearly trying to look annoyed. He was glaring, arms crossed on his chest. His lips were drawn into a tight line that was intended to be menacing until his mouth wobbled and his warm, throaty laugh, his genuine laugh, erupted. Tav slid an arm around Kerry's waist, dissolving into giggles herself as she hugged him.
"Oh, fuck you both," Kerry said, blushing deeper and trying not to let the laugh building in his throat escape. His hand found its way to rest on Tav's shoulder, squeezing her back. If it was wrong, it didn't feel like it.
"Why in the hells did you do that?" Astarion managed to choke out when his laughter had tapered off enough for him to speak. Kerry shrugged.
"Seemed like a good idea," he mumbled.
"How in the hells was exposing yourself to your partner's wife and getting into an argument with her a good idea?"
Kerry was about to say something about being upset and drunk and not thinking clearly when Tav jumped in.
"I wasn't complaining," she said, her eyes flashing wickedly from Kerry to Astarion.
"I bet not," Astarion said. "He's just your type." Tav bit her lip, smirking. "Still," Astarion continued. "Arguing with our host? After he gave you," Astarion paused to sniff the air, "hellacious-smelling food and, apparently, a concerning amount of alcohol? Rude, darling. Very rude."
"Well, we got tacos after we kissed and made up," Tav said. She must have seen the color drain from Kerry's face. "Metaphorically," she added hurriedly. "We - we didn't kiss."
Astarion gave a skeptical "mhmm." Unconvinced. He narrowed his eyes, looking from one to the other. Kerry held his breath, unsure if Astarion bought it. It was the truth. Barely.
"Hm. A pity," Astarion said, shrugging. "I'm glad the two of you are getting along now."
Kerry relaxed slowly after Astarion sat down with him at the kitchen island and began recounting his day. Tav, on the other hand, seemed to need to be in constant motion. She had made an effort to be polite after the argument ended, staying where he could see her—keeping her nose out of things that looked personal. But with Kerry and Astarion talking, she wandered back into the guest room to give them some space.
"Well, you might have guessed already, but the dig is suspended," Astarion began.
"Not surprising," Kerry said bitterly. "Not fair, but not surprising."
"No, not fair at all," Astarion agreed. "The University is in a full panic. The police don't know why the gala was attacked. None of the cultists they caught will give them the same answer, making none of them credible. Gortash is missing. Orin escaped in the confusion when SWAT breached the ballroom. Francesca is throwing out every response to a public catastrophe she can think of. And we're just stuck in the middle."
"What a gods damned mess," Kerry muttered. "How long are we shut down? The way we left things, it would keep for a weekend. Longer than that, we're risking real loss. Vandalism. Theft. Erosion."
"Undetermined," Astarion sighed. "Francesca wasn't sure if the site would ever reopen. She's already had donors pulling out."
"Fuck," Kerry hissed. "Not to be selfish, but this is my dissertation we're talking about here. My career is on the line."
From the guestroom, Kerry could hear his ancient guitar, the one that had been gathering dust for most of a decade, being tuned.
"I know, darling," Astarion said. "Mine too. But it's all still so murky. We don't know anything yet."
"Yeah, speaking of mysteries," Kerry began slowly. "Did you talk to Tav at all before you left this morning?"
Astarion's hand reflexively went to his wedding ring, twisting it slowly around his finger. "Some. Last night, before she fell asleep." He held his hands out to study them. "She didn't really want to talk."
In the next room, a song was coming together on the guitar. There were a few blue notes here and there, but the strains of something old and familiar emerged as Tav learned to play the instrument. She hummed along as she searched for the right chords until soft, melancholy lyrics about longing and dreams, set down by a river, joined the plucking strings.
"I don't know what you had planned. For tonight, I mean," Kerry began, slowly, carefully. Astarion looked up from contemplating his palms with sharp, intense eyes that made Kerry feel as if he were a particularly ugly bug being pinned to a display board.
"I shouldn't be saying this," he said.
"Is this more jealousy?" Astarion asked.
"No! No, not at all," Kerry replied over the roar of blood in his ears. "She's great! Like, really great."
"I'm sensing a 'but,'" Astarion deadpanned.
For something to do to keep his hands from twisting together, Kerry scratched at the nape of his neck. "No, not a 'but.' Not exactly." He was blushing again. He could feel it, along with that same spiraling sensation he had when Astarion walked in to find him and Tav almost kissing. It was the feeling he associated with a secret growing, getting too large to be safely contained behind his lips and teeth. It was time for honesty, but gods, Kerry didn't want to be honest.
He had a choice between two truths to tell - spill Tav's secrets or his own.
"I like her," Kerry forced out. "Maybe too much." His skin was surely burning at this point. The tips of his ears felt so hot that they had to be literally on fire. What in the hells was wrong with him? He was a grown adult. He wasn't a pre-teen, being badgered by one of his childhood friends, asking him if he just liked Tav, or if he like-liked her. So why did this knot of apprehension insist on tightening around his gut? Why was he so gods damned anxious?
"Well, I hate to ruin your big reveal, darling," Astarion said. Kerry glanced up at Astarion to find him smirking, a chuckle barely contained. "But I did get that impression when I walked in to find her in your lap."
"You're not upset?" Kerry asked, hating the pleading that had crept into his voice, uninvited.
"Upset? That the two people I love most in the world are attracted to each other? Gods, no. I wasn't joking when I said you were her type." Astarion shifted in his chair, his eyes drifting back to his palms, though Kerry was almost certain he wasn't actually seeing them. "This wouldn't be the first time the two of us shared romantic interest in someone," he said. His voice was dreamy, wandering off down the paths of memory.
"There was a wood elf," Astarion said slowly. "Halsin. He was…-" Kerry could see Astarion's throat bobbing, working on the words that seemed stuck there. "He was very special to us." Kerry wanted to squeeze Astarion's shoulder. He wanted to ask about this Halsin, how he knew him, if he had loved him. But before he got the chance, Astarion shrugged it off, closing the topic.
"Delighted as I am that you've come around on Tav, I don't think that's what you really wanted to tell me."
The knot in Kerry's gut shifted and tightened around his chest. Astarion was right. He hadn't meant to tell him how he felt about Tav. He'd been stalling, and of course, Astarion knew it.
"Tav told me something this morning. Something about what happened to her." Kerry said with a low, gusty breath. "She didn't go into details, but she admitted it when I guessed." Astarion's face had shifted into an impassive mask. Kerry hadn't seen this face often, but he'd seen it enough to know he didn't like seeing it, to know there was something deep and dark and painful hidden behind it. Astarion didn't speak. He only nodded for Kerry to continue.
"The people who were keeping her - she said they hurt her. Beat her. Abused her. She said they did 'things' to her against her will. She didn't say what, but ..." he trailed off, leaving the worst unsaid.
Kerry plucked up the courage to meet Astarion's eyes again, and he instantly regretted it. He should have kept his big mouth shut. He should have let Astarion and Tav navigate the aftermath together. It was their relationship, not his. Astarion loved her. Kerry liked her. Maybe too much. But it still wasn't his place, even if he wasn't entirely sure where that was anymore.
The one thing he was sure of was that he had fucked up.
"You're right. You shouldn't have been the one to tell me any of that," Astarion said quietly. His anger hummed in the air, like a sound just outside the audible range, unsettling and indefinable.
"I'm sorry. I was only trying to help. I didn't want you to get hurt. Either of you."
"I know." Astarion sighed. "I know you were, darling. But I know something of being held captive, too. Of having 'things' done to you." He took Kerry's hand in both of his, kissing the knuckles. "But what's done is done. And I did, sort of, pry it out of you. I'm not angry with you," he said, though he looked as though the words still tasted bitter. "I just wish you'd let her tell me in her own time."
The notes of Tav's song floating out of the guest room slowed and dissipated until they stopped altogether. When Tav emerged, her eyes and the tip of her nose were red.
"Sorry," she said with a tiny sniffle. "I should have asked first. I just haven't touched an instrument in so long. Couldn't help myself." Both men sat up a little straighter.
"Totally fine," Kerry said, hoping he didn't look and sound as guilty as he felt. "It was beautiful."
—
"Enough."
Tav spoke so softly from the depths of her armchair that she wasn't sure if they heard her. With the sun headed for the horizon, the three of them had settled into Kerry's living room. Admittedly, Tav had started to tune the two men out as they talked about "the dig" and what needed to be done. They were planning a "road trip" from Waterdeep to "the dig" because Tav couldn't fly without ID. Tav would need clothes. And shoes. Maybe a "phone," whatever that was. Tav needed this. Tav didn't have that. Tav, Tav, Tav, TAV! She was getting sick of the sound of her own name.
She heard them earlier, of course. She heard Kerry telling Astarion about how that morning's argument had ended with her alluding to all of the horrible, disgusting, shameful shit Gortash and the Bhaalists had done to her. In a way, she was grateful. The hardest part, admitting she'd been too weak to stop them when they …- did what they did to her, was over. She didn't have to find words for the things she never wanted to think about again. It was done for her. Though she'd have liked to think she was brave enough to tell Astarion herself, she was grateful that she didn't need to just yet. One night, perhaps, but not tonight. Everyone is a coward when it comes to exposing their deepest hurts. Tav found she could forgive herself for that.
What she could not do was watch them pretending they hadn't had an intimate conversation about her when they thought she was out of earshot and then treat her like she was some rare and delicate artifact they'd dug up that might disintegrate at any second.
They talked about her as if she weren't there, or worse, as if she were a problem to be managed. They took turns saying something they belatedly thought was damaging to her somehow, and then darting sheepish looks at her, as if waiting for her to start sobbing. Worse, if they kept it up, she just might.
Every soft, pitying look whispered, "Be careful with Tav, she's been broken." Each sideways glance at her was a reminder that she'd been damaged. Sullied. Violated. Even if they didn't know the exact extent and number of each insult and injury, they could imagine it all and still give her those soft, sad, pitying looks that all meant so well.
One of the worst parts of everything she'd endured was the helplessness and the powerlessness of it all. It was an ill-fitted suit of clothes that bound and hitched, scratched and dug in at all the wrong places and inopportune moments. She'd worn it for way too long, and she hated every second of it.
Well, no more.
"Enough of what, my sweet?" Astarion asked, smiling softly as if he were trying not to frighten a small child.
"This!" She stood, throwing her arms out to encompass the room and everything beyond. "I'm so tired," Tav continued. "I'm tired of talking. Of sitting around all day doing nothing. Of the two of you casting furtive glances at me, like - like you're waiting for me to do something, like I'm going to explode."
"We're not -" Astarion started.
"Yes, you are!" Tav interrupted. "Don't think I don't see you, Astarion. Looking at me every thirty seconds. Checking up on me with that look in your eyes."
"What look?" And he was wearing exactly the look she was talking about. The big, round vampire puppy eyes, with his brows arched up all the way up into his pompadour hairline. Just so very fucking concerned. For a mad second, Tav wanted to grab him by the front of his shirt and shake him. She wanted to scream.
"I'm not some fragile little flower, you know?" was what came out after a few measured breaths.
"I know that," Astarion said quietly.
"I'm not!" she said, scowling at Kerry. Poor kid. He didn't deserve her rage. Apart from a brief interlude of understandable unpleasantness, he'd been nothing but kind to her. And here he was, caught in the blast radious of her ire. Tav turned her back to him before he could feel like he had to respond to her.
"I've fought gnolls and goblins! Undead - I killed scores of them! I killed fucking Gortash! With fucking fireworks!" The longer Tav went on, the louder she got.
"I know, darling, I was there. Remember?" Astarion said. His eyes had narrowed, and a small, impish smile tugged at the corners of his generous mouth—the prick.
"And Ketheric Thorm! Orin, too! When she was in that big monster slayer form!"
"Yes, darling, I know. You're very strong." Astarion's lips broke into a grin. Humoring. He was humoring her, as if she were a cranky child up past bedtime that needed to be coddled.
Tav didn't want to be coddled. She wanted… to feel strong. Powerful. She wanted to feel steady, like the world wasn't slowly tilting on its axis to send her sprawling onto the floor without a burly teifling there to catch her this time.
Out of the corner of her eye, Tav caught Kerry, glancing back and forth between them, looking more confused by the second.
"I killed Raphael." She pointed at her own chest. "I killed a gods damned Illithid Netherbrain!"
"Well, we all did that, but you were instrumental. It has to be said." Astarion's hands settled on Tav's hips. Without meaning to, she stepped closer, between his knees. He hadn't eaten yet. She could tell by how cold his hands felt through the cotton of her shirt and the slippery, synthetic fabric of the shorts she was borrowing. As much as she hated for him to go hungry, feeling that icy touch exploring her skin had always been something she savored. When his stroking thumbs brushed under the hem of her shirt, she couldn't suppress the little gasp she made.
"I was instrumental," she said, frowning. Pouting. Astarion was distracting her with his stupid, pretty eyes and his stupid, cool, teasing touches, and that stupid, lecherous grin he used when he was thinking the same things she was, but she didn't want to admit it just yet. "I don't need to be treated with kid gloves," she said.
He leaned forward. If he breathed, Tav would have been able to feel his breath on her stomach as he spoke. "No, I don't think you do," he whispered.
Those gods damned fingers of his slid up her sides, dragging her shirt up his forearms. His lips brushed the slight curve of her stomach, just below her navel. The dainty, cold kitten licks of his tongue exploring her abdomen were just a little too high, too soft to be anything but frustrating. The way her hips leaned toward him was just a little more lurid than she wanted.
"But something tells me that it's not just anger that has your heart beating so loudly." He punctuated the end of his sentence with kisses from her navel to the waistband of her shorts, riding low on her hips.
Of the many things Tav had forgotten about Astarion, the particularly infuriating nature of the leering grin he turned on her to distract and disarm her rage was one she hadn't been at all prepared for. Her breath caught when he snagged the end of the drawstring on her shorts between his blunt front teeth, tugged, and the waistband loosened with it. He brushed the tip of his nose against her lower belly, nudging her shorts lower and simmering heat in her core higher.
Yes, she was really angry. Genuinely enraged. But Astarion, whose skilled perception apparently hadn't dulled even a little over their time apart, still read her like a cheap romance serial. He squeezed her ass and gave her hips a little shake. "Well?"
"Can't it be both?" She asked. "Can't I be both angry and…?"
Astarion let the grin he'd been restraining loose. "And what, my sweet?"
"Are you really going to make me say it?" Tav could feel her ears growing hot and pink. Ohh, shit, she didn't have nearly enough whisky buzz left for this. On her best days, her courage faltered when he turned those red, liquid eyes on her and asked her to, gods forbid, tell him what she wanted.
"Yes," Astarion said. Tav could swear he was purring. "After a thousand years, I think I deserve to hear it said out loud."
"Fine," she growled as she climbed up to straddle his hips. Gods above, she'd missed this. The feeling of his hips between her thighs, of settling her weight on him. His hands curling around her hips and ever-so-gently pulling her tighter against him. Her fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of Astarion's neck. "Astarion Ancunin,"
"Yes?"
"I would very much like you to fuck me. Please."
"Drizzt's balls," Kerry swore. "That's it. I'm out."
"What?" Tav asked, turning to him, genuinely confused.
"I have been really patient," he began. "I've kept you safe, drank with you, got you food. Loaned you clothes. Played weird, silly games with you to cheer you up." He shoved himself out of his chair, waving his hands as he spoke.
"I'm starting to really like you, Tav. But you, neither of you, seem to get how truly fucking weird this is for me." When neither of them spoke, he began the subconscious ritual all men seemed to know of patting pockets to make sure they had what they needed before leaving.
"If there's one thing I feel no social obligation to do, it's to sit here and watch you dry hump my partner while propositioning him for sex," Kerry finished. The sentiment was familiar, but even Tav, distracted as she was, could see the conflicted emotions simmering behind his eyes. She smiled then, hoping it was coming off genuine and honest.
"Would you like to join us?"
---
As always, thank you for reading! Thank you for waiting! The next one will come out much quicker! I promise!
Nav Links: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Master List
You're often exhausted when you get home from work. Some nights, all you want to do is fall into a nest of softness and sleep for the rest of the week.
It's a good thing you have your own attentive tentacle monster at home.
Always happy to see you, it's as if he can tell exactly what you need the moment you open the door.
As soon as your shoes are off, he's wrapping his many, soft, strong arms around you, guiding your tired body into his bed.
Those dexterous appendages easily slip buttons and open zippers and manage to get you naked and warm and comfortable before you've fully reclined into his mass.
He adores massaging his slick tentacles over your sore muscles, working out any areas of tension.
He loves stretching your limbs, gently urging you to let go of any stress or reservations in his gentle but secure grip.
And when you're finally fully relaxed, without a care in the world, he gets to enjoy his favorite part - bringing you to climax again and again while he fills you completely.
“This is what you signed up for,” you reminded yourself as you darted around another corner. The travel brochure had promised an “authentic Greek myth experience” when you booked the day trip to see the newly discovered labyrinth beneath the palace at Knossos. Your friends had begged off, claiming the “high adventure package,” which boasted a run through the maze while chased by an actual, live minotaur, was a bit too adventurous for them.
At first, the idea was thrilling. Ever since you'd read the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur in grade school, you’d been fascinated with the idea of being chased by one. Even after meeting the minotaur chasing you, a tall, handsome male named Andreas with soft, wet brown eyes, a warm smile, and acres of well-defined muscles, you were still excited for the chase. He chuckled when he told you that a surprisingly high number of human women opted for the high adventure package.
But, with your heart pounding louder in your ears than your feet on the stone floor of the maze, you were starting to think your friends may have been right. Every so often, a roar would come floating over the maze's walls, sending you into a fresh sprint. You knew one loose stone, one wrong turn, one pause in the wrong spot could mean being caught. And then, if he caught you, well, anything could happen.
It happened before you realized it. You had been running full bore down a straight-away that ended in a T-junction. You hadn’t realized how much speed you’d built up until you went around the corner and couldn’t slow down enough to make the turn safely. You slammed into the rock wall of the maze, bruising your shoulder and forearm hard enough to make you stop running. In the second it took for you to cradle your arm to your side, big arms closed around your torso from behind and lifted you off your feet. A rough palm closed over your mouth, cutting off the scream just as it was bubbling up from your throat.
“Gotcha!” came the deep, breathless voice at your ear. “You gave me quite the chase, sweet girl,” he murmured. You could feel the heat of his breath, cooling the sweat on your neck and brow.
“Damn,” you muttered. “I thought I was going to make it.” You wriggled in his arms, making him laugh.
“You almost did,” he said, tightening his grip. “But I think you deserve a consolation prize for that run.” He set you down on your feet and spun you around to face him. “Would you like that, sweet girl?” You fought hard to keep your face neutral, even as the low embers of desire burning in your core since the start of your run leaped up to spread a delicious heat through you.
“What’s the prize?” you asked, looking him up and down. His long tongue ran out to lick his lips as he mimicked your lingering gaze.
“I think you know,” His eyes lingered on the valley between your breasts that led down into your sports bra. “Girls like you don’t sign up to be chased by a minotaur for our sparkling conversation,” he said.
As if he needed help proving his point, his arms wrapped around you again, hoisting you off your feet. Your legs wrapped easily around his trim waist to settle your hips against his. “Besides,” he grunted, one large hand cupped your ass, supporting you, while the other slid up your ribs, roughly grabbing your breast. “I could smell how wet you were from almost ten meters away.” It made you shift your hips, pressing your sex against him. There was no sense in hiding any longer. He could feel the squirming movements of your hips, seeking the length of his cock stiffening through the thin fabric of your running shorts. He ground up against you, making you whimper with need.
He kissed and licked along your neck until he reached your ear. “You want this cock, sweet girl?” he asked. “You want me to give you your prize?” You nodded, practically writhing against him.
“Say it,” he hissed against your ear. “Tell me how much you want it.” His big hand wrapped around your hips, pushing your wet cunt against his cock through the thin fabric that separated you.
“Please,” you moaned, barely above a whisper. He slid one hand down to explore the damp gusset between your thighs. His thick fingers prodded up and down along the seam of your pussy through the fabric.
“Louder, sweet girl. I want to hear you beg for what you want,” he groaned. You held on tightly to his neck with one arm while you pushed the fingers of your other hand into the curls at the nape of his neck. You kissed eagerly along his long jaw to his mouth, his tongue meeting and twining with yours.
“Please,” you whined between kisses. “Please fuck me.”
He chuckled, tasting your mouth with his tongue. He dug his thick fingers into the fabric of your shorts, pressing hard on your throbbing clit before releasing his hold. You slithered down his body with a frustrated whine as he guided you to your knees with gentle pressure.
“First, you’re going to taste my cock,” he said. His hand undid the clasp holding his loincloth up and let it flutter to the floor. Though the light in the maze was dim, you could still clearly see the girthy length of his erection as it bounced free. Without having to be told, you nuzzled against the base of it, licking over his heavy balls as you made your way up toward the tip. Taking all of him in your mouth was out of the question. He was too thick. Too long. But you could certainly squeeze and lick and suck as much as you could manage. You could run your tongue along his weeping slit, lapping up the sticky beads of precum. You loved hearing him groan, feeling his fingers wrap around your ponytail to guide your head where he wanted it as you tried to fit him into your mouth.
He pulled your head back, pulling your mouth off the head of his cock with a lewd pop. In seconds, he pushed you down onto your back, yanking your sports bra over your head, nearly tearing your shorts as he ripped them down off your hips. His long, thick finger ran between the sopping wet lips of your cunt to gather some of your slick and rub it over your clit. Your hips bucked upward, following his hand as he teased you open for him.
“I think you’re ready for my cock, sweet little human,” he said, pulling you up into his lap. You could only nod as you looped your arms around his neck again. He guided your shaky legs around his hips with one hand while he dragged the thick head of his cock over your sensitive little bud. You thrust against him, trying to coax him to your entrance.
The stretch of him as his cock pushed into you was incredible. You’d heard people talk about being split in half but had never really appreciated what it meant. He tried to hold you up, to let you sink slowly down onto him and adjust to his girth, but the feeling of him filling you was too much to resist. You pushed down with a guttural moan until he was fully rooted deep within you.
He let you rest for a few moments, holding you still with both hands on your hips. You felt so satisfyingly full that you could hardly feel yourself twitching and clenching around him, but he definitely could, if his breathy little moans were any indication. Slowly, he lifted you up by your hips, savoring the desperate moan you made before he let gravity drag you back down. He tilted you back as you rode him to watch himself disappear into your tight folds, to watch the outline of his glans push against your abdomen each time he reached the end of your channel.
The rough pounding almost overwhelmed the tightening sensation that built in your gut with each velvet drag of him over every tender spot within you. But soon enough, as both of your moans grew louder, as he worked your body up and down on his long shaft, it became impossible to ignore the feeling of getting closer to the precipice. He must have been close, too. He roared again, pulling you down hard and bucking up into you at the same time. Your hand scrabbled across his taught, straining stomach, looking for any kind of purchase to hold onto as you tumbled over the edge into orgasm with him. His hands caught and cradled you, rocking with you as your clenching pussy milked load after heavy load from his cock.
At last, your tired muscles couldn’t hold you upright any longer, and he chuffed out a soft laugh as he bundled you down against his chest. “I take it back,” he muttered as he nuzzled against your sweaty brow. “I think you won, after all, sweet girl.”
You giggled, gently twisting your fingers in the longer fur that ran down between his clavicles like a downy cravat. “I think we both won,” you teased.
After a few moments, he helped you stand and handed you a towel, cleverly concealed within his discarded loincloth. “I’m not really supposed to do this,” he said, suddenly shy as he looked away to give you some privacy while you cleaned up. “I’m not supposed to do any of what we just did. A lot of the guys do, but...” He trailed off, shaking his large head.
“No, I would think railing the clients is probably frowned upon. Great customer service, though. Five stars,” you said, laughing with him as the two of you made your way toward the maze exit.
“Nooo,” he said, still chuckling. “Definitely not supposed to do that.” He ran one of his big hands through the curls that spilled down between his horns, over his brow. “I’m not supposed to do this either, but, uh,” he continued. If he hadn’t just screwed you within an inch of your life, you’d have sworn he was nervous. “I’d like to see you again. Can I get your number?”
Notes: I have many, many irons in the fire. Some might say it's more irons than fire at this point. This is an excerpt of an as-yet untitled sci-fi story I'm working on.
Word Count: 2,500-ish
"Gods, Vir…" Kenna whined. Her hands, fisted in the bedsheets, clenched again as her lover withdrew his long, thick, forked tongue and ran it slowly up through her inner folds. He'd been feasting on her like this for nearly an hour, "savoring her nectar," as he put it.
The mandibles on either side of his jaw, vestiges of bygone generations of Kithrace, had been a surprise the first time he'd gone down on her. "Some human women find this… unsettling," his rich, low voice rumbled. The smirk on his lips and in his deep indigo eyes issued a challenge and warning at the same time. But she hadn't found them unsettling. Gods damned convenient was what they were. Once he had spread her thighs and then parted her slit with the two large fingers of one hand, the firm, diminutive protrusions framing his jaw comfortably spread her labia, granting him unprecedented access with that marvelously skilled forked tongue of his.
Not only could he hold her pussy open to him as long as he wished, as long as she would allow, but it left his hands free to explore, which was precisely what they were doing. He cupped her breasts with each hand, pinching and pulling her nipples to mimic the way the fork of his tongue was teasing her clit. With each gentle tug, the friction of his tongue and fingers on those most sensitive parts of her had her writhing madly.
Viratas chuckled, the vibration of the sound tickling her oversensitive skin. "Are you ready for more, beloved?" he asked. Gods, just the sight of him as he lifted his head from her nethers was enough to undo her. The first time he had eaten her out, he had made her so wet that her slick had dripped, literally dripped, from one of his mandibles. The shine of it on his pale blue skin, that same wicked smirk and glint in his eyes as he licked his lips and crawled up her body to kiss her was a mental image she went back to again and again when she was missing him in that way.
Kenna struggled up onto her elbows to see him better. She would never tell Viratas this, but a break from his tongue, just long enough for him to settle his massive frame above her, was exactly what she needed. A gentle relaxation of the tension he'd been steadily building, and building and building, just for a moment, so that she could fall into him and with him completely was what she needed. She nodded, and he shook his head, tsk-tsking at her.
"You know our rule, beloved. Let me hear you say it."
"You've been sucking my soul out through my pussy for the better part of an hour," Kenna complained. "Don't you think it's a little late for verbal consent?"
Vir sighed, resting his chin on her pubic bone. "Anything less than enthusiastic, verbal consent…"
"…is a no," Kenna grumbled. "Fine, yes. Please. Viratas Dori'maan, please, with sugar on top, would you please please fuck me until I can't remember my own name?"
"I was hoping for something a little more romantic." Vir's grin broadened as he rose to his knees to leave wet, sticky kisses in a trail up along the ridge of her pelvis and over her stomach. His weight settled easily against her, heavy and comforting, as he bracketed her shoulders with his elbows. One large hand cupped the top of her skull as he stroked a sweat-damp lock of her blond hair back off her forehead with his thumb. "Li'raahn," he murmured. Kenna didn't know much of his language, just enough to get by, and it was mostly professional language and context. But she did know this word. He'd whispered it into her ear hundreds of times. He had cried it out amid a string of unknown profanities as he reached his orgasm, and kissed it against her forehead as she fell asleep in his arms. It was the Kith word for "love."
He took his time, kissing softly against her temple, suckling the lobe of her ear, nuzzling against her jaw. All the while, his hips shifted slowly against hers, letting her get used to the feel of their weight and pressure, to the length of his cock slotting neatly between the folds of her sopping wet sex.
Kenna couldn't hold back much longer. She linked her fingers behind his neck, over the hard carapace that ran like plated armor from the top of his forehead down to the small of his back. Her legs wrapped around his hips as she rocked with him, trying to coax the head of his cock lower, to let it notch into her opening and pry her open for him with a stretch that she welcomed and craved.
WhenVir's lips finally found hers, Kenna met them with a searing, sloppy kiss. As she plunged her tongue into his mouth, tasting the sweet-salty bite of her cyprine fluid on his lips, she thrust her hips upward, forcing the flared head of his cock past the ringed muscle of her entrance. Their twin groans of pleasure harmonized, his providing the baritone to her alto. He liked to be still when he first entered her. Vir liked letting her stretch around him - liked feeling the whisper-soft flutterings of her vaginal muscles as they relaxed to accept his girth with the glacial slowness with which he filled her until the head of his penis pressed against her cervix and she could take no more of him.
But Kenna wanted none of that soft, respectful lovemaking. He chuckled darkly against her neck as she writhed under him, thrusting her hips up, all but shoving him deeper into her body. "It seems I am my own worst enemy," he grunted between burning kisses. "Have I worked my little love into such a lather that she can't wait for me?"
"You had your chance to be slow and soft, Star Man," Kenna growled as she took the skin just below his jaw between her teeth and bit. He groaned his appreciation, his hips thrusting down hard against hers. The force of his full length driving deep into her punched her breath out in a lewd gasp, silencing any further snark. Pain flared, sizzling through her brain for just a second until it melted into the delicious sensation of fullness taking his cock brought. He kept his weight on her for a few more seconds, stilling her hips until he couldn't stand the lack of friction any longer.
Her fingers scrabbled for purchase on the ridged shell over his shoulders when he withdrew nearly half his length before pushing back into her. The high, keening whine she made had been concerning at first, when he was still learning all the sounds of pleasure she made. Now, many months and many sessions later, he strove to pull that sound in particular from her long, slender throat. She made that sound when he hit exactly the right spots within her to have her body flexing and clenching wildly, chasing her release. Another withdrawal, another deep thrust, and the tension in his own abdomen had coiled tightly enough that he couldn't stop himself from rutting deep into her every time her hips rose to meet his.
"Kenna, Kenna, please.." he muttered against her lips, chasing them with his to kiss her again and again. Kenna nodded, her forehead resting against his. "Yes, yes, gods… I'm close, so close," she babbled. He liked watching her come, liked the desperation he saw when she kept eye contact with him while her body overrode that sharp, ever-busy brain of hers. Seeing her lose herself to pleasure he had caused never failed to bring his own release on. But he knew he couldn't let it happen this time.
Vir's thoughts waded through the lust-drenched swamp of his brain until he found the words. He stilled his thrusting, pinning her with his hips and pulling a frustrated little whine from her. "Will you do it, Kenna?" he asked. Kenna blinked, vainly searching her own memory for some clue as to what he wanted. "Will you be mother to my brood?"
It was as if he had thrown a bucket of cold water on her.
Vir had asked her the last time they had sex, and truthfully, she wasn't sure he was serious about it. When he growled out, "I long to see your belly rounded and full of my growing young," she thought it was the hot, dirty nonsense people sometimes said during sex. It had been hot. So hot that she had begged him to fill her as her moans shattered into a guttural scream and her vision went blank for those few, blissful seconds of orgasm.
"N-now? You're seriously asking me this now?" she panted, already knowing from the earnestness she saw in those dark eyes that he was indeed asking her to fundamentally change her life with his cock rooted deep in her cunt. But was it so awful? Had she not found herself considering it, fondly even, when she spotted one of the Kith children onboard in the mess or when she passed the other human/kithrace couple in one of the passageways?
"It's now, or two years from now when my cycle returns." His voice grew softer, quieter with each word. It wasn't fair. He knew it wasn't fair. He knew he should have swallowed his embarrassment and spoken to her when they were both sober and clear-headed. He was half-resigned to her rejection, already planning on finishing her, and then excusing himself to the w.c. to take care of his own needs and watch another clutch of his eggs, unfertilized, swirl down the toilet.
"Yes," she said, and he almost didn't hear her over the sound of his shame and regret. Kenna's hands slithered up to cup his cheeks and guide his eyes back to hers. "Yes, I will," she said and pulled his face back down to hers so she could kiss him slow and sweet.
"But I…" he began before she ran the tips of her fingers along the soft verge where the hard keratin plate on his head met the soft skin of his forehead, and she shushed him. His eyes closed as he tilted his head into her touch, humming.
"I love you, li'rhaan," she whispered against his lips, tightening her thighs around his hips again. If his faintly insectile face could look dopey, it certainly did as his grin spread across his lips. "I want this," she went on, her soft kisses growing hotter again as they landed on his cheeks, along his jaw, just at the sensitive base of the fold of skin that protected the opening of his ear. "I want you to give me our young."
The throaty noise that left him came from deep within his seldom-used secondary lungs, another relic of a time before his species had interbred with humans, when the wings that usually hid beneath the hard-shelled carapace on his back would have been iridescent and large enough for flight. Those wings fluttered free now, buzzing softly with excitement as he slowly began rebuilding the firm, deep thrusting rhythm he'd interrupted. Kenna purred beneath him, her legs eagerly clamping around his hips again as her libido, momentarily shocked into silence, leaped back, stronger than before.
"You will be the most beautiful mother," he growled, making the soft, little thrusts he knew made her claw at his back and say the most profoundly filthy things he'd ever heard a woman, human or kith, say. The pressure in his lower abdomen shifted slightly as he felt the first of his eggs descending into his cock, and he pushed deeper, letting the firm, round egg within him massage her channel while he aligned himself with the opening of her cervix. Another firm push, and she gave a sharp cry, her arms and legs shaking around him, tears springing to the corners of her eyes.
"It's all right, it's OK," he soothed, stroking her hair. The precum he secreted would dull the pain and soften her opening soon, but it couldn't banish the look of anguish on her face soon enough. At last, her breathing slowed from the rapid irregularity of pain back into the heavy, almost languid pace of pleasure.
"How am I doing, boss?" she asked, her eyes dreamy. Her hips wanted to move, to keep up the friction against those sensitive spots within her.
"You're doing so well for me," he cooed, brushing his thumb affectionately along her lips. "But I need you to stay still for me. Can you do that?" Her eyes clouded into a pout that made it hard for him not to chuckle at. "Don't worry," he said, replacing his thumb with a soft kiss. "You'll have enough stimulation. I promise."
As soon as he finished speaking, the first of the eggs made its way into his channel, pulling a surprised yip from Kenna as she felt it sliding down through him. The egg was probably about two to three inches in circumference, enough to put a delightful pressure on her most sensitive spots as it passed on to press against her cervix with an oddly pleasurable stretch until it passed through into her womb. This was a feeling that was wholly unique, that had her moaning deeply and her toes curling as the next egg pressed into her. Again and again, each egg that pushed into her womb had her whimpering, her orgasm so close, and yet, she was still unable to tip over the edge.
Vir pulled back onto his knees, his eyes roaming over her sweaty body to settle on the now softly rounded mound of her lower abdomen. He stroked his hands down from her breasts to her stomach, pressing gently over where he still nestled inside her. Stars flared behind her eyelids at the pressure, the elation of being so full, so close to release. He seemed to realize it too, as he twisted his hand around so his thumb could slip between the flushed, puffy lips of her cunt to brush roughly against the hard bud of her clit while he resumed pumping his cock into her. It took only a few strokes to have her screaming his name as her hips stuttered and she shook all over. His own release soon followed, forcing him to collapse back on top of her to seed her full and fertile womb.
When he disengaged from her at last, Vir settled behind her, making that soft, purr-like sound against her neck that he always made when they were both sated and wallowing in the afterglow. She liked nestling under his chin, feeling small and safe in his arms as he held her. This time, instead of cupping around her breast or tucking under her ribcage, as one of his hands usually did, it curled lightly over the new swell of her belly, stroking comforting nonsense patterns into the firm flesh beneath his palm as she drifted off to sleep.
Synopsis: Rook is back from the Fade. Spite has opinions. Lucanis confronts his concerns.
---
"Why. Are we. Here? Why not with. Rook?"
Spite paced in front of the dining room's large fireplace, occasionally running his hands over his face and neck as Lucanis often did when stressed or worried. He had done it a lot over the last several days.
"Rook needs. Us." Spite insisted, glaring at Lucanis.
"She needs rest," Lucanis said patiently.
"Baahh," Spite huffed, flapping a dismissive hand at Lucanis. "She is here. Rook. was gone. And now she is. HERE!" the demon said. His shoulders hunched in frustration. He sounded as though he thought he was trying to explain a very simple concept to a very stupid toddler. Lucanis caught himself wondering if that was how he looked when trying to explain to Spite why he can't eat self-igniting candles or why he couldn't have Manfred's feet.
"We go to Rook," Spite said petulantly. He leaned one translucent, glowing purple hand against the fireplace's mantle, a mirror image of Lucanis' brooding stance. Lucanis sighed, stopping himself from scrubbing his hand over his face, just as his demon doppelganger had done.
"We need to let her be, Spite. She will let me know when she's ready. She's not ready to see me yet." Lucanis said.
"You're not ready. Lucanissss," Spite grumbled.
"Watch it," he warned.
"Lucanis is. Afraid," the demon sing-songed, grinning.
"Meirda," he groaned, looking to the heavens for strength. "I'm not afraid!"
"Afraid! Afraid! Lucanis. Is scared! Scared he'll want to do what he does when he's alone. Scared of. Rook. Rook wanting to touch him." Spite was nearly vibrating with glee as Lucanis' mouth dropped open. "Scared he will like Rook touching him. Like he touches hims-"
"That's enough!" Lucanis snapped, cutting Spite off mid-jibe. Though his grin was so impossibly wide it nearly curled around his ears, Spite quieted. Lucanis dropped heavily into one of the armchairs beside the table, fingers steepled under his chin, but it was no good. The normally comfortable chair felt like it had been replaced with stone. The fireplace wasn't any better for lurking and brooding. Spite stood right where Lucanis had left him, ostensibly studying the grain of the wooden mantle as he shot surreptitious looks in Lucanis' direction every so often.
An unsettling peel of Spite's demonic laughter, coming from everywhere in the dining room and nowhere at the same time, reverberated through the space. Lucanis huffed. "Fine," he said, tugging at his collar. "Fine, I'll go see her. Happy?"
Another roll of Spite's echoing laughter was his only response.
---
Lucanis marched confidently through the strange, perpetual twilight of the Fade-lit courtyard. He felt just as strong and self-assured as he swung the door open and stepped into the gloom of the library. Five stairs up the sweeping, curving staircase that led to the mezzanine, and he was still fine.
At ten stairs up, the hot lump in his gut that he'd stubbornly ignored since leaving his kitchen began to stir and grow. When he gained the landing at the mezzanine level, his hands went cold and clammy, and his steps took on a decided trudging quality. They felt more like the dread-filled steps of a man on his way to the gallows, rather than going to see the woman he -… he had an extraordinary fondness for.
In the hallway outside Rook's door, Lucanis admitted he had made a huge mistake. His mouth felt packed with cotton. He could barely breathe. Spite was unusually silent, which was worrisome. Lucanis wondered if demons understood the concept of "I told you so."
"Meirda," he swore again, under his breath, and turned the curling door handle.
At first, he thought she wasn't there. The fear that had been coiling along a twisting path from the pit of his stomach up to his throat and back shifted from worry about what he would say (and do) to her, to a near blind panic that she was gone again. But then he heard her foot shifting against the carpet. He saw her knees draped over the open end of the divan, gilded by the strange blue-green light from the aquarium.
Lucanis had thought a lot about this moment, when the madness of losing Rook to the Fade threatened him with despair, and irrational hope was the only weapon he had against it. In those fantasies, he'd been alluring, like Illario could be, and say something devastatingly charming. She'd sigh a breathy "oh Lucanis," as she swooned into his arms and he'd kiss her in a way his grandmother had been trying to teach him to do since he was a flegling who couldn't grasp the art of seduction.
"I cannot believe we found you," was what came out. Stiff, wooden. No charisma. Verging on derisive. He was the same teenager again, getting his knuckles rapped by Caterina's relentless cane. He wanted to melt into the floor.
But Rook's eyes were soft when she sat up. There was no mockery or scorn as there would have been in his grandmother's eyes. Rook's blue-gray gaze was just… tired. A bone-deep weariness that Lucanis understood all too well. Her usual sly, half-smile spread from one corner of her mouth. "I'm a little surprised, too, honestly," she said.
Meirda, that smile. It would be his undoing - he just knew it. It warmed his heart in a way few had, forcing the anxiety to quiet. Even Spite was still for it. He forced himself to breathe deeply, to study how the light kindled sparks of golden highlights in the auburn of her hair, to commit to memory the curve of her cheek, the exact tint of her rosy pink lips. He had lost her so suddenly at Tearstone Island that he felt someone had reached into his mind and scooped out every memory of her.
He wouldn't let that happen again. As he sauntered over to her, he found he wanted to know the taste of those lips, to feel the velvet smoothness of her skin under his fingertips. He wanted to tell her how her absence made him ache in unaccustomed ways. He wanted her to know, without making it sound vulgar or cheap, how he wanted her, to hold her, feel her surrounding him, to be with her, on and under and inside her.
But again, the suave sophistication failed him, leaving him with stark honesty as his only option. "I thought I'd never see you again," he said, hoping Rook couldn't hear the rapid drumbeat of his heart as it tried to pound its way out through his ribcage. And there was that pirate's smile again as she effortlessly broke the tension with a joke about not being able to get rid of her that easily.
It was a front. Not just her glib response, but all of it. The swagger, the unflappable demeanor, the seemingly bottomless well of sass and spitfire that spoke of confidence and surety was all a ruse. Her time in the Fade had peeled back the layers of world-hardened veneer to expose the frightened, uncertain girl hiding in this woman's body. He saw that fleeting vulnerability she usually kept so well guarded when her eyes met his again and melted.
"Rook,… you're impossible," he said as he knelt before her, cupping her jaw with his scarred and calloused palm and drawing her into a soft, gentle kiss.
"But in a good way?" she asked, her eyes searching his for reassurance. The comfort of touch was what she wanted, and he found he could give that to her. He wantedto give that to her as much as she wanted it from him. He pressed her down onto her back and crawled up to settle his weight between her parted thighs.
"It's what I love about you," he breathed in the seconds before his lips found hers. She had to be able to feel his erection, probably almost as well as he could, pressing heavily into the crease where her hip and thigh met. But before he could wander down that dark and doomed path of shame and self-consciousness, the air around the two of them hummed and fluttered as Spite's skeletal wings unfurled, bathing them in a magical purple glow.
It felt like some kind of fragile magic guiding him as Lucanis's hands roamed over Rook's body. The uncertainty of when and where and how to touch melted with the soft sigh she breathed into his hair when he kissed down the tendon in her neck, following the progress of his nimble fingers as they slipped the buttons of her shirt open. She shrugged out of the blue silk as soon as she could, reaching for the tie that held her bra closed even before she had fully freed her wrist from the stubborn shirt sleeve.
Lucanis gaped at her. He couldn't help it. Her eyes were alight above that wicked, enticing grin as she shimmied her shoulders from side to side to make her breasts sway gently. He'd seen naked women before. Illario had dragged him to brothels all over Antiva. The women there, though they had been beautiful, couldn't hold a candle to the woman who lay beneath him, one leg wrapped around his hip.
"See anything you like?" she asked, her smile turning coy as she slid one palm up her torso to cup her breast. Desire wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. He knew the sensation of tightening in his groin, of heightened sensitivity of the skin, the insistent throb of blood pulsing in his cock and the nearly overwhelming desire to sooth it with his hands. But it was the overwhelming need to touch her as he watched her trace her fingertip around the areola of her nipple that surprised him. The need to feel her skin to skin was something he wasn't sure he had wanted before.
He was certain about it now, though. They flowed together, he turning, leaning against the back of the divan, she sliding into his lap, straddling his hips. Her hair, unbound for once, slid over her bare shoulders to create a curtain around their heads as she leaned in and kissed him. She invaded his senses as her tongue invaded his mouth, probing sweetly and sliding against his own. He felt hot and confined, like even a millimeter of separation was too much. He had so many layers. Why did he have to wear so many damned layers?
Rook seemed to be of the same opinion. She pulled back from his mouth, her fingers poised over one of the silver crow skulls of his collar pin with a question in her eyes. May I? those burning blue-gray eyes, pupils wide and dark, asked as she hovered her fingertips over his jewelry. May I pull back your layers and touch, and feel, and know you?
He wanted that very much. Collar pins and cravat, waistcoat and shirt, and finally boots, pants, and undergarments all ended up flung around Solas' meditation room until both of them were bare. She returned to his lap, the warm, wet heat of her both soothing and maddening against his cock as she shifted the slick folds of her sex up and down along his length. His hands found her hips, fingertips digging into the plush flesh of her ass, squeezing and pulling as she rocked on him.
The silken heat of her cunt as she slid down onto him was almost too much. Lucanis had to bury his face in her neck, biting his lip, to keep himself steady. He knew he couldn't last long, but Andraste, he owed her more than a few short thrusts before spilling uselessly into her. He'd teased her enough already with smoldering looks that went nowhere and passionate kisses that ended before they started.
Her pleasure was what he wanted to see more than anything. He felt like he could watch her for hours as she rode him, her eyes closed, lips parted and gasping as her fingernails dragged down the planes of his chest. It was easier to hold on as he rolled his hips into hers if he watched the way her body moved with his. He could almost ignore the clutching, squeezing sensation of her pussy on his cock each time he thrust up into her if he focused on the steady stream of whimpering curses and entreaties to the Maker and his name, whispered reverantly as she bounced on him.
As Rook's clipped little moans of pleasure built in pitch and volume, Lucanis could feel the tension in his gut winding impossibly tighter. He bit is lower lip, brow furrowed, eyes screwed shut as he concentrated on trying to hold on just a little longer for her. Her fingers wound into his hair, grounding them both as they rocked together.
Lucanis hardly noticed that the steady flow of grunts and growls from his throat had shifted into a higher, needier register to harmonize with the sounds Rook made. But when her whimpers built to a loud, sustained cry and she bucked her hips against his, the dam of his restraint shattered. He was wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her down hard against him as he pumped up into her. The entire lower half of his body spasmed in time with hers as he flooded her with his seed.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he panted into her neck, cock still twitching deep within her as her cunt fluttered around him. She giggled in his ear.
"Don't be," she said as she leaned back to stroke a stray, sweaty lock of his hair off his forehead with her not-quite-steady hand. "You were perfect."
Not for the first time, Lucanis was grateful Rook couldn't hear Spite as he hissed, "See! Told you!" in Lucanis' ear.
----
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this little break from my regularly scheduled Emmrich thirsting hours. 🤭
Just Monster Thoughts... Teasing Your Werewolf Girlfriend
Spice Level: 🌶️- Mild
As the full moon gets closer, your werewolf girlfriend gets tenser, more on edge. Between her responsibilities to her job and her pack and transformation, she has a lot on her mind.
She’s incredibly cute when flustered, though you learned early on in your relationship not to tell her this.
It’s almost impossible not to tease her at least a little bit, especially on the day of the full moon when she’s high-strung and snapping at everything.
She’d feel so much better with a little release of that tension. And why are you there if not to give her the release she’s looking for? She adores hunting, and you’re her favorite prey.
You know it’s dangerous, but you don’t leave when you drop her off at the pack’s farm just before sunset. She’s a good tracker, and it doesn’t take her long to catch your scent in the woods. Though you left a few decoy items around, your shirt, an old pair of shoes, etc., she quickly finds your camp. There’s just enough human left in her to give you a five-minute head start before chasing after you into the woods.
For a big, scary werewolf, she’s incredibly gentle and oh-so-sweet when she catches you, tackling you to the ground and licking you absolutely everywhere.
The pack finds the two of you in the morning. Fortunately, they’re all tactful enough not to ask why both of you are naked and exhausted.
Tav and Kerry meet properly. Or, improperly. You'll see.
CW: References to physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. Nothing graphically described or excessive, but, yeah. It's there. It's unmistakable.
Also, um, Astarion's not in this one.
Beloveds, I am holding your sweet face and asking you so so nicely - Please look after your heart and your emotional state. If you think you won't enjoy or worse, be hurt by references to physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, please pass this one by.
---
Ch 12-2 - Oil in the Water
Tav was dreaming again. She had to be. There was no other explanation, though admittedly, this dream was a weird one. Any time she'd been woken in the past, that year's version of a Bhaalist had stood on the other side of the membrane, their hyena smiles distorted by the pod's transparent window and the exuberant anticipation of what they intended to do to her this time.
The two on the other side of the pod's door didn't look happy or excited when Tav's vision cleared enough to see them better. They looked worried. The man, a dumpy, balding creature who was too tall to be a dwarf or halfling and too short to be respected as human, who wore a collared, short-sleeved shirt that had once been white and a soup-stained dark blue tie, glanced nervously from a small black rectangle that glowed on one side in his hand to the side of the pod.
The woman beside him was too tall and too slender, with the delicate features of a half-elf battling for dominance with a large, clunky human nose. She had the appearance of one performing a very specific type of person, though she wasn't well-cast in the role. She had dark, stick-straight hair that had been cut bluntly, leaving a window in its curtain for her face, which seemed to hover, a pallid, cheesy teardrop above an obviously expensive black cashmere mini dress.
She had a glowing rectangle of her own, which she stabbed repeatedly with a finger, as if she were arguing with it. Hers was pink with ugly, grinning cartoon creatures tumbling playfully through fluffy pastel cloud forms on the back of it.
Neither of them had noticed Tav was awake.
"I didn't know this thing was alive to begin with!" she said. She sniffed loudly, the sound heavy and viscous, even through the closed pod-lid.
"Of course you didn't," the man, his voice high and anxious, snapped at her. "You C-Suite dwellers have no idea what goes on down here."
"That's what we pay you little trolls for, Bilbo," she snapped back.
"Bilbo was a hobbit," the man said. He tilted his glasses down on his nose to squint at the glowing face of the rectangle, mouth agape, as if making faces at it would change what it showed him. "If I were one of the trolls, I'd be Bert."
"How about you be 'Quietly fixing whatever in the hells is wrong with this thing?' Can you be that instead, Todd?" Todd sneered at her.
"It's a living thing, Margot," Todd said. "Or at least, it's mostly living. If it were as simple as fiddling with the kernel until I figured out what the problem was, I could have saved myself the trouble of dealing with you. I could have solved it from my desk. I could have solved it from Calimshan if I wanted to." He looked her up and down, face scrunching up in obvious disgust. "Would have preferred Calimshan, honestly."
Margot flipped him the bird. At least that gesture hadn't changed. The more she watched them, the less convinced Tav was that she was dreaming. She'd had dreams where she observed the surroundings outside the pod before. She'd watched the room her pod had been stored in change from rough-hewn stone to a rat-infested basement, to brick-walled cells, cellars, blank white-painted void spaces, and finally, this odd, cold, dim space that housed rows of machines with cords and blinking lights that stretched out as far as she could see in either direction.
Todd ducked down into a squat, his knees popping like firecrackers, to pull things out of an overstuffed messenger bag at his feet. First came a flat rectangle, larger than most books, though it opened like one. His stubby fingers gripped the spine as he prodded at the inside, where the pages should have been, making a soft click each time he touched it. The same light from his smaller rectangle flared, illuminating his grizzled, pudgy chins as he tilted his head up and down to peer either over or under his glasses.
Then, cords, another smaller rectangle, and a length of multicolored ribbon were all yanked out of the bag, the ends of each connected to the book-like device and then into what Tav could only assume was the side of her pod. There was a beep and a whirring sound, and then, with a fist pump of triumph, Todd sighed, "Yes, finally!"
"You fixed it?" Margot asked, leaning over his shoulder to look at the glow inside the book.
Todd looked back at Margot over his shoulder with a condescending smile. "No, Margot," he said. "I've finally been able to connect to the system. Now I can start figuring out what in the hells is wrong with it."
Margot groaned, rolling her head back and stomping her foot. "This is going to take hours," she whined. "Are you sure you can't fix it faster?" Todd ignored her tantrum. He was completely absorbed in what he saw in the glow from his open book.
"What's this running? Red Wizard 7?" Todd muttered to himself, poking at the book some more. "Drizzt's Balls, no wonder it stopped reporting." Margot looked at another smaller square she had strapped to her wrist.
"Common, please," she said, sniffling again. "I don't understand your techy gibberish."
"You don't need to," Todd sniped back at her. "The software is old and needs to be updated. If it can be updated. The developer stopped supporting this years ago."
"Can you fix it or not?"
"I can fix the software, yeah," he said, still studying the glow from the open book. "Can't do anything about the hardware. Look at it." Following his pointing hand, Margot craned her neck around to look at the side of the pod. Tav couldn't see what she saw, but she didn't need to. The revulsion on Margot's face, amplified from what Tav expected was the woman's usual expression, told her there was something very wrong with what Tav had come to think of as her space.
"I think it's dying," Todd said, his voice almost sad. "What'll happen to her if it dies?" Tav struggled to keep her eyes closed, to keep motionless. She'd learned that it was better not to let them know she was awake. If they knew, the beating would start soon after.
"If it were up to me, I'd let her die with it," Margot said with a shudder. "Gives me the creeps." The pink rectangle in Margot's hand made a musical sound, like an annoying bird tweeting. "But it's not up to me," Margot said, looking down at the glowing rectangle. She frowned.
"I dunno," Todd said, absently stroking the side of his book-like device. "I always thought she was pretty." His eyes roamed from Tav's face down to her naked chest. Her clothes had been torn off of her so long ago she barely remembered it happening. They'd never given her replacements. Todd's eyes lingered, watching the rise and fall of Tav's breasts as she fought to keep her breathing slow and steady. "Like Sleeping Beauty."
Margot's lip curled in distaste. "Disgusting," she said, glaring at him. "It's like wanting to fuck a coma patient."
"I didn't say I wanted-"
Margot held up her hand. "Nope, don't need to hear more. I'm leaving before this HR meeting waiting to happen gets any worse. Text me when it's fixed."
With that, she stalked out of the room. Todd set the book he'd been holding down on the corner of a desk and stepped closer to the pod. Tav watched him through her eyelashes as he lay his palm flat against the pod's transparent lid and slid his glasses into his pocket. "Don't worry, darling," he said. He rubbed his thumb in a circle on the transparent lid. Tav could feel her traitorous stomach threatening to dry heave as she realized he was miming stroking her nipple. "We'll get you all fixed up."
With a pat on the pod's lid, Todd turned back to the desk and took up his magical book to begin tapping at it again.
The pod died the next morning.
Tav wasn't entirely sure how she knew it was dead. Perhaps it was simply the absence of its subtle pulsings and vibrations that she had grown so accustomed to after such a long familiarity with them. Maybe the pod had an essence of its own, the life force that flowed through all living things, and, once departed, the empty husk left behind screamed of the wrongness of death.
Whatever it was, the knowledge that she was now trapped in a carcas made Tav's skin crawl. The idea that she might remain trapped there as the pod decayed, imprisoned in a pile of stinking, rotting meat, terrified her. She needed to get out, even if she knew what awaited her was far worse.
When Todd returned, whistling with a paper cup in one hand, Tav pounded on the lid, begging to be let out. Shame nibbled at the back of her mind as she realized she hadn't begged like that in more years than she could remember. Begging the Bhaalists for anything was a fruitless endeavor. Todd, on the other hand, jumped when he saw her awake, dropping his drink and swearing. He stumbled backward, groping behind him for the door handle with eyes darting from the blackened pod to Tav, sobbing and shoving against the lid.
Guards, the type Tav had come to distinguish as "real" Bhaalists, wrenched the lid of the pod open. Rough hands dragged her out, forcing her to kneel on the floor tiles. The last thing she remembered of that cold, strange room was looking up through her tears at Todd's doughy face, slack-jawed with surprise and something that might have passed for sympathy. Something hard hit the back of her skull, and darkness washed over her.
Days she couldn't keep track of passed, leaving Tav with a grip on reality that was tenuous at best. There was a bed and needles. Once, a female doctor told her she could kill her with an air bubble if she wanted. Tav wasn't sure if it was a threat or an offer. Over it all, like a wet wool blanket, lay this stifling feeling of being weighed down—a sensation of being too drunk and unable to sober up.
Fleeting moments of consciousness punctuated the darkness of forced sleep. Her bed rolling down a hallway and being loaded into a carriage that warbled and screamed as it drove. Cold, bright daylight that made her tug at the restraints, not to escape, but to shield her eyes. A strange, swooping sensation, as if she were suddenly weightless, of climbing, and a sound like a sword slicing repeatedly through the air before the blade found its target. Then, a bang loud enough to pierce the fog over her brain and the entire cabin lurching and spinning. Acrid smoke and a sensation of falling, jolting hard enough to bounce her body against its restraints. Spinning as broken glass, bandages, weapons, and the bodies of those with her in the strange vehicle she couldn't name, tumbling, screaming, dying.
And when she thought she couldn't stomach any more confusion and pain, a voice she knew greeted her as she opened her eyes. A smarmy, oily voice, coming from a smarmy, oily face that should have been burned beyond all recognition. And yet, impossible as it was, Enver Gortash sat in a chair at her new bedside, grinning from ear to ear.
"We're going to do such wonderful things together," he said, patting her hand.
Tav screamed.
Waking up in strange beds and surroundings was becoming a habit. Tav's head throbbed, warning her that she wasn't going to like what would happen if she lifted it off the pillow. This wasn't a sick bed, as so many of the others had been lately. This was just a bed, soft and warm, with the incredibly comfortable mattresses that seemed so common in this new century. There was a pitcher with a cup for water on the bedside table. The room itself was comfortably dim, though she could see daylight battling the drawn curtains.
Outside her door, she could hear someone shuffling around, trying to be quiet as they set crockery and glass on stone. That someone, a man, gave a soft, huffing laugh and then hissed and swore, as if pain was reasserting itself.
It wasn't until she spotted the remains of the dress she'd been wearing, still lying in a wadded-up ball on the floor where she'd thrown it the night before, that her memories started to sharpen and focus. They washed over her in rapid succession. Being pulled out of bed and stripped of the flimsy, shift-like gown she'd been dressed in. A rude nurse, cursing at her as she tried to clean a wound. A drow with soft, sad eyes, announcing that Gortash, though they called him "Gordon," was coming a second before the door burst open and he took her into his arms. There was no care or tenderness in that touch as he told the others to leave. As he shoved her down with rude and roaming hands that prodded at her wounds and forced access to her body and her soul.
There was no cliff's edge in this simple beige room that was almost devoid of personality, but she could feel its insane, intrusive pull just the same. She was no stranger to that feeling. It came and went, mocking her pain in one instant and gently cooing at her to give in to her agony the next. It called her foolish to keep fighting for a life that would only ever be grinning, ghoulish faces, pain, and suffering. There had been times, many of them, in fact, where it had made a great deal of sense, and all that stopped her was the lack of any implement with which to do the deed.
But she had survived. Through years of beatings and boredom, captivity, mind games, bouts of madness, and brutal, shrieking clarity, through false hope and battles and every kind of torment imaginable, Tav had survived.
And now, she sat in a sea of bedsheets and blankets, in a borrowed shirt and short pants that were too big for her, debating about whether or not she had anything left in her to go out and properly meet her husband's boyfriend.
Before tucking her into bed the night before, Astarion had told her some about the man who had battered down the doors to Gortash's office, shouting and swearing violence on anyone who got in his way. She'd caught glimpses of him fighting through the crowd with, if not skill, boundless enthusiasm. She'd seen his distant, shell-shocked eyes staring out the window of the vehicle that was taking them to Kerry's home in Waterdeep. She'd heard him, first sobbing, then, later, moaning along with Astarion, ripping open new holes in a heart she had thought had been so overtaken by scar tissue so long ago that there were no new places left to hurt.
"The show must go on," she said, briskly wiping the tears from her eyes. It was an ancient mantra she'd learned during her brief stint at Fochlucan, but there was still some comfort to be found in its cliche, no matter how worn and frayed it had become over the years. She could still perform. She could still smile, sing, and pretend everything was all right. And if she sang and pretended hard enough, maybe, eventually, everything would be all right.
Tav slipped out of bed, flexing her toes in the deep pile of a thick rug beneath her feet. All was quiet again onthe other side of the door as she leaned her ear to it to listen. Maybe Kerry had gone back to bed. "Gods know he didn't get any sleep last night," the angry, cruel part of her brain supplied. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to force the rage to the back of her mind. With a deep breath that was just steady enough to be convincing, Tav turned the doorknob as silently as she could and opened the door.
Of all the things Tav expected to see when she emerged from the bedroom where she had slept, a six-foot-tall naked tiefling man was not on her mental list of possibilities.
A surprised squeak jumped out of her throat, followed quickly by an “Oh gods!” as she held a hand up to shield her eyes. It didn’t work. Try as she might to give this strange man his privacy, preserve some of his modesty, even if he wasn’t making an effort to do so himself, she couldn’t help peeking at him. The whispered shuffle of his bare feet on the floor told her he had turned to face her.
“Don’t look,” she thought. “Look at his face or the ceiling or out the wind-… oh gods.” This man, Kerry, as Astarion had called him, was somehow more naked from the front than he was from the back. His head was cocked to one side, swept-back horns elongating the line of his neck and jaw, coaxing the eye downward. Not that Tav needed much coaxing. Her eyes were magnetically drawn to the rolling hills and valleys of muscle, outlined by a teifling’s trademark bumps and ridges beneath the skin.
Forcing her gaze up, decidedly, firmly up, insistently, intentionally nowhere else but up, Tav met his eyes. They were an intense, smoldering aqua of a saturated, decisive hue that made her jealous. Her own eyes were the muted, non-committal gray-green of dying lichen on tree bark. She had always wished they were more vibrant.
He looked tired, though the purple smudges beneath his eyes didn't detract. They hinted at the older man he was becoming - one who had smile lines and threads of pale silver whispering through the waterfall of his hair. That hair would be darker, but still flashing with honey-blond highlights when the sun filtered in through the windows of some future classroom. He would have a legion of students hanging on his every word.
Tav was no prude. Far from it. Though Astarion, and later, their friend and eventual lover, Halsin, had taught her ways of loving that she'd never dreamed of, she didn't just stumble into their arms like a fresh and innocent newborn foal. Though they didn't compare, she'd had lovers before Astarion and Halsin entered her life. And while it was a massive understatement to say it had been some time since she'd last seen an attractive naked man, it still didn't account for the maiden-like flush she could feel creeping up her chest and neck as Kerry, every ruddy, supple, firm, and sculpted inch of him, stared her down.
Kerry shifted his stance, his long, thick tail swishing lazily behind him. He made no attempt at hiding the scowl on his face. Made no motion to soften his expression into something comforting. The hostility that creased his brow was as naked as he was.
"So you're real," he said, flat and heavy.
"Real," Tav agreed. "You can pinch me, if you'd like." No change. Not even the ghostly hint of a restrained smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"You're real, and you're in my house. I'm babysitting my partner's dead wife." Kerry lifted his mug to his lips, swore under his breath when he found it empty. The small mercy of his turning away from a full-frontal view and stomping into the kitchen didn't last long. He filled the space the discomfort of his nudity had left by banging the coffee pot and his mug around as he refilled it and got out a second mug.
"Not dead, actually," Tav said as she inched closer. She felt as if she were approaching an angry dog, flinching when he all but threw the mug down on the island of stone countertop in front of her with a clatter. "Just, um, I don't know. Missing? Captive?" Her hands twisted together as she watched him, watching her.
The furrow of Kerry's brow deepened.
"I'm sorry," she said, though she wasn't sure why.
"Mmm, yeah," Kerry said around a mouthful of coffee. "You're sorry. Astartion's sorry. Everybody's sorry."
He snatched a half-full bottle off the counter behind him and poured a healthy dollop of brown liquor into his cup. "Do you have any idea how fucked this is? This is so… it's beyond fucked up!" Kerry knocked back an over-large swallow before tipping another splash of alcohol into the cup.
"Things were just starting to like, even out, you know?" Kerry gestured with the bottle as he spoke. "I mean, you know Astarion. He's always got some kind of fresh hell following him, but, like, our relationship was just getting to a good place." Tav watched the glitter of the overhead lights dance across the familiar embossed mermaid logo as Kerry abandoned his mug to drink directly from the bottle. "And then you…" He trailed off.
Tav crossed her arms over the bright swirl of rainbow colors and the words "#WD PRIDE" printed across the chest of the soft shirt she'd been given to wear.
"Well, I'm sorry for complicating your relationship with my husband," she said, annoyance creeping into her voice. Kerry laughed, and it was the sound of a man dangling at the end of his bullshit tolerance.
"Complicated?" he asked. "A new job on the other side of the country when your partner can't relocate is complicated. An unsupportive family that refuses to butt out of your relationship is complicated. An accident leaving your partner in a vegetative state is complicated. You, Tav, are a fucking nightmare!"
With each word, Kerry stepped closer until he was barely a foot away. "You're like a nuclear bomb dropped in the middle of my life," he said with an unsettling calm.
"I don't know what that means," Tav said, stretching up to her full five feet, two inches in height, "but if your life is in shambles right now, I know it's not my fault. I only just got here. Whatever was wrong started long, long before last night. Probably sometime in childhood."
Vicious Mockery had never been a favorite spell. Tav only used it sparingly. She didn't like how she felt about herself and the things she said after she cast it, even if the victim had deserved it. But gods, there was no denying that she felt the force of Oghma's inspiration strongest when she let loose on some poor bastard with especially cutting barbs.
The god's magic fizzed through her veins, sharpening her thoughts, crackling at her fingertips, and at the ends of her hair as she looked around. She was turning in a small circle, surveying what looked like a small fortune in furniture and other goods she couldn't identify. "So let me guess…" Tav said as she ran her hand along the polished stone of the countertop. "Daddy's money could buy you anything you wanted, except his affection, eh?" Tav said a little prayer for the strength to pull off the performance as she dropped her eyes to Kerry's feet and dragged them slowly up his long, lean body. "Is that why you went after a married, older man?"
"My dad died when I was a kid," Kerry said, mimicking her stance with his arms across his chest.
"Ohh, right temple, wrong chapel," Tav cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Sorry."
"If you're done taking cheap shots at me," he said. "I'll tell you what really happened. It started when we opened your apartment. When he read your journal." The sneer with which he said it didn't leave his lips as he took a smaller, more controlled sip of his coffee and whisky.
Tav rolled her eyes theatrically. "Yes, clearly, your boyfriend's, what did you call me, his 'dead wife's' journal was the cause of all the problems in your relationship. It couldn't have anything to do with whatever's wrong with you that made you think meeting me properly, completely naked, was a good idea."
Kerry leaned down closer, moving deeper into her space. "Kissing distance," Tav's mind unhelpfully supplied, and for a moment, she considered it. It was one way to shut him up, break his concentration. The stunned look on his face when she broke the fantasy kiss surfaced in her mind's eye, and she had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep the mad giggle that wanted to break free locked securely behind her lips.
"I don't know what you did to fuck him up," Kerry continued, "but finding that journal, remembering you…" His lower lip found its way between the sharp points of his teeth when he looked away. Tav watched his throat bob, working around the emotion battling with his anger. He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't speak again, but he did. "It broke something in him," Kerry said. "And you have no idea how hard it's been trying to keep him, keep us, together. You left him a wreck. And when we found your journal, you wrecked him again."
Tav pulled back, blinking hard, rapidly. She could feel Ohgma's presence retreating, could feel the vitriol leeching from her, her counterattack weakening. "Who's taking cheap shots now?" She asked, her voice just above a whisper.
Kerry's face shifted. The set of his mouth, a thin, hard line, softened by a millimeter.
"Do you think I wanted this?" Tav asked quietly. Any urge to kiss him vanished like a whisp of smoke in the gale force of her rising anger. "Do you think I wanted to hurt him? Or you, a stranger who, it has to be said, is not making a great first impression right now. Do you think I wanted this?" She paused, waving a hand around to encompass far more than just Kerry's apartment.
"What you wanted doesn't…"
"NO!" Tav shouted. "It does matter! I didn't want any of this! I didn't want my home destroyed! I didn't want my husband to think I died! I didn't want to be kept prisoner and tortured for centuries! I didn't want those crazy murder fucks or - or Gortash to do…-" Tav's breath lodged in her throat, as if the words were trying to suffocate her. "…- things," she spat out at last, "to me." It sounded weak to her ears. Pathetic. Another fight in a thousand years of fights that she couldn't win. Couldn't stop, no matter how hard she fought.
When Tav looked up at him again, Kerry had backed off around the corner of the island. He wasn't quite cowering, but all of his territorial guard dog bravado had bled away.
"I'm the asshole, aren't I?" he asked cautiously, studying her. Standing across from him, foundering in his enormous t-shirt and shorts, Tav looked small. Fragile. She put up a good front, but he could see how her lip trembled, how she gripped the waterfall edge of the quartz countertop as if she'd collapse without its support. As if whatever energy had fueled her in their argument had been shut off at the breaker.
"Yeah," he said after a moment, "I'm the asshole. It's not an excuse, but I-I didn't know. The people who took you, or Gord - Gortash… -" Kerry stalled out, both wanting to know and not wanting to ask. "Did they… ?"
Tav nodded, not looking at him.
"I'm sorry," he said, adding quickly, "I'm sorry - you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
She shook her head. "It's fine," she said. "Or at least, it will be fine. After I wash Gortash's greasy fingerprints off me and eat approximately twice my body weight in fryhards, it will be fine." She wiped savagely at her eyes before turning a smile on Kerry that was trying hard to be brave.
"Tacos," he said. "We call them 'tacos,' now. And they make a lot of things better." Tav's smile turned genuinely mischievous.
"So does more Mermaid Whisky," she said.
___
As always, thank you for reading! The goal is to wrap this story up this year, so expect more frequent uploads. See you in Chapter 13!
Nav Links: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Master List
