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Ghost’s smile grows to the impossibly wide grin Rin loves so much; Ghost smiles without abandon. "Then, it’s a good thing I’m an excellent swimmer," he answers confidently. |
Rin thinks that’s better than he could ever ask for. |
The tree-shadows dancing on his tent walls make for a rather stark change from the darkness beneath the rafters in his tower. |
The rock prodding at his back from beneath his bedroll is a much less welcome one. |
Gale shifts in place, struggling to get comfortable. He’d retired to his bedroll early, but sleep could not find him while the revelries of the tieflings and his traveling companions. Now, even with the fire banked to embers and the noise dimmed to cricketsong and the rush of the wind, it proves just as elusive. |
The Orb. The tadpole. The silence where once a goddess had dwelt. |
To someone living a less extraordinary life, the Nautiloid would have been the worst trial they’d ever endured. To him, it was no more than the latest chapter in the series of unmitigated disasters that his life has become. |
At least its aftermath, once the threat of ceremorphosis had become more lurking shadow than imminent doom, has proven more pleasant than his solitude. |
He almost scoffs aloud for thinking it. By the Weave, he’s a madman for entertaining such ideas, but they’ve mired themselves in his mind nonetheless. He’d forgotten how wide the world felt beyond the confines of the walls he’d been staring at for nigh on a year. |
It's less than pleasant, without the creature comforts of home, with the pressing need to hunt down magic items to stave off his condition. At least now, he has company. The relief of ending his solitude is staggering. They're an odd band, to be certain, and not all of them get along, but he's so grateful for their pre... |
And then there’s the matter of the drow. |
Elendar is like no one he’s ever met. For all he’s read of drow, he’d never expected to meet one - much less one who turned his back on the goddess who rules his people utterly. He is an intellectual curiosity, of course, but more than that...he cares for him. He's been his staunchest ally in finding the artifacts he n... |
Or, given the way he'd pictured their lips pressed together when they'd stood entangled in the Weave, perhaps he wants to be more as much as Gale has come to. |
Perhaps it's madness to care for a drow. Perhaps he's merely lonely and is throwing himself into the arms of the man who's been kindest to him since the ordeal of the Nautiloid. Perhaps he's a fool for caring so much for him when they’ve not even known one another a month. |
But by the hells, he was beautiful tonight. |
The marks of Selûne around crimson eyes. The white hair left unbound, for once, tumbling down his back, curling around his serene face. The hint of musculature, belied by his otherwise androgynous build, only visible beneath the tunic he wears around camp. |
What would he look like without it? |
His breath catches at the thought. It's one he ought to steer his mind from, to be certain. Still, it lingers - the hint of his collarbones showing through the undone laces of his tunic, the sight of his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves, the scarred hands that are so rarely idle. Would the rest of his body be sim... |
At first, the desire that pools warm in his mind could be mistaken for his own. |
It’s no more than a natural extension of his thoughts - the fluttering of the heart, the rush of the pulse. All the textbook signs of arousal. |
Textbook is too clinical a way to think of it, perhaps, especially given the variety of more engaging material he’s read on the subject, but it’s a distance that’s been required of him since the Orb. Too often, it’s been volatile, energy on the brink of spilling over. He's avoided even his erotic novels on such occas... |
Perhaps naming it as such merely makes his circumstances less depressing. |
Either way, he's gotten damned good at it, the way he is with all things he sets his mind to. He lays back, lets his fingers curl and uncurl against the bedroll. As the tension ebbs, he counts his breaths until they come deep and slow, as one in slumber. |
He closes his eyes and waits for the heat tingling at his skin to subside. |
When he opens them, the body he sees is not his own. |
Gray skin. Hard muscle he’d never imagined could tone such a slender frame. A strand of white hair cascading loose across his field of view. Curved hips all but begging for a hand to grasp them. A gentle hand - the hand of a healer, scarred like that of a warrior, wrapped around a dusky cock jutting from between muscle... |
He blinks, and he’s back to himself, just as he was - besides the sudden throb of his cock in his smallclothes. |
The guilt strikes an instant later, all but throttling the want from his body. His face flushes hot. He buries his head in his hands, muffling a groan against his palms. "Weave preserve me," he breathes to no one in particular. |
It’s wrong . It was not a sight granted to him. It’s not his place to enjoy it, this brief entanglement of their parasites, the tantalizing phantasm of a moment that is not his to partake in. Elendar has not offered to share himself with him. |
Given the things he’d said at the party, perhaps he would have, if Gale was braver. |
His mind turns to how he’d looked scant hours before, silvered in the moonlight, eyes like embers in the gloom. The shine of eyes like his has heralded the death of many a delver into the world beneath. For any sane man, that crimson glow would spark terror and trepidation. |
In whatever madness has seized him, it only makes him want Elendar more. |
With a thrill that runs electric down his spine, he realizes that half the desire he feels is not his own. |
The parasite in his brain is humming with warmth, with want. An open channel yawns between his mind and Elendar’s. Through it slips arousal, aching and pulse-rushing and hot , so much it makes him gasp. |
As his thoughts have lingered on Elendar, it seems their tadpoles have ensured Elendar's linger on him. |
There aren’t words, but he can sense that he knows he’s there, feeling what he feels, knowing what he knows. There's a hint of uncertainty - he hadn't expected to share that moment with him - but it's fading fast. He can feel the heat that blooms in its place. |
He can also feel, even more keenly, that Elendar has no desire to sever the thread between them. |
Still, he hesitates, biting his lip. Any indulgence in self-gratification had been a risk, with the Orb nestled behind his own heartbeat, before he knew how to feel his way around triggering it. Once he'd learned, he'd been so mired in the habit of avoiding his own wants that he'd merely continued on that way. It had b... |
Now, he's feeling rather more than despair and loneliness. |
He focuses on bringing the tempo of his breathing to heel, keeping his eyes resolutely open this time. Even though he could safely please himself, with only his own touch to contend with and not another's - and gods, he hasn't reached his completion in so long. Even though the arousal throbbing through his veins is n... |
That only worsens the guilt gnawing at him. |
If Elendar had wanted a night with him, he'd have asked in no uncertain terms. If Gale had been worthy of it, there would never have been an Orb to worry about in the first place. Whatever pleasures the cleric is indulging himself in, scant yards away in his own tent, they are not meant for him. It's better if he lets ... |
There’s a warmth in his mind, a tug, like an eager hand leading him to bed. An invitation. |
Oh, hells, he’s doomed. |
The heat in the tent’s confines is suddenly too much to bear. With unseemly haste, he strips off the velvet tunic he sleeps in, not even bothering to fold it. His trousers are the next to go, taken alongside his smallclothes down to his mid-thighs. His skin prickles at the touch of cloying air and heated thoughts. |
A fantasy not his own steals into his mind as he takes himself in hand - gentle hands at his waist, a mouth at his collarbone, his own palms gliding down a scarred back as he draws his lover closer. |
It didn't start out as his fantasy, but it most certainly is now. |
Another comes on its heels, in a blur of half-felt touches. The weight of him in Gale's lap, the brush of their cocks together as their lips lock. It's not quite something seen, but he glances downward on instinct, seeking the contrast of gray skin on pale. |
Already, his own cock is throbbing in his hand, the head leaking, slick with pent-up need. When he blinks, he’s gazing through unfamiliar eyes at a dusk-gray cock, no less aroused than his own. The image lasts for a split second, but it’s enough to make him whine. |
What he wouldn’t give to take Elendar's arousal into his mouth. |
He hasn’t knelt to pleasure a man in so long that he’s not certain he’d be any good, but this is his fantasy. And in his fantasy, he has Elendar moaning uncontrollably, shaking on the bedroll beneath him as he takes him to the hilt, lips around the base of his cock, the taste of him flooding his senses. He needs a coc... |
He slips two fingers into his mouth, feeling the slickness of his lips, sucking at them as he would a cock. It's not nearly enough. Nothing quite compares to the real thing. |
He closes his eyes and moans, softly, around his own fingers. He lets them slide between his lips, in and out, imagines desperately that they're Elendar's cock instead, his tongue tracing the underside, his eyes locked with ruby ones as he takes him into his throat. |
A shudder of pleasure runs along their bond. Gods, he’d liked that. |
In return comes something between an image and an idea. |
Graceful hips rolling atop him. Silken heat around his cock. Strong thighs tensing with effort as Elendar rises and falls atop him. A gray shaft dripping onto his abdomen. Breath catching on pitched little moans. His own hands squeezing a trim waist. |
His hand tightens on his cock instead. |
To his mortification, the fingers in his mouth don't muffle his moan. |
He freezes, for a moment, hand on his rigid cock, pulse racing like it's keeping time with a war-drum. He can feel himself throb beneath his fingertips. Embarrassment blooms crimson across his face, but nothing stirs beyond the walls granting him some canvas-thin veneer of privacy. |
A vision flickers through his head, accompanied by a rush of desire - his own cock, jutting from a scarred fist, the warmth of a body beside his own, sighing breath against his neck. He can't help but stroke himself in time with the fantasy. |
His fingers slip from his mouth and find one of his nipples instead, peaked despite the cloying heat of the tent. He teases it to further hardness. He’s more sensitive than he can remember being. For a heartbeat, he dares to want Elendar’s mouth at his chest, lips and tongue hot against-- |
Flustered, frenetic want tugs at their bond. The tadpole in his mind squirms, a sickly sensation that almost snaps him out of his desire. Elendar’s presence, settled behind his temples, keeps him rooted there. Wanton, almost bashful in his needs. In flashes of consciousness, he feels how fragile this moment is, how lit... |
There’s a shadow beneath the surface, darker memories of intimacy - or some crude mockery of it. Gale leaves them be. |
They’re of little matter, when Elendar himself is ignoring them in favor of the flashfire lust of their bond. |
He's welcoming this, the wanting. Gale can't help but throw himself upon it. |
A thought strikes him, scorches along his connection until it meets Elendar's mind as well. He's never actually seen the drow from behind without the hindrance of bulky armor or a loose skirt. The latter reveals the tempting swell of curved hips, but no more. |
He can't remember the last time he wanted to see someone fully nude so badly. |
He knows Elendar can feel that want and - gods, he reciprocates it, his yearning just as hot as Gale's own. For a single, wild moment he considers letting him see through his eyes. |
The thought of disappointing him weighs heavy in his heart, sour on his tongue. Better to let him dream up whatever sort of body he'd rather slake his lusts with. |
The pang of wistful sadness that tugs at his heart goes forgotten when the want coming along the bond surges, like a fire leaping when doused in oil. He almost gasps aloud. |
However Elendar has begun to touch himself, it's driving both of them mad. |
Is he playing with his nipples, teasing them to hardness on his heaving chest? Is he fucking himself on his fingers, slicking them in his mouth before curling them within himself, trembling whenever he strikes his spot? Has he simply found a sensitive place on his cock? By the Weave, if he could, he'd be atop him or be... |
He can practically feel Elendar open his legs for him. |
He damns the world, that he can't be there kneeling on the same bedroll, feeling muscled thighs wrap around his waist, sheathing his cock in a lover's heat, his own moans mingling with Elendar's-- |
Does he moan, when he's pleasured? Does he endure it in silence, as he endures so much - stoic and taut-jawed and quiet? Does he cry out, or beg, or gasp on every thrust into his willing body? |
A thought flits into his mind, not his own - the sensation of a lip bitten raw to hold back the needy little moans building up in his throat. |
Gale hasn't heard those sounds properly, merely felt the echo of them held in his own mouth, but he knows they'd unmake him. He needs to hear Elendar's pleasure-sounds like he needs air. |
Would it be swiftest to elicit them by taking him from behind, or kneeling between his legs, or laying beneath him and letting himself be ridden? |
He lets each fantasy spill across the bond, like water poured into an overflowing decanter. |
The first - Elendar bent over a desk, ass raised, Gale's cock filling him from behind with each snap of his hips, his hand on the dripping shaft between his legs, the pace fast enough to have the drow struggling to keep his pose. |
The second - a slow rhythm, the tightening of strong legs draped about his waist, the sting of nails at his back, the sight of Elendar laid out on a soft bed, the feel of his body rocking up against each deep thrust. |
The third - himself pinned beneath Elendar, hands braced on thighs flexing with the effort of rising and falling on his shaft, his own pleasure an afterthought compared to that of the man moaning on his cock. |
In response comes a wave of heart-pounding need , wanton, hitting him like the storm surges that break over the docks in Waterdeep. There's shyness mingled with Elendar's need to be filled, trepidation at sharing something so new with him, excitement at the prospect of taking him. They are of one mind - Elendar, writh... |
With a flickering of the arcane, like a harpist's fingers plucking the Weave, the Orb dances with shimmering color. |
For a moment, panic jolts him from his lust-daze, but it passes as feels along the threads of Weave in his chest. They're still as stable as they always are - not very, of late, but no closer to detonation than they were when the sun slipped below the horizon. |
Along the bond comes concern he can almost taste. |
In reply, he grants Elendar the sight of him, in brief - the glow of the Orb, the colors of an aurora rippling beneath his breast. Sending the shortest glimpse of his body is enough to have him blushing scarlet. It's been so long since he shared his physical form with another. There's an undefinable fear there - that s... |
The only thing that comes back to him is care for him, and want, so keen it makes his heart ache, and the knowledge of a door that stands open - a way out. An end to their moment of shared consciousness, should he wish it. |
Elendar, mind running wild with unabated desire, has turned his back on it. |
It would be easy to stop. To deny himself, as he's been doing for a year. To move on, forget this ever happened, look into Elendar's eyes as though he hadn't heard what happens behind them, watch his healer's hands do their work and pretend he'd never seen them wrapped around his cock. |
Denial is a companion he's taken far too often. A far more tempting one is lying mere paces away, wanting him, opening his mind and his legs for him. |
He wants to stay. That makes itself known to Elendar in the imagined sound of a door falling shut, letting them linger in the haven of their entangled minds. He lets his knowledge of the Orb's relative stability seep into Elendar's consciousness, feels it slacken with relief in response. |
The world is unfair, and colder than the cruelest winters. For now, it's shuttered away beyond hazy, hearth-warm, perfect redamancy. A want returned in full. |
He hardly has the wherewithal to take his discarded robe from earlier and bundle it over his chest, muffling the light of the Orb. It would hardly do to have it draw concerned attention from the others. The rippling colors bleed out around the edges, beneath his fingers. His other hand encircles his cock once more. His... |
He and Elendar imagine their lips colliding at the same moment. |
In his mind, the kiss is hot, and deep, and he has never had reason to doubt his skill at it. Elendar's lips are soft and pliant, his tongue against Gale's own, his hard body pressed warm to his. Hands tangle in his hair - his desire, or Elendar's, or both? He touches Elendar everywhere he can reach, shapes his palms t... |
Years ago, he’d read a tome explaining how the moon glows - a light not its own, borrowed from the sun and reflected back towards the world below. Somehow, Elendar’s imagined touch reminds him of that fragment of celestial knowledge. Perhaps it’s the dark star at his brow, or the wheel of silvery ones that constitutes ... |
Perhaps it’s because he will only know Elendar’s touch as the moon knows that of its own light - a reflection, an echo, immaterial and intangible. |
Just as he cannot gaze directly upon the sun, the feel of Elendar’s skin on his own might send him into ashes. |
The mere imagining of it has him arching into his own touch, into the touch he wishes so desperately could be there instead. He’s so close already, feeling himself hurtle towards a precipice he hasn’t neared in far too long. |
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