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dnd_drow

Dataset card Data Studio Files
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"You said to come and see you at the forge whenever I need."
"So I did. And what do you need?"
"To come and see you."
A gentle crease over Dammon’s forehead.
Rolan wished Dammon would say something. He’d thought of so many things to reply to on his way over here.
Not that any of them would do him any good. None were in reaching distance, now.
Dammon opened the door wider, an unspoken invitation in. Those loose locks of his hair. Reaching distance.
"What do you need, Rolan?"
Such simple words. Five of them; the span of a hand. What do you need, Rolan?
Rolan had no idea. That’s why he’d come.
Instead, he cleared his throat. "I’d like my dirk back."
Dammon laughed.
No, not laughed; he did that huff again. The same as he had at the Grove. The same as Rolan had felt through their shoulders.
"I was wondering when you’d come for that."
"You’ve had it all this time?"
"Who else?" Dammon smiled humourlessly. "And you can take the tone of accusation out of your voice; I didn’t steal it."
"Taking objects out of another’s possession without prior consent must have a more ameliorative meaning in Baldur’s Gate."
"Oh, I don’t deny taking it." Dammon’s over-the-shoulder smile was real this time. "Stealing, however, implies that I wasn’t going to give it back."
"And were you?"
Dammon was facing the wall, digging about in a cabinet he certainly hadn’t had on the road with him. When he turned, it was with a twinkle in his eye.
The forge was a long, low building. Even with the furnaces tamped down for the night, the heat was palpable.
"And when would that be?"
In front of Rolan, a wooden flight of stairs led upward.
"When you asked for it."
"And how did you know I’d ask for it?"
That same, easy smile on Dammon’s lips. Slung so low and touchable. "I didn’t."
"That's quite a gamble," said Rolan, wetting his lips, "to risk being called a thief."
Dammon was closer, now. "I didn’t know you’d ask. I didn't think you'd come here," he replied, jaw close enough to touch. A breath away. "But I did hope."
He stopped, close enough for Rolan’s knuckles to brush. An arm’s width away.
"What do you need, Rolan?"
Rolan, mouth dry, answered truthfully. "I don’t... know."
Dammon’s mouth quirked, a muscle twitching in his jaw. That square, square jaw.
"I think I might."
There was the sound of something metallic. Something hitting wood. The dirk, Rolan registered vaguely. Dammon has it. Took it to stop me killing myself.
Not that Rolan would have. Of course.
And Dammon. Dammon himself, standing in front of Rolan and pushing his hair behind his ear.
He’d had this chance before. He might not again.
Rolan drew—pulled, pressed—Dammon’s hips to his. Those thighs. Those huge, warm shoulders. Dammon. Dammon, all to himself.
With Dammon’s mouth to his, Rolan tried to press him to the wall. To kiss him senseless. To have him so totally here, so totally close. Dammon.
"Oh, my darling," Dammon said, pulling his mouth away. Leaning the rest of his weight into Rolan. "That isn’t how this is going to go."
Instead, those warm, wide, capable hands found their way under Rolan’s hips. Lifting him up and pressing him against the wall.
Against the wall, with nowhere to go.
And here was Dammon. Warm and gentle and good.
Here were those feelings. Those hot, unwelcome feelings that had poured into him when Dammon had been apprenticed, having the wherewithal to be placed outside Rolan’s garret. Squarely in Rolan’s view. Letting him watch those arms reach, that waist twist, those thighs strain.
Rolan felt Dammon smile as his hips began to twitch.
Dammon pulled away and Rolan chased him. Chased those lips, that skin.
Dammon pressed their foreheads together and whispered, "Yes?"
To Rolan’s mortification, both his feet were off the floor.
Even worse, his heels were behind Dammon’s legs. Almost touching.
He opened his mouth to say something. To say yes; absolutely; what took you so long?
Instead, he pressed his heels together and kissed Dammon as deeply as he could.
His shoulder blades met the brick wall.  Dammon took him so well. Held him and pushed him kissed him, just like he needed. Just like he needed to be held and pushed and kissed.
"Rolan," said Dammon breathlessly, pulling them apart again. "I need a yes. I need a yes from you. Or a no, if that's what's you want."
Rolan gasped; "Yes. Absolutely. What took you so long?"
Rolan had never thought of that word before, in all its meaning. This was it. A beam. A break of sunlight across the horizon. The first gasp of dawn.
In the split seconds that he saw it, before he was being kissed again, Rolan knew this was what he was put on the planet to see.
His hips were so snug against Dammon’s. He was so snug against Dammon. Those strong arms around him; that chiselled face in his palms. In his palms. Rolan’s! Dammon’s lovely face in Rolan’s hands.
He was so wrapped up in them—the feeling of them together—than he barely realised when they started to move.
"What?" he murmured, half alarmed as the wall fell away. "Dammon?"
"I mean," Dammon gasped, grinning again. "We could stay down here, but I thought we might be more comfortable upstairs."
Upstairs. Upstairs! Upstairs, with Dammon.
"Oh, Gods," Rolan replied. What had happened to his voice? It was all gravel. "Oh gods, please take me upstairs."
Dammon’s quarters above the shop were clean and airy but—Gods—they were not tidy. The floor was littered with debris and detritus from life on the road. Some waxed waterproofing material was half folded in a heap by the top of the stairs alongside a book on a chair. There were candlesticks; some empty and some coated so heavily in melted wax they looked unsalvageable. Ropes made for lashing belongings to the caravan. Boxes, too. The heavy wooden crate-types they’d had to load on and off of various conveyances all those weeks on the road.
They’d nailed them shut back in Elturel.
He was in Dammon’s room. The little place that Dammon had carved out for himself; to be himself. The first place he’d had of his own since the Fall.
Rolan had a room, too. He’d chosen to stay in his student quarters after Lorroakan. There was nothing of the wizard’s he wanted, and the idea of sleeping in that same bed made Rolan feel slightly ill.
He’d left it for Cal and Lia to fight over. Regardless of its provenance, the room itself was too grand to waste. It was so much better than anything he’d be able to provide for them.
Dammon's hand unclasped from Rolan’s wrist and cupped his jaw. Rolan exhaled, let himself be kissed; allowing himself the luxury of not thinking. Of not having to think. Dammon was here: that was all he needed.
That was all he needed to know.
The kiss deepened, and Rolan felt himself being walked backwards. He was still wrapped in Dammon’s arms; one rubbing the base of his tail and one on his face, gently making its way into his hair. Rolan leant into it, enjoying those rough callouses over the skin of his cheekbone. On his scalp. Tugging the tie in his hair loose.
The back of Rolan’s knees hit something hard, but Dammon didn’t stop pushing. They fell backwards onto Dammon’s bed, still kissing. Still dressed.
Rolan pressed his heels into Dammon’s lower back and rocked his hips up. He did it again, trying to find friction. Trying to find bite. He only stopped when Dammon lifted his head to say—softly, but genuinely—"ow."
"What?" Rolan sat sharply, leaning on his elbows. "What is it?"
Dammon smiled and leant down to kiss him again. He whispered, "you still have your boots on."
Boots? Rolan never wore boots indoors. Although—
Dammon. Seeing Dammon. Seeing Dammon after all this time, and wanting to...
"Oh, Gods." Rolan let himself fall back with a thud. "I don’t... Let me—"
"Let me," said Dammon, with another kiss.
Then he pulled Rolan’s leg up, flattening Rolan to the bed. He couldn’t move if he’d wanted to (and Gods, he didn’t want to).
"You look good  like this," said Dammon, briefly pressing his lips to Rolan’s ankle. "In my bed."
Rolan tried to speak, but whatever he’d been going to say got lost as Dammon hoisted up his other leg, keeping him pinned. His robe lifted, settling in the middle of his thighs. A thick jolt of pleasure zagged to his cock, twitching.
He bit his lip, not wanting to embarrass himself.
Dammon set his legs down and knelt on the bed, lifting off his tunic. It was only a light one he must have thrown on to keep him cool against the heat of the forge. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath it.
Rolan allowed himself to look, even as Dammon’s big hands repositioned him slightly so his head was on the pillow.
Dammon’s chest was ridged and corded just like his own, but that’s where any similarity stopped. Dammon was broad, his skin a warm and dark amber. Rolan wasn’t anything like this; nothing like Dammon, or any of the other lovers he must have taken to bed.
He reached up and traced the line of Dammon’s collarbone, glad he was still fully clothed.
Dammon’s eyes were still on him. That melting gaze. When Rolan reached the centre of his chest, Dammon took his hand and kissed it. He kissed Rolan’s closed fingers first, as if he were a storybook knight. Then he turned Rolan’s hand and kissed his palm, the pulse-point of his wrist.
Rolan felt as if he had a sword through his chest. Every movement Dammon made, every touch of his skin, every kiss and gaze pulled at a hot wire under Rolan's skin. He couldn’t move. He could barely breathe.
Dammon’s cool hand came to his forehead, stroking away a tendril of hair. Then he leant forward and kissed Rolan right there, between the eyes. The place Dammon had touched at the Last Light. That kiss, landed at last.
Rolan felt Dammon pull his legs up to lie beside him on the bed. The bed wasn’t large: enough room for one, or perhaps one and a half. Enough room for two, if they lay close.
Rolan closed his eyes and let himself feel Dammon’s breath on his face. Flutter through his eyelashes and press against his lips. He’d never been this close to anyone else. Never kissed this much by anyone else. Made to feel...
Dammon kissed him again, on the tip of his nose. Then there were fingers under his chin, lifting him to look at Dammon full in the face.
Rolan’s cheeks were hot. His body was throbbing.
Dammon’s lips met his; gentle and all the more meaningful for it. This didn’t feel like lust. Or at least, not something driven by lust.
The force behind it was... something else.
As Rolan allowed the kiss to deepen, he felt Dammon’s fingers under his robe. Trace his knee and up his thigh. Slowly, giving him every opportunity to stop.
His breathing shorted; shortened. It came in quick gasps, against Dammon’s mouth. Dammon’s fingertips lingered just before the crease of his leg, ghosting idle circles.
"I want you, Rolan," Dammon whispered. "I want you, like this. Is that alright?"
Rolan couldn’t find the air to speak. Dammon’s fingers were brushing up against him sending sparks to his core. Robbing him of any coherent thought. Any thought at all.
The hand stilled. "Rolan?"