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dnd_drow

Dataset card Data Studio Files
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"What?" What had Dammon just asked? Is this alright?
Couldn’t he see how alright it was?
"Do you want this, too?"
"I—" Rolan’s breath was coming in fits and starts. Do you want this, too? Gods, he wanted. He wanted Dammon. He wanted Dammon; to be had by Dammon and marked by him and made into his.
"Yes," he gasped.
Dammon leant in again, the hand under Rolan’s robe flattening to cup his thigh gently. Protectively. Rolan felt another jolt of desire.
Could Dammon feel him twitching, as close as he was?
Dammon kissed him once, twice, three times. On the third, he withdrew and turned Rolan’s face so they were looking directly at each other.
Rolan had never felt so exposed.
"Promise you’ll tell me if you change your mind?"
"I’m not going to change my mind," Rolan managed to gasp out.
Dammon didn’t relent. Those clear eyes bore through Rolan; into him. Penetrating him and pinning him to the bed. "Promise me."
"I promise," said Rolan.
His mouth was dry. His lips were damp.
Dammon stroked the side of his face. Rather than lean down and kiss him again, he threw one leg over Rolan’s hips. All Rolan could do was gaze, eyes feeling stupidly wide, as Dammon straddled him.
He leant up to meet Dammon as he moved forward. But instead of meeting his lips, Dammon took hold of one of Rolan’s wrists, then the other.
"Keep them there," he said, pulling Rolan’s hands up to the headboard. A roguish twinkle in his eye. "Or I might have to tie you down."
That zag of lust returned, thicker than before.
The feeling of Dammon taking his boots off, holding his legs so that he couldn’t move. Dammon pressing him into the wall downstairs. Dammon holding his face and looking into his eyes and saying, "Promise me."
I might have to tie you down.
"You might," Rolan agreed.
His voice was rough.
Had he really just said that?
But Gods, he wanted it. The more he thought... Dammon on top of him, so strong and good. Looking after him. Giving him what he needed.
What did Rolan need? He didn’t have a real idea. This was... all brand new territory to him.
"Is that what you want?" asked Dammon gently.
Rolan replied, "It is."
He didn’t know much about sex, but he knew he wanted this.
Dammon smiled that soft, warm smile. He kissed Rolan once, swung his legs back off the bed and said, "The same rules apply. Don’t move your hands just because I can’t see."
Rolan shivered, a delicious feeling of helplessness sweeping through him.
No, not helplessness. He’d been helpless. He’d hated it. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
This was... powerlessness. Vulnerability.
When had he ever been vulnerable before?
When had he ever had the chance?
"I’ve only got rope," said Dammon, sitting beside Rolan. "Tell me if it burns."
"I promise," said Rolan, his mind only half on the conversation.
He let his left arm go limp as Dammon took it in his hands, threading it through a loop of lashing-rope. Idly, as he felt Dammon tighten him in a knot, Rolan wondered if he’d seen this rope before. If he’d touched it when they were preparing to leave Elturel; if he’d hung on to it when the caravan’s load had juddered over cobbles. If he’d held it in his hands and had no idea what it would be used for in the future.
The thought filled him with an odd sort of comfort.
"Try it," said Dammon. "See if its tight enough."
Rolan did, first stretching his arm forward and then trying to drag it down to see if his hand would come through the other end.
It didn’t. All he felt was a fibrous bite; the promise of a burn.
"It’s perfect," he said.
"Good." Dammon gave his hand a quick squeeze. "Now, I want you to watch what I’m doing, Rolan. If it gets too much and you need to get out, I need you to pull on this loose end here." He flicked at the end of the rope, which hung within reaching distance of Rolan’s fingers. "That’s the quick release. What do you do if you need to get out?"
"I pull on the loose end," Rolan repeated. "That's the quick release."
"Good." Dammon smiled that daybreak-smile. Rolan returned it, absently. "And if you need me to—"
"I promise. I promise I’ll tell you."
Dammon kissed him, soft and promising. He straddled Rolan again, both knees either side of Rolan’s chest, and started tying up his other hand.
Rolan closed his eyes and allowed himself to bask in this feeling. The feeling of openness. Of... safety. Security.
He was half hard, his cock lolling against his abdomen. Dammon must be able to see it against his robe; outlined and slightly damp.
"Try it," said Dammon.
Rolan did. It didn’t give an inch.
"Is that alright?"
"Mmm," replied Rolan. His eyes fluttered open.
Dammon was still on top of him, his brow slightly creased. "Well," he smiled when Rolan met his gaze. "That’s a discovery for us both."
"Hush," said Rolan.
Dammon did. He pressed himself forward, kissed Rolan and started to undo the clasps at his throat.
Before he could stop himself, Rolan said,  "Not too much."
Dammon was in front of him, so wide and golden. And Rolan... didn’t have what he did. He didn’t have it and he didn’t want to think of that now.
"Shall I leave it on?" Dammon asked, his breath stirring the hair by Rolan’s ear.
Rolan didn’t want it on. He didn’t want to be someone who was that caught up in physical appearance. He didn’t think that he was someone to whom appearance meant so much.
But... he couldn’t have it off, either.
"... please," he said eventually.
"Thank you for telling me." Dammon kissed the skin underneath his ear, sending a shudder down Rolan’s spine. "I want to use my mouth of you. Is that alright?"
"That’s..." Dammon’s mouth. "...yes."
"Fingers?" Rolan repeated, slightly dazed. "What for?"
Dammon’s smile was indulgent. From below, he looked like a deity. All hard lines and soft looks, soft hair. "I want to make you come, Rolan. More than once, before you leave this room."
Rolan’s throat was so, so dry. His tongue was too big for his mouth. He managed to rasp, "how?"
"I want to use my fingers in you," Dammon said, unabashed. "And I want to suck your cock. Is that something you’d like?"
"I..." Rolan’s heart was about to stop. Could Dammon hear it, hammering? "Yes."
"Do you want to try?"
Dammon stretched himself up to beside where Rolan’s head was. Rolan tried to reach a hand out, to stroke that soft hair. Most of it had come loose around Dammon’s face, now. Rolan was so desperate to touch it. So desperate to run his fingers through it, hold onto it while Dammon kissed him.
His hand stopped short, rope pressing at his wrist.
Not biting; not yet. Just making itself known.
He bit back a noise in his throat which he was horrified to think might be a moan. Really? he thought to himself. The most handsome man he’d ever seen was about to take his cock in his mouth and Rolan had already started getting himself hot and bothered about rope?
But Dammon didn’t see. Dammon didn’t see because he was hanging off the bed, one hand on the mattress and one on the floor. When he returned, it was with a small glass bottle.
He uncorked it with his teeth.
Rolan was a virgin, but he had seen bottles like that before. He owned one, albeit probably not for the same reason Dammon did.
Although, it was by Dammon’s bed...
Was this what Dammon thought of, when he got himself off? Rolan knew that Dammon liked all genders; did he ever think of Rolan? Had he ever thought of Rolan here, in his bed?
Rolan had thought of Dammon. Often, and thoroughly. Three times in one night, on the evening of the party. All he could think of what it would feel like if Dammon had taken him right then and there, on that damp grass. He’d pretended that it had been Dammon's hand on him, his other clamped across Rolan’s mouth to stop him crying out. He’d imagined Dammon’s teeth against his throat, Dammon purring in his ear about how much Rolan liked being used like this; how good Rolan was.
He’d had to sneak off to do it again in the morning.
Had Dammon done the same? Had he used that jar on himself that night, thinking of Rolan? Had they come at the same time?
"Still alright?" Dammon asked, kissing the side of his throat.
This time, it was a moan. There was no other word for it. There was no other sound Rolan could make.
It came from him, gasping.
"Gods," said Dammon. He sat back, a strange expression on his face. It reminded Rolan of the one he’d seen when they’d crested the hill and seen Baldur’s Gate. When they’d realised they were safe, and it was over. "Gods, look at you like this."
Rolan couldn’t speak. He couldn’t make a sound, until Dammon reached a hand back and slipped it back under Rolan’s robe. It came out then as a ragged, choked pant.
He felt like his heart fluttering just under his skin.
Gods, he wanted to be good for Dammon. He wanted Dammon to think he was good.
He felt Dammon’s weight shift, felt him move further down the bed. Rolan closed his eyes and pressed deliciously against those bindings. They didn’t move at all. They didn’t let him go anywhere. They held him so securely.
A fingertip skimmed its way up his inner thigh, brushed the crease of his leg.
A full body shiver ran from the base of Rolan’s spine, up to his shoulders and through his fingers. Even his tail stiffened.
The finger continued, brushing over the delicate skin of his balls and coming to rest on his hole.
Dammon didn’t do anything once he was there. He just let it rest, signalling what his intention would be. Giving Rolan time to get used to it. Giving Rolan time to say no.
"Yes," gasped Rolan.
The finger vanished. Before Rolan could protest it was back; wetter, more slick.
The mattress shifted again as Dammon moved. Why or where to Rolan didn’t know and didn’t care to check; his whole world had narrowed down to that finger and the gentle circles it was moving in. Pressing down.
Dammon moved one of Rolan’s legs, and he allowed it to be moved. Both feet planted on the mattress and his legs spread, Rolan let himself be fingered open.
Then Dammon was kissing him.
That’s where he was. That’s where he’d moved to.