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dnd_drow

Dataset card Data Studio Files
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Was there a joke there? There was surely something Rolan could say; something about "releasing’.
Instead he nodded, smile not quite gone. Still didn’t trust his voice.
Rolan expected Dammon to simply pull on both quick releases, but he didn’t. He took his time, undoing both knots in turn and taking Rolan’s hands in his. Massaging his palms. Massaging his wrists. Kissing both.
And then he crossed to the other side of the room. Beside a pile of packing-boxes stood a counter with a bowl and ewer. And a space which would lend itself much more suitable for books than a chair—now was probably not the time to mention that.
Dammon returned and sat gently on the side of the bed, running a cool cloth over Rolan’s face. Rolan felt he should protest, but he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation. The sensation of having someone near. Of being cared for.
Dammon bathed both his wrists, kissed his nose and put the bowl back.
"You didn’t have to do that," said Rolan lazily, opening one eye.
"I sort of did," said Dammon, blushing. "I’m the one who came all over your face."
Rolan’s cock twitched again, doing its best to join in.
Instead, Rolan smiled and leant up for a kiss. Dammon gave it to him, tucking his hair behind his ear.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes," said Rolan. He felt more relaxed, more... at peace than he had done for a long while.
"Good," said Dammon. He looked down at his hands, worrying at a nail. "Will you... stay the night?"
Stay the night.
Falling asleep next to Dammon. Waking up next to Dammon.
"Yes," said Rolan. "If you’ll have me."
"If I didn’t want you, I wouldn’t have asked," Dammon said fondly. "Let me look you out some bedclothes. You can’t sleep in your robe."
Rolan watched languidly as Dammon crossed the room again, still naked. He could see muscles moving under the skin; small burn-marks from the furnace.
"It might be big," Dammon apologised, unhooking a nightshirt from the wardrobe, "but it’s better than nothing."
"If you’re unpacked, why are all of these boxes still out?"
"I haven’t put them away yet."
"Why haven’t you put them away?" Rolan asked. He hadn’t been able to get his travelling things out of sight fast enough.
"Haven’t worked out where they’re going to go." Dammon stood, hands on his hips. "There are a lot of them, aren’t there?"
There were a lot of them. And they taking up valuable space in a room which didn’t have much of it to spare. Dammon could at least have stacked them.
"Rolan?" said Dammon, grinning. "You’re upset by this, aren’t you?"
"No," said Rolan, tersely.
"I can see your tail flicking."
Rolan glowered.
Dammon’s grin widened. He came back to bed, folded the nightshirt over the sheet, cupped Rolan’s jaw and kissed him.
"Rolan. Never change."
"I don’t think I’m the one who needs to." Rolan ducked his head, pretending to scowl. "You could at least get a bedside table."
"And why is that chair in the corner? Why is there another book on it?"
"It’s a script," said Dammon, flushing slightly. "Don’t worry about it. Do you want to change?"
Rolan rolled his eyes at the unashamed change in subject, but went along with it. He turned his back to Dammon, sitting up and pulling his robe over his head.
The nightshirt didn’t smell of Dammon, yet. It was starched, still had the scent of the road on it. Wood and hot dust.
How often did Dammon do this? Bring people home and let them wear his clothes?
Dammon often took lovers. Many of them were for no more than a night. They always parted the next day on good terms, no expectation of anything more.
Rolan didn’t know if he could do that.
Was that what Dammon expected? Was that all he was to be?
"Could we..." Rolan turned, clearing his throat. He lay back down, trying to appear casual. As if what he was about to say didn’t really mean that much to him.
"You know," he continued. "Do this again."
"Oh, Gods." Dammon sat up and raked a hand through his hair. "This is my fault. I assumed..."
Rolan felt his heartbeat pick up and start to spike towards panic.
That was all this was. He was just another of Dammon's conquests.
But Dammon’s hand came to lay on his chest, warm and rough. Dammon’s voice was warm and rough too, when he said, "I’m sorry, Rolan. I wasn’t clear. When you came to my door, I thought... I thought that’s what this was. I didn’t think it would be just for tonight."
He turned, leaning on an elbow to face Rolan. Rolan was at eye level with that broad chest, and it took a lot of willpower for him to meet Dammon’s gaze.
"Is that... what you wanted?" asked Dammon.
Rolan thought, frantically, for something witty to say. Something that would get across what he wanted without making him look like he was too... attached. Too desperate. Desperate to be here again and again, and desperate to be the only one. The only one Dammon looked at with those soft eyes; the only one he took to bed. The only one he tied to his headboard.
He couldn’t. There was nothing but how he felt against the mattress; untensed and unclenched in a way he couldn’t remember being before. All he could say was, "I want to be with you."
"I want to be with you," Dammon echoed, his face relaxing. He leant down, giving Rolan a lingering kiss on his temple. "And only you. I’ve..."
He broke off, cheekbones flushing.
Rolan’s heart hammered. He couldn’t have... surely not. That sentence wouldn’t end the way he thought it would. Hoped it could.
He wouldn’t press for an ending. Just in case it didn’t.
The ending came anyway.
"I’ve wanted to be with you for a while, Rolan."
A while, Rolan.
Rolan... couldn’t go there. A while? How long was a while? A kiss and two halves, and Dammon hadn’t deigned to say anything.
"I don’t know how I was meant to know that," he replied testily.
Dammon smiled. "Good. You weren’t meant to."
"I would have said yes," said Rolan, turning to face the ceiling.
"I know," said Dammon. "That’s the problem. You weren’t... in a good place. Neither was I, frankly. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us."
Rolan thought on that.
"Not in a good place’ was an extraordinary generous way of phrasing it. He hadn’t been anywhere good for a long, long time.
Who knew, with Dammon? He kept himself so together, so patient. It was no surprise to hear that was a front, but it was still unpleasant. Unpleasant to know that Dammon had been hurting. Dammon had been hurting and he’d done nothing.
That new knowledge twisted unkindly in his gut.
"Can I..." Rolan ventured, feeling useless. "...help?"
"You do," Dammon smiled. "You all do. And I like seeing you here, in my clothes."
Rolan’s cheeks heated again. He pressed his face half into the pillow; to hide it and to keep looking at Dammon.
"In my bed," Dammon continued, wicked glint in his eye.
Rolan covered his face. "Shut up, Dammon."
"I will," he smiled. "After I’ve given you an apology. I believe I said something about wanting to make you come more than once tonight. As much as I would love to... the spirit is willing, but I’m afraid the flesh has been through a lot these past few months."
"That’s alright," said Rolan, coming back up for air. "You said "before you leave this room’."
"Oh, did I?" Dammon arched an eyebrow. "Well remembered. If wizardry ever loses its appeal, I think you’d make a cracking magistrate."
"I am a fan of mens rea."
"Nothing," said Rolan, waving a languid hand. "We’ve got plenty of time between now and when we leave this room."
"We have," Dammon agreed, catching Rolan by the waist and drawing him in.
The bed was big enough for two, if they lay close.
Rolan took hold of Dammon’s wrist, pulling him nearer. Keeping him secure.
And for the first time in a long time, he slept all through the night.
It didn’t even bother him that he hadn’t hung up his robe.
"Curiosity killed all the cats; it won’t be so kind to you."
- Hope, Baldur’s Gate 3
Haarlep reclined back into the lounge. Feet kicked up on the plush ottoman as they observed their boon; their little thief, curled up and secured with the finest of shackles to their Master’s headboard.
They could not wait to see Raphael’s reaction. Their plan was absolutely perfect.
It would have been such a waste to leave something so pretty – with so much potential – to rot in their Master’s dungeon.
Her little party of parasite-corrupted-misfits had egos that could rival Asmodeus.’ Haarlep found it adorable, they thought they could sneak into the House of Hope while Raphael was away. The fact Tav thought they would let her leave after that quick little romp; with the hammer at that. Raphael’s little mouse was a fool to believe they would be appeased by a mere taste.
Haarlep’s claws came up to card through the short black locks along the base of their head. Eyes flicked up to the ceiling in revere at the flavor of the little thief’s desire – her lust, need and ambition.
All she needed was a little...structure...training – if one would. Then she would be the perfect addition to Raphael’s collection; and Haarlep would have a playmate to keep them eternally entertained.
A wave of heady fervor pooled in their Fiendish soul.
Golden Eyes morphed slowly until they mirrored the unconscious woman across the room. Their glamoured clothes shimmered, restructuring to fit the Incubus’ new smaller frame. Head tilted and propped against the fist of their bent arm; elbow perched along the back of the lounge – observing.
Haarlep would need to clean her up first – Raphael’s bath would do the little chit wonders. They could still see the battle wounds and bruises – the shredded underclothes. Torn from where her armor failed during the battle.
The pitiful thing.
Their little thief fought admirably, but it was all for naught.
Hope led Tav’s little group to a tragic end with her pretty, manic, pleading – the little Cleric’s mind too shattered from years under their Master’s care. Her attempted rebellion was thwarted before it even begun; had always been a game lost.
Everything worked out in Rapheal’s favor.
Haarlep stretched back, muscles taunt, releasing their tension. They could also use a dip in the potion saturated waters. When the little thief finally woke from her slumber, it would be one of the first tasks they completed before ridding the evidence of that Vampiric Spawn from her.
Haarlep shot up to their feet. Movements lithe and predatory at the thought of another tasting her before them – before Raphael.
Delicate fingers combed through their – Tav’s – hair; deliberately running their nails along the lower part of her scalp. An erogenous zone they noticed during their tryst.
A smirk quirked the side of their lips when they saw the woman unconsciously respond to the ghostly stimuli.