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mickume

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alt_dnd

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"Halsin, you can speed up now."

"Can I be on my back? I forgot how taxing it is doing this."

"Now you know how we feel." Astarion rolled his eyes but allowed it. Halsin lifted himself off, then laid on his back. "You’re lucky I was distracted by my Birdie."

Thychar raised their middle finger at Astarion, a little sparkle of a smile in their eyes. "Love you too, darling."

"Halsin, are you doing okay?" Astarion asked as the Druid lifted his own legs up.

"Uhh, Thychar," Astarion motioned them over to whisper in their ear, "

do you still know that vine spell?

" Thychar looked at Halsin, then nodded. "

" Astarion gave them a quick kiss as Thychar’s hand and eyes began to glow. The bedroll was ruined as vines slowly began to grow from the ground below it. Halsin felt the vines and didn’t resist them. Allowing them to prop his legs up even further, stretching him. They allowed him to put his arms down, laying much more comfortably.

"Clever." Halsin smiled at them. "Two of nature's most beautiful creations and nature itself. You know how to make me weak."

"Oh? Oh darling you’ve no idea. You’re truly at our mercy now." The vines wrapped around his hands then, and Halsin gave the tiniest nod. "Be a good bear, don’t break those." Thychar teased, letting Astarion get himself positioned.

He pushed easily into Halsin, who was still nice and stretched. The larger man didn’t hardly move until Thychar’s free hand closed around his cock.

"By Silvanus," He whispered. This was clearly one of their favorite ways of undoing him. Halsin tightened around Astarion, and the Vampire groaned in delight at the feeling.

"Thychar, I want to see if he can cum without us touching him."

"Oh! Wonderful idea." Thychar bent down, giving Halsin's cock tip a kiss, then pulled away. Laying down next to him. Halsin dwarfed both of them, even right now, Thychar looked tiny next to him. They lay on their belly, tail waving gently. "Can I at least kiss him?"

"Yes," Astarion answered curtly, increasing his speed. The sound of skin hitting skin was the only noise in the tent besides Astarion’s grunts and Halsin’s moans against Thychar’s lips.

He pulled away to beg, "Hit that spot again," a tiny whimper in his voice, "augh please Astarion, let them touch me."

Astarion thrust harder, hitting that special place in Halsin. He was practically seeing stars, considering he’d gone from not having it touched in 20 years to multiple times in one night.

"Please," His voice was a rumble, eyes turning to a honey color, "let them touch me." There was precum dripping onto his belly. Thychar put their hand on Halsin’s broad chest, trying to be sneaky and mess with his nipple.

"No darling, you may come for me though." Halsin’s arms jerked like he desired to touch himself. The vines prevented him from that, yanking him back to the ground. Halsin couldn’t even move his hips, but he arched his back. Mouth hanging open.

"I’m close," He whined, "so, so close."

"Cum for me then Halsin." Thychar was good and didn't touch, instead, they straddled Halsin's face. Letting them eat him out. They faced Astarion, placing their hands on Halsin's chest. "Oh, you naughty thing." Astarion leaned forward, opening his mouth to let Thychar slide their tongue in. They kissed passionately, focused on their own pleasure. Before long Halsin let out a huge groan, stifled by Thychar's body. His abdomen was covered in spend, cock twitching on his belly.

Thychar and Astarion both continued until they came. Thychar let out a soft cry, followed by a huge sigh as they ground against Halsin's chin during the aftershocks. Astarion had been keeping a steady pace before his rhythm was lost. With a loud grunt, he slammed his hips against Halsin's a final few times. He pulled out quickly, watching spend drip from Halsin's hole. Thychar dismissed the vines as they got off Halsin's face, letting Halsin free from their binding.

They lay in silence, sharing a towel between them to wipe themselves off before getting close together.

Halsin, Astarion, and Thychar were all three exhausted now. Bodies sensitive to touch and heat. They’d ruined a bedroll and a pillow and ravaged each other.

Astarion was resting between the other two, holding Thychar whilst Halsin held him. They’d managed to cover themselves just barely with a blanket. Halsin didn’t mind feeling the cooling air on his skin, but they did. They’d all sort of dozed for a while, nestled together.

"We all desperately need a bath," He said, "but who’s going to check if everyone’s asleep?"

"Nobody’s fucking asleep!" Yelled Gale from across the camp, lacking his normal decorum. The three of them burst into laughter. Caught since none of them had bothered to be silent.

Vex was bored. Bored, bored, bored.

Every time she turned around, someone asked for her help. She couldn’t fathom why. It wasn’t as if she had a history of being particularly helpful. The last simpering peasant who had had the audacity to bleat at her about the terrible condition of some distant village had ended up less a shirt, several gold and very nearly one eye, until Viconia had hauled her back and pointed out that they couldn’t afford more attempted arrests. The whole "Hero of Baldur’s Gate" thing had seemed like a free ticket to her wildest dreams – who would believe the Hero had anything other than noble reasons, after all? – but had rapidly become an irritation, and then a chore. The elves of Suldanessellar must have been desperate indeed to seek aid from a woman of her nature, even allowing for their hunting down of the mage into the bargain.

And Vex would hunt him down.

The Underdark had been entertaining enough, she supposed, filled with the twisted words from smiling faces which were second nature to her and enough bloodshed to sate all but the most unbalanced mind. Prior to that, the asylum had been a delightfully twisted puzzle, of the kind she adored, despite the sorcerer’s snide comments about her mental state, and despite- no. Not despite that.

The Shadow Thieves had been an interesting diversion for a while, with the plots and the vampires and the general chaos she loved to spin around her - and the charming Bloodscalp had almost been worth not assassinating. But no, ultimately, they had pressed and pushed and made yet more demands on her time. They had offered her a little side chapter, as if it was a great honour to be allowed to run their petty errands. She had had to laugh in their gaping faces. Why would Vex, infamous, powerful, half-goddess daughter of a dead god, want the tedious monotony of running their little safehouse? Not even a whole city!

She had bigger plans. 

Right here and now, though, those plans mostly involved staying alive long enough to reduce the soul-shattering – hah, soul-shattering - boredom of her current life. She could feel the eyes on her in the cheap inn, and not just the curious or wary stares which followed her like shadows everywhere. Any other day she would have followed the gazes back to their source, thrown a knife, blown a kiss and a grin, but she was weary to her bones in a way no whole woman would ever know and her head ached fiercely. Still, she maintained enough of her usual flair to link her hands behind her head, close her eyes and tilt back on her chair, crossing her legs at the ankles as she rested her feet insouciantly on the table.

<You are drawing attention to yourself again.>

It took her a moment to switch languages, as it always did when Viconia spoke to her. Once she sorted it out, she blinked, then grinned lazily.

<And why would I not want to do that, sister mine?>

The taller drow woman’s lip curled in a half-smile, amused as she continued calmly sorting through potions. <I cannot think why I thought you would think otherwise, but I would just as soon not end up at the hands of a mob again. Is there no other outlet for your nervous energy?>

<Nervous implies fear, darling. I prefer to think of it as readiness> Vex’s voice was bland, her face amused, but her eyes flickered sideways to Dorn’s imposing figure, fully absorbed in cleaning a greatsword on the tabletop, oh-so-tantalisingly close, and yet so far. Viconia’s eyes followed.

<Ah. Of course. That explains it.>

A hot flare of irritation, coupled with a stab of pain form her head, flashed through her, making the edges of her vision red. <Nothing explains nothing.> She snapped. <Keep your tongue behind your teeth where it belongs before I rip it out.>

The other woman snorted, but returned to her potion bottles. Vex glared at her for a moment, just long enough to show that she was doing it because she wanted to, then pulled her legs back and settled them under the table into the half-orc’s lap. He grunted in surprise, pausing in his task to glance at her. She gave him that same gem-brilliant grin before settling her head back onto her hands and closing her eyes. He regarded her for a moment stoically, then grunted again, and returned to his weapon.

<How charming> The drawl from the other side of the table cut across her private reverie of those battle-scarred hands sliding up her thighs. <Not to criticise, but you really ought to select a better class of mate than that hulking half-breed.>  

She didn’t even open her eyes. <Shut it, male.>

<Oh, you don’t even remotely pull that off, my ridiculous rogue. Besides, mightier matrons than you have tried and failed to silence my fabulous wit.>

She chuckled softly, wriggling her feet against the blackguard’s thigh to see if she could get a reaction. Probably not, the thickness of his armour was ridiculous.

The server came and cautiously placed down pitchers of ale and carafes of wine, glancing uneasily sidelong at the members of their little group – the drinks would be good, she knew. Baeloth had a way of ensuring the best the inns had. Perhaps she could persuade Dorn to drink enough to loosen up a little. He had barely spoken to her since the night under Spellhold which had left her shaky and breathless, with dark lines scored down her back. She still held vivid memories of his warm weight between her hips, calloused fingers dug into her skin, hot breath and sharp teeth on her neck and shoulder sending lightning waves of heat from her jaw to her belly. 

She thought she had seen something like reverence in his face when she had woken up screaming at them to run. The sight of him half-naked, towering over her with his sword raised as the slayer had ripped and shredded its way out of her skin lit almost as much desire in her for him as it did fear, but it seemed now that what she had gained in a worshiper, she had lost in a lover. She would much have preferred both.

The server finished collecting up the last few empties. She shifted her foot against Dorn’s leg again, sliding her sole subtly up the inside of his thigh. His hands never paused in his task. Did she imagine the hitch in his breathing, the darkening of his eyes?

It was a soft mutter, under the server’s breath as he turned, but to the keen hearing of the three drow present it might as well have been a battle cry. The sound of shattering glass knifed through the idle chatter of the inn as the tray clattered to the floor. In less than a second, the assassin had spun off her chair and had one fist balled in the unfortunate man’s shirt. The other held the tip of a blade hooked between his lips, stretching the corner of his mouth and scraping uncomfortably against his teeth.

"What did you call me?"

Her tone was pleasant and conversational in the sudden silence, but her eyes in his face were hot and unhinged. Waves of red and black pulsed around the corners of her vision; furious heat coiled in her belly. He whimpered as she pushed the knife hard against his cheek and she grinned like Cyric. The urge rose up in her to cut him, to slice into his cheek and taste hot iron, and hear him screaming like a prayer, to feel his pulse ebb against her, to cutslicefeeltastehotandfuriousandwetandslick-

She took her hand from his shirt and wrapped it lovingly around the back of his head in the sudden, shocking silence, unaware of the creak of hands on weapons or the frozen stances of her companions behind her. She pressed the blade in harder, the scent of the blood welling up to trickle down his chin mixing with the scent of fear.

"Say it again."

Her voice slipped between her lips in a low hiss. Behind her, Viconia glanced at Hexxat, coiled like a snake and ready to spring, at Baeloth, already drawing in the shape of some spell, at Dorn, shifting his weight subtly away from the table, ready to burst into motion. Violence bubbled in the air.

"Vechsan! Vex!" She snapped.

The man’s desperate, whimpering sobs were the only sound in the inn, but Viconia was close enough to see Vex freeze. She drew in a shuddering breath, and stayed the motion of the knife. But she didn’t pull away. Viconia could see her shoulder heaving with laboured breaths, eyes still on the face of the dead man walking. From the side they were lit with a fey light, almost gold, a far cry from their usual pale grey.

"Vex, stop." She snapped again, mind racing. "There will be time enough for this another day with a more worthy prey."

"Why?" Her voice was raw, and strained, tension in the line of her shoulders. "Why not? Usstan ssinssrin ulu-"

A hissing crack shattered the silence, and she was cut off mid-sentence by the bolt of energy which scythed past Viconia’s shoulder, slamming into her back between her shoulder blades. Her body bowed as if struck by lightning, and the server let out a strangled sob of relief as the knife clattered to the floorboards. She sunk to her knees, eyelids fluttering, shock on her face.

The moment the knife dropped from her fingers, room exploded into action. Patrons dropped to the floor or crawled under tables as missiles flew in all directions across the room. Viconia lunged for Vex as Hexxat tumbled past her, lithe and graceful as she snapped the neck of a guardsman. The assassin lay unconscious on the ground, breathing shallowly. Viconia glanced back over her shoulder to see Baeloth throwing pulses of energy at an unfortunate dwarf who looked to have just been in the inn for a drink.

<Well?> He snapped. <Don’t just stand there, get her!>

Viconia swore under her breath in drow.

"Get the blackguard! I can’t carry her."

"Make it quick, darling." Hexxat flowed past her again in the other direction with a spray of gore strangely at odds with her fluid motion. "Someone called the big boys."

Sure enough, moments later the door slammed back against the wall and a squad of flaming fist waded into the battle. Fortunately for the group, the melee had escalated well past the point of clear sides into a general roiling brawl. Viconia tossed a confusion spell into the fray for good measure, relying on the natural resistance of her companions to minimise the damage, then threw a sanctuary up around herself and Vex.

"Blackguard!" She screamed.

In moments, Dorn was beside her, breathing hard but steadily. She dismissed the sanctuary as he reached down to lift the slim woman up one-handed, tossing her unceremoniously over one shoulder. She called for the others, but Hexxat was already tripping the broken lock on the closest exit, and with that they were running again, away into the night, with the unconscious Bhaalspawn draped over the Blackguard’s shoulder.

They made it out of the city with little further trouble. The brawl in the inn drew more people in out of curiosity or opportunity, and those who walked away were of little interest, even accounting for the hooded faces and the unconscious woman draped over Dorn. By tomorrow, their faces - or at least, Vex’s face - would be plastered all over the city gates and walls, but for tonight, they could rest easy, secure in the knowledge that their presence would be no more noticed than usual. They made out through the city gates, walking quickly, but casually, and headed out along the road into the safety of trees and farmland.

"Does she live?" Hexxat murmured, once they were out of earshot of the walls.

"Of course she lives." Snapped Viconia. "Do you see her turned to dust and blowing away on the wind?"

"A simple stun glyph, nothing more." Confirmed Baeloth, eyeing the assassin’s swaying arms as they hung down the half-orc’s back. "Although I must point out that ending the child of a god, even whilst unconscious, must yield some rewards, don’t you think?"

Viconia relaxed a little. Discussions of backstabbing and murder. This was much more comfortable ground than a soulless, half-crazy, half-goddess, half way to losing her mind.

 "Ending this particular godchild will result in no more "entertainment’ for you." She retorted.

"And far fewer routes to power." Rumbled Dorn. "If you wish to murder a Bhaalspawn for your own ends, choose one whose loss will not impact on my plans." He shifted her to a more comfortable position on his shoulder, and Baeloth took care to note of how his fingers wrapped needlessly around the top of her thigh.

They were half an hour out from the brawl when she groaned and opened her eyes. The world spun and turned around her, disorienting and nauseating.

"Oh, Gods." She slurred. "I’m going to throw up."

"Do and you will wish you hadn’t."

Dorn’s voice, and she couldn’t work out where it was coming from. She tried to push herself up on her hands, and failed when she found the surface beneath her was vertical and moving as she did.

"What the-?" She succeeded in pushing herself onto her elbows and peered groggily around. "Put me down."

He ignored her, and carried on walking, although his lips might have twitched into a faint smile. She twisted irritably and lashed a foot at him, then yelped as her booted foot hit solid metal. He just barely resisted the temptation to slap her rear, only stopping at the thought of the smug grin it would earn him from the sorcerer. She flailed ineffectually at him for a while, then settled into a moody sulk when she failed to free herself, pointedly ignoring the smirks and sniggers from the others.

Before long, they found a spot to make camp, a copse of trees sheltered on all sides by the hills. Packs were dropped and Hexxat had sauntered off to find wood for a fire, when she hammered on his back.

"Now, put me down."

He heaved his shoulder and dropped her. She heard snickers as she landed in a graceless sprawl of limbs and tried to roll onto her feet, but her aching head and bones prevented her from doing anything but flop uselessly onto her back. She snarled irritably.

"I swear, one night I will cut your throat whilst you sleep."

He looked down at her, prone and useless and still spitting venom. "Hrmm." His face was impassive. "You are vastly irritating, godchild. Has anyone ever told you this?"

She cackled from her position on the floor. "Ooh. Talk dirty to me."

He paused for a moment with something unidentifiable on his face, then snorted and turned back to the others. She lay there on her back waiting for the stars to stop spinning overhead and murmuring to herself.

<Oh, I am going to climb that man like a tree.>

A snort of laughter from the direction of the camp told her that she had not been quite as quiet as she had intended. After a moment, she pushed herself up onto her knees and managed to stumble over to where Viconia and Hexxat were building up a fire. Viconia glanced up at her as she approached.

<Next time you feel the need to follow the call of your sire, perhaps you could choose to do so in less restricted quarters.>

The priestess’ voice was dry, but there was a note of concern behind her words. Faint as it was, it stood starkly out in a language never designed for the tone. Irritation flashed in her chest again, hot and sharp, with another knife of pain driven into her skull. She gritted her teeth.

<The man was nothing.> She responded, forcing the sharp retort down, knowing that she had only the good will of her companions to thank for her survival. <It was not the call of my sire, merely a lesson in respect.>

"Darlings, last time you so rudely excluded us from the conversation it ended with a brawl and us forced to flee the city. Please do let us know when you decide to learn from your mistakes." Hexxat’s dry voice drifted across the susurrating conversation as life crackled into the dry wood.

"Our fearsome female believes she still holds sway over her sire’s influence." Supplied Baeloth. "I wonder how long she will be able to maintain this delusion to herself."

Vex glared at him, then glanced at Dorn, sitting stoically with his elbows rested on his knees, gazing into the fire. He was either unaware of her or ignoring her presence. Was he thinking of her slayer form? Wondering how close it was to the surface?

Vex was unaccustomed to defeat, and she intended to keep it that way, but she could not deny the pull of the blood and the ever-present rage, dark red and pulsing, a sullen pressure under her skin. She had no compunctions about slaughtering those who would bar her from her capricious whims, but there were stakes here. There were things to lose. If she submerged herself, slipped under the rolling crimson surface of her fury, could she lose her followers? Her destiny?

The problem bore thinking on, at least. She was not used to introspection beyond that necessary to instigate webs of intrigue, but much as she wanted the power - and she would get it - she could afford to play the long game. There was no sense in losing that which she already possessed in search of something new, when both could be in her grasp.

Besides. He looked at her with those hot, dark eyes and there was power there too, of another kind. Power which made heat flash through her chest, her belly, her hips. And it was fiercely, powerfully attractive. The raw heat of his muscles under her belly and around her legs as he carried her over his shoulder like a child almost made her giddier than the spell.