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“Rolan, for the last time, Spectres & Spectral Weave Incantations belongs in the Evocation section, not in the Necromancy section,” you chide, plucking the tome from the dusty shelf in Ramazith’s library to pass off to one of several mage hands that float animatedly around the room. The noonday sun streams in the stained-glass windows, and sorting books would be a wonderful, relaxing way to spend an afternoon up here, if it weren’t for the insufferably prickly tiefling wizard insistent on mucking up your carefully-curated organization strategy.
Rolan whips his head around from where he was rifling through books on a different shelf, letting out an irritated huff through his nose. “By Vivri Arevi? The necromancer?” he says, the emphasis on the last word reminding you much of how one would speak to a small child. The tone has your hackles raising already, but more than annoyance is the overwhelming desire to put this pompous arse in his place.
“Just because the author was a necromancer doesn’t mean all of her writings are classified as Necromancy,” you say, directing the mage hand to shelve the book in its proper place across the way, watching as Rolan’s honey-gold eyes follow the hand with annoyance. “Honestly, have you even read the thing? You’d know within the first few pages it’s clearly an Evocation text.”
“I don’t know what kind of time you think I have these days,” Rolan says with a scoff. “But between running the shop and re-organizing this disaster Lorroakan left, there’s little time left in the day to pour over obscure texts.”
“Obscure?” You snort, stepping down from the ladder you’ve been perched on to place your feet on the floor. “That’s a second-year text for students at Blackstaff. I think I could recite the prologue forwards and backwards. Honestly, Rolan, as talented as you are you’re remarkably under-read.”
It’s a cheap shot, sure, and Rolan’s tail thrashes as he glares at you. But after everything you’ve been through together, this kind of bantering is normal for the two of you, and you flash him a teasing grin, even if the gleam in your eyes is a little mean.
“Is that any way to speak to your master, Tav?” he shoots back at you, all sharp teeth and smug satisfaction. Oh. You’re playing ball today, alright.
As the de-facto ‘master’ of the tower, that makes you his apprentice. Although it’s more of an in-joke between the two of you rather than a true master-apprentice relationship. You taught at Blackstaff Academy before you were forcibly abducted by mindflayers and infected with a tadpole. Your abilities zapped, you were forced to save Faerun with little more than a first-year’s spell knowledge, and unfortunately, the full scope of your talents haven’t returned in the wake of the netherbrain’s defeat. You couldn’t very well go back to your old life as an instructor at your level, so you stayed in Baldur’s Gate, Rolan graciously offering you a place to stay at the tower in return for saving his and his siblings’ hides multiple times over.
And so, on paper, you’re technically his apprentice, but it’s in name only. While your spellcasting abilities took a hit thanks to the tadpole, your knowledge certainly didn’t. Considering Rolan is entirely self-taught, you find yourself often teaching him things, when he’s not getting on your nerves or you’re not riling him up, that is. In fact, you’ve both grown as wizards in the last two months of working together, you in power and him in knowledge. It’s been an enjoyable working relationship, to say the least, and his company isn’t bad, either. You almost rather like living at the tower with him and his siblings; it’s less lonely than your solitary teacher’s dormitory back at Blackstaff, that’s for sure.
You eat dinner with him most nights, talking about all things arcane until your food’s gone cold and you’ve both sunk nearly a full bottle of wine. When Rolan isn’t trying to posture, isn’t trying to be the ‘best wizard in the realms’, he’s almost rather charming. You could even consider the two of you close friends.
But that doesn’t mean that Rolan, the bastard, won’t rub in your face that he’s your ‘master’ at any chance he gets.
Which is why it’s now become your hobby to knock this young brat down a few pegs each day.
It’s simply the natural order of things.
“You love to lord that title over my head, don’t you?” you say instead of giving him an actual answer, the mage hands you had conjured starting to disappear as you head over towards where he’s standing. He’s got his hip cocked out and his tail is swaying—with irritation or playfulness, you can’t quite guess, but not for the first time do you wish you could grab the appendage and just pull just to see what would happen.
You shove the impulsive thought away. Even if the two of you have been dancing around the obvious attraction for months.
Because while your interactions with your master/coworker/roommate have stayed in the realm of strictly platonic since your arrival at the tower, you aren’t stupid. You’ve felt the way his eyes linger on you, especially when you’re casting a spell or demonstrating something to a customer at the Sundries. When you’re drinking together late at night, sometimes you wind up almost brushing hands when you reach for the bottle, and every time, Rolan quickly averts his eyes and snatches his hand away. He doesn’t seem to have noticed that you reciprocate, (and why wouldn’t you? He’s tall and lean with a strong jawline and eyes that haunt your dreams) otherwise he most certainly would have said something about it.
You’re not entirely sure why you haven’t said anything about it, either.
Perhaps you’re just waiting for him to finally get the balls to confess.
“Well, it’s about the only thing I can lord over you when you’re being like this,” Rolan says, gesturing to all of you as if that explains things. It does, but you want him to spell it out, all the same.
“Like what?” you say, feigning innocence.
“Playing coy now, are we?” Rolan crosses his arms over his chest, and your eyes linger for a moment or two on the spot where his robes give way to a slight peek of his collarbone. He’s finally traded the silver mantle for more proper wizarding robes now that he’s settled into the tower, and today’s number is a deep sapphire blue with a lower collar than usual. Not keen on getting caught, you flick your gaze back up to his eyes and smile at him, instead.
“Answer the question, Master.”
He stiffens slightly, and your grin only widens as a plan starts to solidify in your mind. While the dancing around is fun, it’s starting to get a bit old. And he likes trying to get a rise out of you, but he so rarely succeeds. You’ve got several years and teaching experience on him, not to mention the whole ‘saving the world’ thing. Not much ruffles you. And when you push him too far, he just puffs up like an angry cat and stalks away. He’s never once shouted at you for teasing him, not since his drunken escapade at Last Light, all those months ago. He confessed once, after you and Aylin had slain Lorroakan, that he didn’t like how he sounded when he was angry or shouting, and that he felt bad for being so awful to you when he was at his lowest.
It was a sweet sentiment, but sometimes you wish he would let his emotions get the better of him. Sure, you’re grateful that he’s not about to start slinging spells at you when you get smart with him, but his effort to not get visibly angry seems to have also extended to other displays of emotion.
You wonder just what it will take for him to snap.
“I just mean when you get cheeky with me,” Rolan says with a forced eye-roll and a cough, turning back over his shoulder to pick up another book from a disorganized pile that was once Lorroakan’s book throne. “Correcting me like I’m some kind of naughty schoolboy. You have more knowledge and experience in the arcane than I do, yes, but Gods you can be—“
“An insufferable elitist?” you finish his statement for him, stepping up beside him with your arms behind your back. You let your shoulders brush just slightly, and he automatically shuffles to the side to put space between the two of you, his tail swishing briefly before it stills, as if he’s forced it to stop. Curious.
“You said it, not me,” he says, like he’s holding back a bit of a laugh.
“Takes one to know one,” you say without missing a beat, and he fully turns towards you, opening his mouth as if to defend himself. You don’t give him the chance. “And I’d argue you’re an even bigger one than I am. Mr. ‘My Thunderwave Will Make Quick Work of Those Goblins.’”
“Well it did,” Rolan says indignantly.
“Funny, I don’t remember you killing any goblins at the Grove,” you say, inspecting your nails in feigned indifference. “I think that was all me.”
“When you weren’t around, I did!” He’s starting to get worked up, the books he was looking at set aside in favor of trying to tower over you. While he tries to curtail his shouting, he does often try to posture, using his height to his advantage in a way that sometimes has your knees going weak. You wish he’d do more with it, crowd you up against a bookshelf and cage you in with his arms. You step closer, despite his puffed-out chest, all silky smiles and charm.
“Did you now? You dispatched goblins with a mere Thunderwave?”
“I did,” he insists, his voice dropping a bit into an irritated growl. You try not to shiver. “It was the most powerful area of effect spell I knew at the time; now I could take on even more of them.”
“Could you now?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow as you fold your arms over your chest. One of the easiest ways to rile Rolan up is to test his prowess and then utterly destroy him with your own abilities. It gets him every single time, but he never fails to rise to the bait. This time is no different. “Why don’t you show me the new spells you’ve learned since the last time I saw you fight? Your training room is operational now, isn’t it?”
“I’ll gladly show you what I can do,” he says with pride, finally pushing past you to head towards the arcane lift that will take you to the upper levels of the tower. You aren’t far behind. “While I haven’t been reading Arevi, I have been studying up after you go to bed.”
“Then I can’t wait to see what you can teach me, Master Rolan,” you make the title sound sickly sweet, almost demure, and once again you watch his jaw tense and the tip of his tail twitch like he’s holding back a shudder. “Lead the way.”
When you get upstairs to the training room, the tension between you is thick and heavy with anticipation. Maybe it’s just on your end, but Rolan is bouncing with a nervous sort of energy, and you wonder if he can even keep concentration like this enough to cast.
You suppose you’ll find out how sufficiently you can distract him for your more… nefarious plan.
The room is fairly simple, all things considered; it’s an open, circular room spanning the entire width of the tower itself, with plain stone floors and not much furniture to speak of. There are some battered training dummies strewn about and a wall full of scrolls, protected by a magical barrier from any wayward spells. It’s the perfect place to spar and practice, yet you’ve only been up here once or twice with Rolan since you moved in.
You step fully into the room from the lift and turn over your shoulder, gesturing for Rolan to take the lead. “All right, hotshot. Show me what you’ve been working on.”
Rolan cracks his neck and then his knuckles. “With pleasure. Stand back.”
You take only half a step to the side, but otherwise don’t move away like he asked. He rolls his eyes and then turns towards the center of the room. Slowly, he lifts his hands and then mechanically goes through the hand motion as he says the incantation for Evard’s Black Tentacles. “Impero te!”
The cast isn’t as much of a show as his usual fare, but it is effective, the floor in the center of the room suddenly giving way to a writhing mass of shadowy tentacles. Rolan’s brow is furrowed in concentration as he holds the spell, but he turns to you with a slight lopsided grin, a fang poking out of his mouth in a way that has you staring for a brief moment.
“There,” he says, puffing out his chest in pride. “That certainly would have dispatched several goblins or cultists.”
“Indeed it would,” you concede, but you smirk in response as you take in his stance. It’s cute how excited he gets when he’s mastered a new spell, even if his grip on this one seems a bit wobbly. You step closer to him, tilting your head in thought as you look him up and down. “How long do you think you can hold the concentration on that one?”
“Long enough,” Rolan says, pursing his lips in thought. “Maybe about… five or ten minutes? Give or take.”
You let out a low whistle. “Impressive,” you say with a purr, and there goes Rolan’s tail again, flicking near his feet rapidly before it stills again. You wonder if he’s noticed you looking at his tail, before, and that’s why he goes to such great lengths to not let it give away his emotions. You’re not a tiefling, but you know enough about their body language to make some educated guesses. That shuddery tail flick is definitely one of pleasure.
“It is, isn’t it?” Rolan preens under your praise, entirely too smug for a fourth-level spell. The urge to knock him down a peg comes roaring back with a vengeance, along with an idea to add to your rapidly-shifting plan to get Rolan to crumple under the weight of his desires.
“Why don’t we put your concentration to the test?” you say, trying to sound as innocent as possible despite the devious smile on your face that is surely giving you away. “I’ll try to distract you while you try to hold the spell. We can make it a competition… see who wins.”
“Isn’t that a little juvenile for an accomplished former professor at Blackstaff Academy?” Rolan says with a raise of his brow, but he immediately sighs and levels you with a challenging glare. He absolutely can’t resist the bait, not when it comes to trying to save his own pride, even when it’s a fruitless endeavor. “Fine. Do your worst, apprentice.”
“I think I will.”
You start with a couple of basic spells just to throw him off. You cast Lightning Bolt near his shoulder, the loud crackling of electricity making him jump, but his concentration holds steady. Shatter and then a Fire Bolt cantrip round out the easier options, each one not doing too much to deter Rolan’s focus. He’s still smirking at you after the three spells fail, but everything is all going according to plan.
“Is that the best you’ve got?” he goads, the tentacles in the center of the room whipping about with his command.
“Oh, that was just a warm-up,” you say nonchalantly, slowly starting to walk around Rolan in a circle as he tries to keep you in his line of sight. You can barely hold in your grin, though, as you lift your hand and prepare your next cast, stopping right in front of him to peer up at his confused face. “Here’s where the real fun begins, Master.”
He doesn’t have any time to react before you elegantly cast Telekinesis and lift his body into the air. He lets out a startled yelp as he flails around uselessly, his feet and tail dangling above the floor as he spits curses in infernal. To Rolan’s credit, he does hold the concentration on the spell, even as it flickers once or twice behind him before he regains control. You’re honestly a little impressed, but he doesn’t have to know that.
“P-Put me down at once!” Rolan splutters, but your spell holds firm. Barely concealing your laughter, you step even closer to him, looking up at his face flushed with embarrassment with thinly-restrained glee.
“Mmm… I don’t think I will,” you say in a sing-song voice. You can feel yourself getting drunk with the power that always comes with one-upping Rolan at his own game, at how it feels to have the weave bend and cow at your command with effortless precision. “It still hasn’t been nearly as long as you’ve said you can hold this spell. I want to see if I can make you break it before ten minutes are up.”
“What, are you going to put me down and then cast Otto’s Irresistible Dance this time? Make an even bigger fool of me?”
You laugh, a throaty sound that has Rolan stilling in the grip of your spell and the tip of his tail flicking upwards once or twice before it too goes limp. Getting closer, now. “There’s an idea, but no. I don’t think I need another spell to get you to break. I have… other plans. Just don’t kick me.”
“Kick you? Why would I-“
Rolan cuts himself off with a soft gasp as you tentatively place both your hands on his abdomen. Levitated as he is, your head barely comes up to his stomach, and you have to crane your neck to look up at his face, but the ache is well worth it to see his cheeks turn a ruddy shade of red. You trail your fingertips up and down his sides through his robes, and his chest heaves in a staccato shake as he tries to hold in a laugh.
“W-What are you d-doing? That t-tickles,” he says, squirming, but he doesn’t thrash in your spell’s grip. His own spell flickers again until he bites his lip and stamps down his laughter. What a stubborn arse.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” you say, trailing your hands a little bit lower, with a little bit more pressure to be less of a tickle and more of a caress. Rolan worries his teeth into his lower lip even more and a soft strangled sound leaves his throat, one that has more heat pooling between your legs than you’d like to admit. “I’m trying to break your concentration.”
“T-this is hardly fair,” Rolan stammers, the spell shimmering behind him, but it doesn’t flicker this time.
“Isn’t it? We didn’t establish any rules for what was out of bounds,” you say, trying to sound innocent, even as your heart beats faster in your chest and your fingertips twitch as your hands move even lower. This is very reckless, but you wouldn’t be doing it if you weren’t so certain that Rolan is into you. As you study his face, it’s clear that he’s trying so hard to hide his embarrassment, his eyes focused on the floor somewhere behind you, his face a dark red that makes the freckles on his face stand out even more than usual. There’s a bit of sweat clinging to his temples, and he’s all but stopped struggling in the spell’s hold, his limbs and tail hanging limply where he dangles in midair.
Emboldened, you rest your hands on his hips. He jolts, but his spell doesn’t break. You wait until he meets your eyes to speak, and your insides twist with want as you notice his pupils are dilated. “… do you want me to stop?”
It takes Rolan so long to answer that you almost feel like you should move away and let him down, but eventually, he exhales and replies so softly you almost don’t hear him.
“…no.”
“Then try to keep your concentration,” you say, your voice dropping into something far too silky to be platonic, but Rolan doesn’t say anything more. Slowly, you trail your hands underneath the front of his robes, where you’re sickeningly pleased to find a tent in his trousers, already. “Try to keep the spell going while I touch you.”
“Tav,” his voice is a whimper, but he says nothing else. You watch as he squeezes his eyes shut, and you can feel his cock jump underneath your fingertips through the fabric of his trousers. Fuck. He feels big. You wonder what it would feel like inside you.
“Ah ah,” you chide, squeezing your fingertips around the head of his clothed cock. “Keep your eyes open.”
“T-Tav,” the way he says your name this time sends liquid fire pooling in your belly. You shift a little, squeezing your thighs together as you rub him a little more firmly. Slowly, he opens his eyes, and they’re nearly black now, with a small ring of gold around the edges of his pupil like the corona of the sun.
He’s gorgeous like this. It’s a wonder your own concentration doesn’t drop.
“I have to admit,” you say idly as you trace your fingertips up and down the length of his cock, with only enough pressure to tease, nothing substantial. “I’m impressed you’ve held the spell this long. I’m beginning to wonder if I might have to take more… drastic measures.”
“This isn’t drastic enough?” Rolan mumbles and then swallows hard, a soft sound like the beginnings of a curse rumbling in the back of his throat.
“Please, I’m hardly touching you.” Your voice is light and mischievous, and you feel almost giddy with just how well everything is playing into your hand. You move one of your hands lower to cup Rolan’s balls through the fabric, and he holds back a throaty groan as his tail starts thrashing again, and this time it doesn’t stop. “But what if I put my mouth on you? Do you think you could still hold the spell with your cock in my throat?”
“Ffff—hells,” Rolan nearly whines as the fantasy leaves your lips, and you put just a bit more pressure on the head of his cock. His mouth hangs open as he starts to pant, and his tail doesn’t look like it’s about to stop moving any time soon. He’s back to squirming as his spell flickers wildly before it stabilizes again, stubborn as ever.
But all bets are off, now.
“Do you like the sound of that, Rolan?” you say, dropping your voice to a sultry whisper. “Do you want my mouth on your prick? Want me to taste every inch of you?”
Rolan actually whines this time, and the sound of it has you shivering in delight. “Gods, is this really happening?” he mutters under his breath. “Am I dreaming?”
“Oh, it’s happening,” you say a bit louder, punctuating your words with another tentative stroke. You can feel the fabric under your fingers getting damp near the head of his cock, how it twitches and pulses under your gentle touches. “Now answer me. Do you want my mouth?”
“Y-yes,” Rolan stammers out, his hips rolling a little into your palm, as much as he can while still suspended by your spell. “Gods, yes, Tav, I want it. You have no idea how much I— please.”
It’s not quite a confession, but it’s close. And yet the man still hasn’t dropped the damn spell. His display of power and skill is turning you on more than you’d ever care to admit. With a grin, you squeeze his head a little tighter, and it’s probably almost painful, but he whimpers and gasps so beautifully you do it again just to pull more sounds out of him.
More arousing than his power is the power you have over him. He’s completely at your mercy, now. He’s trembling where he hangs in the air, chest heaving and his eyes completely trained on you. As much as you like the idea of him submitting to you entirely… you can also see the strain in his shoulders, how consumed he is with want.
You’re going to push and push and push until he absolutely fucking breaks.
You want absolutely nothing more.
“Mm, I don’t think you’ve earned it, though,” you say, continuing your teasing torture of his cock and balls through his pants. “You never told me you wanted me, never even tried to make a pass at me. You made me take things into my own hands.”
Rolan’s face is still bright scarlet, and he stammers and moans in shame as he tries to rock into your touches. “I-I was trying to keep things professional,” he says, the desperation in his voice making him sound thick and needy. “I didn’t—I couldn’t risk making you uncomfortable… I didn’t want you to leave.”
Your hands stop momentarily and your heart stutters at the confession. It’s sweet, honestly, how much he respects you, enough to where he tried to hide his feelings from you (abysmally, but still, an attempt was made). But that can be addressed later, when you’re not tortuously horny with a gorgeous man levitating before you.
“Aww,” you say instead, fighting to keep your smile just a little bit cocky despite how warm your face feels. “What an absolute gentleman. However… you seem to have missed that while you were trying to keep things above the board… I was fantasizing about blowing you under your desk.”
“Fuck—“ Rolan trails off into a string of infernal as you deftly unlace his trousers underneath his robes. “You—you were?”
Honestly? You’d only thought about it once or twice in passing, but Rolan doesn’t need to know that. Instead, you smirk up at him devilishly and with all the conviction you can muster, you speak as you slip your hand into his trousers and grasp his cock under his underwear. “Every fucking night, Master.”
Rolan lets out the filthiest moan you think you’ve ever heard in your life, biting down on his lower lip so hard you’re surprised you don’t see blood. His eyes flutter closed as he tries desperately to buck into your hand—
And then the spell behind him flickers once and disappears into nothing.
Checkmate.
“Good boy,” you purr, giving him a firm stroke. “Now, come and get me.”
All at once you slip your hand from his trousers and drop your own concentration, and he drops to the floor with a surprising amount of catlike grace for a man who’s been dangling in the air and teased for the last five minutes. He straightens up and levels you with a look that’s dark and needy and wanting, and he gives a primal growl from the back of his throat.
You turn tail and run back towards the lift, your heart hammering in your chest with delight as you hear him shout something in infernal and give chase. It’s not a long chase by any means—he’s got several inches on you and his strides are long enough that you feel his hand around your bicep within a handful of seconds. He pulls you towards him and then with a yelp you’re stumbling and the two of you go tumbling to the floor, rolling and scrambling against each other until he pins you to the ground on your back, hovering over you with his nostrils flared and a wild look in his eyes.
“You absolute fucking tease,” he growls, and then his lips crash against yours with enough force that your head would have knocked into the stone floor if it weren’t for his hand slipping into your hair to cradle your skull. It’s desperate but soft and it has you moaning against his mouth and fisting the hand that isn’t pinned down into the front of his robes, arching your back to press your hips into his.
He pulls back from your lips just enough to speak again, his voice gravelly with lust. “You evil, evil, woman. Winding me up like this…” The end of his sentence trails off into a moan as he kisses you again, gliding his tongue over your lower lip as if he wants to devour you alive.
Honestly, you want him to.
But you think you can push him just a little bit more. So, you kick your legs out to wrap them around his waist, pulling his weight down onto you fully to where his hard cock grinds over your clothed cunt. The action punches a groan out of him against your lips, but then you squeeze your thighs together and roll him to the side, using his momentary distraction to your advantage. He makes a noise of surprise as his back hits the floor and you right yourself on top of him, straddling his hips and looking down at him with a mischievous gleam in your eyes.
You must look a mess, your hair tangled and face flushed, but he’s looking up at you as if you’re a goddess in the flesh, and you’re overcome with the desire to break this man until he’s all but forced to fuck you stupid.
“You’re just so much fun to wind up though,” you say to answer his half-mumbled scolding, rocking your hips side to side as you press yourself firmly down on his cock. Rolan’s hands fly to your thighs and he groans, pressing his claws into your flesh as he bucks against you.
“Tav.” Gods. The way he says your name has you absolutely dripping already.
“What?” Your voice lilts, feigning innocence while you continue to grind yourself on top of his cock through his robes. “Want something?”
“I think it’s obvious what I want,” Rolan growls, bucking up into you.
“Is it, though?” you tease, planting both your hands on his chest so you can get more leverage. The strangled groan he lets out sends another wave of arousal pulsing through your cunt. “You said you wanted my mouth earlier, but now it seems like you want to just fuck me on the floor. Which is it?”
“Fucking hells.” Rolan’s chest heaves as he sits up to pull you into his lap, yanking your hips down hard on top of his. The friction is divine, even through your clothes, and honestly you don’t think you can wait to get naked, anyway. Time to see if Rolan will actually get with the program.
With a sickeningly sweet smile, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hover just out of reach of his lips. He tries to chase you, but you pull him back out of reach by the hair, the auburn strands falling loose out of the knot he usually keeps it in. With the hair framing his face, he looks even more wild, and fuck, disheveled is a good look on him. With a quirk of your lip, you deliver the killing blow:
“If you want something… then do something about it.”
Rolan snarls and surges forward to kiss you again, his hands scrambling from their tight grip on your hips to fumble with the robes between you. His hands are warm when they finally, finally slide up under your robes to touch bare skin, his claws leaving small scratches in his eagerness as he struggles to unlace your trousers and pull them down. You lift up a bit onto your knees to help him out, but he only manages to get your pants partially down your thighs before he gets impatient and just rips the fucking fabric.
Gods. Gods that’s hot.
“Did you just—“ you start to ask, but your words are swallowed up by another heated kiss, Rolan none-too-eager to part from you, likely in an effort to prevent you from getting the upper hand again. Which, fair.
“I’ll fix them later, I need you now,” he rasps, and then he’s hooking a claw into the drenched crotch of your panties and that fabric tears away, too. When he presses his fingers into you it’s like lightning, and your legs tremble as you watch him pull his fingers away to pop them into his mouth, moaning obscenely as he licks your arousal off of his skin, his eyes burning with desire.
Fuck.
“You taste so good, but I can’t wait anymore,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. He drops his hands once more and fumbles to push his robes aside and pull out his cock—honestly, you’re surprised that his pants didn’t slip down when he chased you, since you’d already had them unlaced. When you look down, you see the red, weeping tip of his cock as he wraps his fist around it and strokes once, and then you’re both shifting to move as much fabric out of the way as possible so he can line himself up with your dripping cunt—
When you sink down onto him, you swear you see fireworks.
Rolan’s cock is ridged, long, and more girthy than anyone you’ve been with before. You hiss a little as your body adjusts, but the stretch is divine, so you immediately lift up a little on your knees only to sit back down on him hard.
“Gods, Tav, so tight—“ Rolan chokes out, rocking up into you with a couple of experimental thrusts. “I’m not going to last—“
“Then you better fuck me like you mean it,” you say as you start to ride him in earnest, your hands slipping around to hold onto his horns for leverage. “Make it count.”
“Fuck—“ The snarl that rips out of him is pure, primal lust, and he wraps his arms around your back and meets every bounce with thrusts that make you see stars. With you on top, he’s going so deep, and you know you’re going to feel this in a few hours. But you can’t stop, won’t stop, and finally it seems like Rolan has given in to animal instinct and it is absolutely glorious.
He captures your lips again in a messy kiss that’s more of an inelegant exchange of breath than a proper kiss, but you’re far too gone to care. As long as he keeps fucking you, keeps making those godsdamned noises against your mouth, you’re going to come in minutes.
Unfortunately, working in the Sundries and Rolan’s Tower hasn’t left you in the best of shape, and your legs start to cramp up before too long. Rolan seems to take note of your slowing pace and decides to take matters into his own hands, shifting on the floor so he can roll you back onto your back to take you that way. His cock slips out of you and you whine at the loss, but the noise dies in your throat as he leans back to whip his robes over his head and toss them somewhere behind him. While he undresses, you quickly toss your ruined pants and underwear to the side and lift up your robes, eying his torso hungrily as you take in every taut muscle and infernal ridge. Shirtless with his trousers and underwear around his thighs, he leans over you again and guides himself back inside your cunt, groaning as he sinks home in one slick thrust.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he says as he starts snapping his hips, setting a brutal pace that has you crying out with each thrust. You want to keep goading him, say something smart like before, but Rolan has broken from your teasing so beautifully, and it’s all you can do to hold on for the ride as he fucks you for all he’s worth.
Rolan shifts a bit when his thrusts start to get more erratic, hooking an arm up under one of your legs so he can fuck into you deeper. Your eyes cross and you might be screaming when he wrenches his other hand between you to rub haphazardly at your clit. You’d be chastising his technique if you weren’t so fucking close already, and you cry out his name as lightning shocks of pleasure shoot down your spine.
“That’s it—fuck—come for me, Tav,” Rolan babbles, and you force your eyes open (when did they close?) to look at his face. His hair hangs in wild tendrils around his face, sweat clinging to his brow and dripping down his nose. His mouth is open in a half-snarl, pointed teeth poking out from kiss-swollen lips. He’s fucking gorgeous, and you pray to every single god you can think of that this can happen every day from now on.
“Rolan! I—“ you reach your peak with a whine that trails off into a whimper, your cunt clenching around Rolan’s cock so hard your vision blurs. Rolan growls and snaps his hips once—twice—three times, and then he’s pressing into you as he tips over the edge, cock throbbing inside of you as he empties, hot and dripping into your abused cunt.
He collapses on top of you as he catches his breath, and for a long, long time, neither of you move or speak. The training room echoes with your panting, and every now and then your cunt twitches around his softening cock.
Rolan is the one to break the silence first, lifting up onto his elbows so he can look at you. “Gods, that was…” he cuts himself off with a swallow as his eyes search your face, something a little more open and vulnerable slipping into his expression in the aftermath. “You’re…”
“Amazing? Incredible? Mind-blowing?” you helpfully provide answers with a fucked-out, shit-eating grin, wiggling your eyebrows at him in an exaggerated fashion.
The hesitant expression on Rolan’s face vanishes as he snorts and rolls his eyes, replaced with a look of exasperated fondness. “I suppose that’s accurate, even if you are being insufferably smug about it.”
“Well, that’s me all right,” you say with a snicker. “Insufferably smug, and if I remember right, an ‘evil, evil woman’.”
“Now that I have more of my wits about me, I think the word ‘sadistic’ is more applicable,” Rolan says, gently knocking his forehead to yours. “Honestly, how long did you… know that I was attracted to you? Seems like you had your little ‘plan’ all figured out to get me to snap.”
“Hm? Oh, a couple of weeks,” you say with a little giggle. “But pushing you like that was honestly just a whim.”
“A whim?”
“Mmhm. I kept wondering when you were going to make a move, and then you were just pissing me off today, so I decided to see if I could get you to do something about it instead of running off when you got too worked up.”
“Oh, I see.” Rolan ducks his head briefly and clears his throat before he looks up at you, that vulnerable look slipping back into his eyes. “Well, like I said, I didn’t want to… make you uncomfortable. But clearly it seems like I missed some obvious signals that you er, reciprocated my feelings.”
“I think I just have a better poker face than you do,” you say with a shrug, and then a small laugh slips out of you when he scowls in response.
“But!” you continue, reaching up to press a hand to the side of his face. He leans into your touch immediately, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “We’re here now, and… if you’re up for it… I really wouldn’t mind doing this sort of thing again. On a bed, preferably. My back is starting to hurt.”
Rolan scoffs, but his face is incredibly fond, and maybe a little bit aroused when he opens his eyes to look at you. “That can most certainly be arranged.”
You both lean in for a kiss at the same time, your lips meeting in something a bit more slow and tender than the desperate kisses you exchanged earlier. Your heart flips at how he ends the kiss with a soft peck to your lips before he pulls away, golden eyes sparkling with something like wonder.
Of course, you have to ruin it. That’s just who you are.
“Good boy. Now… are you going to carry me to your bedchamber, Master Rolan, or am I going to have to walk there with my arse hanging out of my robes?”
Rolan’s only response is to growl and gather you up in his arms, and well, something tells you that you’re going to have a lot more opportunities to rile up your favorite, insufferable wizard in the very near future.