Archive of Our Own

You have returned again to the devil’s house—invited through its familiar sordid doors by a mysterious cherry-musked summons that appeared beneath your door overnight.

The House of Hope had beckoned and you had answered it to find yourself visiting Avernus once more—though you could not recall ever visiting Raphael’s study before today.

Opulent, indulgent, and scattered with the occasional touch of Raphael’s own telltale wickedness—wing-back chairs with cambion-claw feet, a hearth crackling hungry with hellfire, and walls lined with a splendid collection of devilish portraiture—the room strikes you as one that reflects its master well.

You take another step into the imposing space, your eyes sweeping over the rich, dark silks that hang from the study’s cavernous ceilings, their hems caressing over the stone and gold inlay of the floors below. Through the open balcony a warm breeze rolls in, the brush of Avernus air fluttering silks and stirring up the scents of ink on parchment and the warm spice of fine mahogany.

Today the door to the study is closed, a thick hand-carved slab that dulls the din of debtors in the hall—their voices hardly noticeable over the sound of your own steps against the flagstone, the quiet crackle of hellfire in the hearth, and the scrape of a clawed finger tracing its way back and forth over the smooth wood of the desk at the center of the room.

Raphael's desk itself is a massive thing, a gargantuan tabletop scattered with quills and bottles of ink and devilish deals half-authored... Though it is neither the contracts nor the wicked pleasures promised by their pages that capture your intrigue. No, it is the sharp scrape of a cambion claw, its pointed end dragging back and forth across the smooth polish of mahogany. Slowly. Lazily. Sensually.

You approach the desk with a shiver.

“And so my little mouse comes scurrying back to the House of Hope…”

The claw scrapes lightly against the wood again, its movement so fluid that you cannot help but be mesmerized by it. Eyes fixed upon the sharp point and the strong, red hand to which it belongs, you stand a touch nervously before the desk and the handsome devil who waits just across it. Raphael. No—not Raphael. Haarlep.

You blink in surprise, though certainly not in disappointment. A sly smile spreads across the incubus’s face. He’s been expecting you.

“I hope you didn’t wear yourself out looking for Raphael,” Haarlep says, lounging back in his master’s chair with lax indifference. He's draped one of his thick, muscled legs over the arm of the chair, and you notice with interest as he trails a teasing hand up and down the exposed inner sweep of his own thigh. “Fortunately for you, my master is… occupied.”

Both of his hands stop their rhythmic sweep and his gaze darts up to meet yours, mischief glittering in his eyes.

“But we don’t need him to have a little fun of our own, do we?”

You give Haarlep a sly smile in return—a silent agreement blooming in the air between you.

“I am so glad you agree, little mouse,” he breathes with satisfaction as your eyes fall back to the exposed plane of his inner thigh, his fingers resuming with their gentle tease along his skin. Would he touch you with the same soft grace that he touches himself with? The thought alone makes you shift your weight, desire suddenly pooling between your legs. The slight motion is not lost on Haarlep, his smile widening almost as if he can sense the ignition of your arousal. But if he has any thoughts on the matter, he does not voice them—his hand continuing along at the same unhurried pace.

“I summoned you here because I thought you might assist me with a little—“ He looks down, fingertips tracing a particularly wanton vein running along the length of his thigh. “—Let’s call it a fantasy of mine.”

The words make your stomach tighten deliciously, and when Haarlep looks back up at you, a low chuckle rising from his chest, you can tell that he finds the excitement evident on your face. Haarlep looks you over with thinly-veiled delight, his eyes glimmering as they rake over the telltale flush rising in your skin, the rise and fall of your chest as your breathing deepens with desire. And then his eyes drop to the warmth where your thighs meet, a look of knowing glittering brightly in his eye, almost as if he can tell that the space between your legs is already damp with arousal and anticipation…

You bite your lip and Haarlep’s hand stops again. His eyes dart up to meet yours and he smiles again.

“Take off your clothes.”

His words are playful, his face even a touch teasing—but you know a command when you hear one.

You only hesitate a moment, a single backwards glance cast toward the closed door of the study before you are reaching for your clothes with eager hands, garment after garment falling to the floor beside you as you liberate your skin to the warm air of the study. And as you work, Haarlep watches you intently, the hellfire in his eyes flickering especially bright as he notes the readiness of your body, the light tremble of anticipation as your fingers undo every button, as they unclasp every buckle.

When the last of your clothes lay pooled on the floor beside you, the incubus rises from his seat at last, sauntering around the long end of the desk to meet you where you stand.

“Put your hands on the desk.”

You look at the expanse of mahogany before you and consider the command. What is Haarlep’s fantasy? To bend you over his master’s desk and fuck you until you forget your own name? To make you come repeatedly and moan filthy nothings atop the scattered parchments, some poor soul’s contract still half-authored?

You press your palms to the tabletop and raise your eyes to the wall just beyond it. Smiling down at you from a portrait high on the wall is the master of the house himself, Raphael. Even through canvas and paint, you swear you can sense the very real danger of a warning shining down at you clearly from the devil's eyes.

You bite your lip again, wondering for a moment if Raphael would approve of what you’re about to do in his study. But as the room echoes with the sounds of leather and buckles hitting the stone floor—Haarlep shedding his harness somewhere just behind you—the arousal that curls deliciously around the base of your spine suddenly has you wondering a different question entirely: does the devil really need to know everything that you get up to in his house?

Haarlep doesn’t seem to think so, and as the incubus sweeps a soft hand across your bared shoulders, you close your eyes and release your reservations to the Avernus air. And though that air is an undeniably fine temperature—warm, even—you suppress a slight shiver at the incubus's touch nonetheless.

“Don’t hold back on my account,” Haarlep murmurs, one hand winding gently in your hair to tilt your face toward the portrait of Raphael on the wall. “Or his, for that matter.”

You breathe your agreement and Haarlep nudges your head forward, exposing the nape of your neck to his touch. A quiet moan rises from your lips when he runs a sharp claw along it, the tease trailing down until it has swept down the full length of your spine. You feel another shiver ripple through your spine—a true tremor of danger and delight that you allow to tear freely through you this time. With another soft moan, you grip at the smooth wood of the desk in front of you, relishing in the soft scrape of his claw as your back arches lightly beneath it.

The incubus chuckles, pleased with your body's sensitive response as he gives your hair another soft tug. Raphael's portrait already forgotten, this time Haarlep's grip guides your head to the side, baring the full delicate planes of your throat to him. The motion brings a rough breath to your lips, your eyes fluttering shut in delight as he presses his lips to the curve of your neck, laying a soft kiss and an even softer nip along the side of your throat.

And even as the fingers wound in your hair tighten slightly, the hand he raked down your back remains gentle, making its way around the curve of your hip to lay a light tease along the sensitive crease where your thigh and hip meet.

Your next exhale quivers slightly in your throat, your legs parting as Haarlep's fingers dance ever closer to the wetness pooling between them. A quiet groan of impatience rises from your lips when his fingertips skirt past your clit entirely, the little organ twitching with frustration and captivation as he trails his index finger along the inside of your thigh, the pad of his finger swiping at a desperate drip of your arousal already leaking its way down.

“My, you are a wet little thing, aren’t you?” He whispers into your neck, his lips giving the delicate skin there a soft suckle that has you whimpering. Between your legs, his fingers skim upwards again before giving the soft and wanting edge of your slickened lips a featherlight graze.

Every muscle in your body tightens in anticipation as he traces back over them again, one maddeningly gentle swipe after another teasing you until another drip of wetness is drooling from between them. He gives you a quiet hum of satisfaction, dipping a finger between your aching lips at last to slip a fingertip against your needy entrance. You whimper again, the gentle graze igniting a deep and undeniable desperation for more as you twitch against his tease.

But Haarlep, true to everything you know about his kind, relishes completely in the anticipation—in your soft whimpers of desire, in the rising tension in your wanting hips, and in the slick slip of your arousal as he spreads it around with a velvety, unhurried touch.

It would be a lie to say that you don't relish in it too, and for a moment you find yourself so lost in the depths of your desire that it catches you by complete surprise when Haarlep gives your clit a quick and delicious upward stroke, the motion sending a jolt of pleasure shooting through you as an unexpected and satisfied moan tumbles from your lips.

Haarlep repeats the motion and you moan again, your hips quivering in silent ask for another swipe. But his fingers don't deliver what you seek, the slick pads of his fingers returning to lay another gentle tease along your lips before they begin to slide up the length of your body with a delicious and excruciating slowness. Trailing your own wetness across the flush of your skin, you whimper with quiet impatience as Haarlep drags his fingers up the center of your stomach, between your breasts and then along your sternum, until they have trailed all the way up to your throat—where his hand comes to rest in a gentle but firm grip.

“Needy, naughty little thing…” He scolds quietly in your ear, his thumb tracing lightly along your jaw as his other hand unwinds itself from your hair, a shiver trickling down your spine as he rakes down the length of your arm until he reaches the back of your hand, Haarlep laying his palm over it to pin you firmly against the wood of Raphael’s desk.

You swallow, your throat bobbing against the warm palm pressed gently to it, altogether surprised and enthralled by the claiming feel of Haarlep’s hands on your body.

Haarlep exhales softly, satisfaction on his breath as he gives the side of your neck a few gentle strokes, his lips giving your ear a tantalizingly soft graze as he whispers into it, “Tell me, my dear little mouse… Would you like me to fuck you on Raphael’s desk?”

He presses against you and you gasp, your hips meeting the edge of the tabletop as his meet the curve of your ass. Haarlep’s length throbs against you—so hard and wanting against the softness of your flesh that you can’t help but squirm against the table, your body begging for him to slide it between your legs.

“Shh-shh-shhh. In due time, my dear,” he whispers in your ear, his breath hot as he traces soft circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, the hand on your throat giving you a sweet caress. “And of course, this will be our secret—won’t it, little mouse?”

You nod and he breathes his approval, his hand leaving your throat to trail down and across your collarbone before it rounds over your shoulder. You release a trembling breath as he teases its way down the side of your body.

When his hand finds your hip, the other rising to match it, it suddenly occurs to you that Haarlep could bend you over and fuck you right now if he wanted to. It would be so easy, you realize, for him to simply place a firm hand against the center of your back, for him to press you forward until your breasts are against the wood of his master’s desk and your hands are grasping for purchase among the books and parchment while he sinks his thick and throbbing cock into you.

The image is one so delicious that you find yourself suddenly leaning forward in your desire to have it realized, body trembling with delight as Haarlep answers you with another delicious rake of his claws down the length of your back. You tremble and moan at his touch, your hips pressing backwards into him as your chest meets the smooth slab of polished wood. An invitation.

“Mmm, a truly thrilling proposition, my dear—” Haarlep breathes softly, his thumb tracing a swirl into the soft flesh of your ass as he looks down at you. “—To bend you over and fuck you like this…” You can hear the desire dripping from every word as his cock twitches honestly against you. “But yours is a proposition for another time. I’ve already made other plans for us today.”

You sigh at his words and he leans forward, his weight pressing into you as you cant your hips back instinctively for stimulation. But to your disappointment, you find none—just a gentle caress laid along the nape of your neck as Haarlep murmurs his reason into your ear, the incubus’s voice laden with a seduction so thick it makes your breath hitch.

“Besides… I want to see your eyes when I make them roll back.”

You could have groaned with desire at his words, and when he grinds his hips into you, the desperate little sound leaves your lips anyway—your cunt aching so incredibly with the need to be fucked that you’d do anything he asks of you.

Almost as if that were his plan all along, Haarlep stands and runs a satisfied hand along your hip, giving it a playful squeeze as he says, “Now be a good girl and get on your back for me.”

You comply—and quickly too—your back against the wood of Raphael’s desk a moment later as your hair lays splayed over the devil’s documents. Haarlep breathes his approval as he looks down at you, your legs parting and dangling over the edge of the tabletop. With a look of wicked delight, he sinks to his knees between them and smiles up at you, his pleasure evident for a single delicious moment before his eyes drop to the wetness between your legs.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have such a pretty… little… cunt?” Haarlep asks you, pausing between each word to graze the pad of his thumb over your drooling entrance. You groan at the tease and he repeats it, dipping the tip of his finger in just enough to make you whimper. The excitement flickers in his eyes as he gives your entrance another agonizingly shallow tease with his finger before withdrawing it entirely, his fingertip tracing slick and satisfying circles over your needy clit.

You sigh into his touch and Haarlep smiles again, the side of his face leaning against your thigh as he watches your body respond to the gentleness of his touch with complete and utter captivation.

“My dear, you are so wet… And so deliciously responsive…” He breathes, drinking in every twitch and spasm laid out plainly before him. “For a creature like me, yours is the most exquisite kind of pleasure.”

You mean to smile at his compliment but when he gives your clit a generous swipe you find that you can only moan instead, your legs trembling lightly as your hips roll up to meet him, his touch growing firmer and more delicious with each passing moment.

And Haarlep watches it all with hungry eyes, his gaze burning as though he simply cannot get enough of the sumptuous scene before him: your body splayed across his master’s desk openly and wantonly as you moan and gasp for him into the study air—every delicious noise from your mouth plied from it by the broad pad of his finger as it works your aching clit in slick little circles, your hips grinding in answer to his rhythm.

Eyes bright and burning with the lit flame of desire, Haarlep takes in every last detail of your sensual delight with nothing less than utter satisfaction—from the heaving of your chest and the flush in your skin to the way your hips buck and your fingers curl desperately against nothing, your cunt tightening and twitching deliciously as he continues to lavish it with stroke after stroke.

If Haarlep already finds himself enthralled by witnessing the incredible depth of your pleasure, then he is nothing short of entirely enraptured when his eyes notice your body drooling a particularly heavy drip of arousal, his lips parting in quiet awe as he watches it slide from your entrance to settle onto the polished mahogany of the table below. You pucker and quicker with delight as Haarlep leans in suddenly to lap at your wetness, a contented sigh rising from him as he tastes your desire, lapping and slurping hungrily at its source.

As his tongue continues to lave over you eagerly, every lick and suck drawing a fresh gasp from your mouth, Haarlep grabs firmly at the flesh of your hips and pulls you into his mouth with a low and hungry hum. You don’t know whether to credit his technique or his enthusiasm more, but as Haarlep buries his face between your legs, you can't stop your body from arching desperately up into him and your hands—needy after too many moments spent grasping at smooth wood and nothing—grasp suddenly at his horns as you seek something to cling to as you ride every wave of pleasure.

Between deep and broad laps of his tongue, Haarlep chuckles softly, his laugh low and alluring as he amuses at the way your fingers have wrapped so needily around his horns, your hips grinding and trembling as he buries is face deeper against them with a smile. And when he gives your clit a firm suckle, the suction of his mouth plying a desperate shudder from your body, you can feel the overwhelming delight that he takes in the way your body responds to him—the way it begs and pleads for him not to stop as the pleasure tightens agonizingly taut in your core.

Lost in the wild bliss of it the moment and focused only on every sweet suckle of his mouth, you hardly register the sensation of something unknown slithering its way up the inside of your thigh—a touch strangely foreign and familiar all at once, though satisfyingly gentle as it skims up your leg and slides toward the parted center of your quivering body. With a sharp gasp, you feel it press against your entrance, delicious and dexterous as it sinks into you with a shallow tease that has you finally realizing what it is…

You look down at Haarlep, the incubus lost in his own rapture as he sucks and laps at your clit skillfully. Looking past your own lust-heavy lids, you spot the curve of his tail as it presses against your thigh, the tip of the cambion appendage sinking into your cunt to deliver a few slow and slithering thrusts. You moan at the realization, tightening around the delicious drag of Haarlep's tail as you watch him work.

As though pleased by your approval, a brief smile flits across his face and he presses his tail deeper into you, its tip tickling at that sensitive spot inside of you that makes you squirm with delight. He does it again and you tense around him with another moan, your body desperate and tight and worked right up to the glorious precipice of orgasm... All it would take is one more thrust of his tail, one more suckle of his lips and you’d be coming undone all over Raphael’s desk.

Just… One… More…

Haarlep withdraws his tail he looks up at you, his chin shining with your slick before he wipes it away quickly.

“Do you hear that, little mouse?”

There’s a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes—but if it is fear or excitement, you can’t quite tell.

You pique your ears for whatever sound made him take pause, but save for the sounds of your own breath, heavy though it is with desire, you hear nothing. And then it strikes you.

You hear nothing.

While you were distracted by the sinful slip of Haarlep’s tongue and the slithering thrusts of his tail, the din of debtors in the hall had died down completely and the crackle of hellfire in the hearth had shrunk to little more than a whisper. It was as if the entire House of Hope had gone completely silent… until one sound breaks through the hush at last. The sound of footsteps on flagstone.

A devil’s footsteps.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest and you look to Haarlep, the incubus calm and unbothered despite the fact that Raphael’s footsteps draw ever nearer. With casual nonchalance, he rises to stand, giving your clothes a quick sweep out of sight beneath one of the hearthside chairs. And when he steps toward the roomy wooden wardrobe at the edge of the room, beckoning you to follow him inside of it, you feel your panic lessen to a buzz of excitement.

The door to the wardrobe closes quietly behind you just as the one to the study swings open, Raphael strolling over its threshold. Through a slim gap in the wardrobe door you peer out, feeling Haarlep’s body pressing against your back, his hands cupping your hips gently as he looks out into the study alongside you.

In the open air of the room, Raphael takes a moment to pour himself a drink, the low baritone of his voice humming some tune you can’t quite catch, though it sounds vaguely Cormyrian to your ears. Your eyes follow him as he approaches his desk, every one of his movements marked with unbothered grace as he plucks a book from the tabletop and begins to thumb through it without pause.

You swallow quietly.

Raphael doesn’t know you’re here.

Haarlep lets out a quiet breath and you allow yourself to relax into him, some of your worry evaporating as Raphael takes a seat behind his desk and begins flipping through his book. You do your best not to think about the temptation of Haarlep’s body against yours—the bare press of flesh on flesh, his hands on your hips, and his erection throbbing wantonly against you while a drip of arousal drips silently down the inside of your thigh...

You don’t know how long Raphael plans to stay in the study, but it occurs to you that so long as you stay quiet and he stays out of the wardrobe, you could evade detection entirely. And not only is it reasonable to think that you might successfully outwait the devil, but it might even be exceptionally easy to do so—so long as Haarlep’s hands are content to remain on your hips and so long as you could ignore the desirous ache between your thighs…

Haarlep gives your hips another soft caress, the gentle rake of his claws plying a shiver of delight from you as you continue to watch Raphael through the gap in the door, the master of the house still entirely unaware of the depravity that was unfolding atop his own desk just moments ago.

But Haarlep’s hands begin to drift, a slight shudder running down your back at the tickle of his claws raking over your stomach. And when the gentle graze of his touch continues to trail up your body and toward your breasts, you begin to wonder if the task of outwaiting Raphael in silence and secrecy might be more difficult than you’d originally bargained for.

Haarlep’s hands reach your breasts and your eyes flutter shut for just a moment, his claws giving the delicate underside of both breasts a light graze. You let your eyes flutter shut again and lean your head back as his fingers trace soft circles around your nipples, stiff with desire despite the warmth of his hands. When he gives them a sudden, firm flick, a quiet gasp of delight escapes past your lips.

Raphael’s humming stops.

Every muscle in your body seizes in sudden fear, your eyes shooting open to find that Raphael has paused his reading too, the corners of his mouth twisted down into a frown and the bridge of his nose wrinkled in displeasure.

Raphael sets the book down and you hold your breath, watching as he reaches into his jacket pocket to produce a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, the sternness melting from his face as he dons them and resumes his reading. The low hum of a Cormyrian melody fills the study once more.

You exhale quietly, though you could have sighed with relief, if the risk of drawing the devil’s attention wasn't already far too great. Content with the knowledge that you remain undetected in the study, you relax back into Haarlep again, his hands stilled against you and his breathing steady and silent. Yet even through the relief you are sure you share, some part of you can sense the incubus’s not-so-hidden exhilaration at the dangerous edge of your encounter, his cock throbbing against you with depraved excitement at the brief scare.

And when Haarlep breathes a playful “Shhh…” into your ear, testing your silence with another risky flick of his fingers, some part of you begins to wonder if this wasn't the fantasy he had alluded to upon your arrival.

You might have objected if you were of a mind to, but when Haarlep gives both of your nipples a light pinch, you find the ache of your unrealized orgasm so much more powerful than any voice of reason could ever be. And so instead of swiping away his touch, you find yourself arching into it, your body desperately and silently begging for more despite the risk of it all.

“You naughty little thing,” Haarlep whispers into your ear, the tone of his voice betraying his amusement as he rolls a nipple between the pads of his fingers, giving the other one a soft tug. You press a quiet hand over your own mouth, stifling the desperate little noise that tries to escape from it as he does it again, his cock twitching with desire as your breath pours out ragged.

“Fortunately for you…” he continues quietly, his hands trailing down from your breasts to wrap around your wrists. Guiding them up and together, Haarlep exhales in soft satisfaction at the sight of your hands clasped obediently behind your head. “I happen to like naughty little things.”

A shiver trickles down your spine as a familiar, slithering caress winds its way around your wrists once, and then twice. You pull against the restraint lightly, realizing that it is Haarlep’s tail that has bound your hands together, its grip firm even as you struggle lightly against it. And when his tail gives your wrists an unexpected tug backwards, you nearly gasp again, your arms pulled back until your back is arched, breasts open and utterly exposed to the mercy of his touch.

You wriggle against the incubus as his hands find your breasts again, his fingers laying a few short and sweet caresses against your skin before they brush over your nipples again in a gentle tease. You would have pressed a hand—perhaps two—to your mouth were it not for Haarlep’s restraint, and as he torments you with a series of sensitive flicks and strokes, you find yourself melting forward into his fingers, your breathing shallow and desperate as you do your best to endure the pleasure of his touch quietly.

Beyond the wardrobe you hear the sound of a book thudding shut, Raphael setting his volume down before he reaches to sift through a pile of parchments scattered on the desk. Above the dry shuffle of papers, you bite back a desperate whimper, Haarlep’s fingers giving your sensitized nipples a few firm tugs that make your knees go weak and your insides tense with desire.

And when Haarlep gives your nipples a particularly firm pinch, you find the sweet agony of it almost too much to bear. A low moan pressing against the back of your throat as the wetness drips between your legs, you press your thighs together in tensed desperation, legs trembling as you ride out the pleasure of another sudden flick of his fingers.

With a quiet chuckle, Haarlep rolls your nipples between his fingers one last time before releasing them entirely, his hands trailing down your chest as you breathe heaving, ragged breaths into the quiet of the wardrobe. He breathes another chuckle as you squirm against the restraint of his tail, your body so sensitized and desperate that you might have cried out your pleasure if he’d teased you any more, though it would have been a lie to say that some part of you didn’t want him to.

But Haarlep plays nice, his tail allowing your arms to relax a little as his fingers rake down your stomach, one of them stopping at your waist as he pulls you back flush and tight against him. He gives the nape of your neck a soft nuzzle, laying a soft kiss against your skin as his other hand continues to trail down your body, skimming down and then up the front of your quivering thigh before his fingers slide suddenly and deliciously into the wetness between your legs.

Aching with desperate need from the relentlessness of his tease, you stifle a low moan at the satisfaction of his touch, your legs parting to allow his hand to slip freely against you.

“Careful now, little mouse,” Haarlep whispers softly, the flat of his palm lavishing broad and steady strokes against your drooling cunt. You could have groaned from the wild pleasure of it all, his hand pressed against you in a slow, slick slide that has you burying your face into the side of your arm, your skin soaking up every whimper and whine that tries to press past your lips.

And though Raphael is mere paces away, the crackle of fire in the hearth and the occasional dry flip of a page a paltry cover for your sounds of pleasure, Haarlep doesn’t relent for even a moment, the firm pressure of each stroke raising a delicious and dangerous heat in the pit of your stomach.

You stifle another needy sound—barely catching the noise in your throat when Haarlep gives your clit a risky swipe, your hips bucking as Raphael turns another page and the quiet hum of his Cormyrian tune drifts peacefully through the gap in the wardrobe door. And when Haarlep does it again—his fingers slipping against you firmly—you can’t help but wrap a desperate hand around the tail that binds your wrists, your legs quivering helplessly as the tension inside of you rises with every slick swipe of his fingers.

You could come like this, you realize—and easily too—but with Raphael just beyond the wardrobe door, it occurs to you that you’re not entirely sure that you should. Haarlep gives your clit another agonizingly firm swipe, his tail wrapped snugly around your wrists despite the way you squirm against him, and suddenly it occurs to you that you may not have a choice in the matter after all.

Yet still you try, pressing your legs together in a futile attempt at staving off your rising tides of pleasure, your desire-soaked mind fearful that the rapture might be too great for you to hold in your whimpers and moans. Even the tightest press of your legs isn't enough to dissuade Haarlep, who continues stroking his hand back and forth against the slickness between them anyway, his own breathing ragged with excitement as he relishes in the undeniable nature of your quiet ecstasy.

“Don’t hold back, my dear…” Haarlep whispers into your ear, the thrill and sensuality of the moment dripping from his every word, “I want to see you give in to the pleasure.”

You stifle another needy sound, your stomach pooling with the rising heat of a deep and desperate need to come. Gripping at Haarlep’s tail tighter, your legs trembling wildly as you realize that the sensation of it all is simply too much to resist. The secrecy, the way Raphael sits just beyond the wardrobe door, the tension of your silence, the tension of your orgasm…

He gives your clit another firm swipe and you come undone against him, your body shuddering and shaking with the incredible force of your release as he strokes you through it. You bite your lip try your hardest to stifle any sound, a deep and trembling breath escaping from your nose anyway as the pleasure quakes through your body. And as each wave of bliss mounts upon the last, you do everything you can to choke back your moans and gasps and the desperate, depraved cries of rapture that you wish you could shout into the forbidden echo of Raphael’s study.

It is only after you begin to come down from your shuddering release, your body trembling its aftershocks in the firm hold of Haarlep’s grip, that you remember to hope that Raphael had not heard you—but when you look through the gap in the door, the devil is nowhere to be found. Lost from view sometime after you succumbed to the ecstasy of Haarlep’s touch, you wonder if Raphael has left the study or if he lurks in it still, carrying on with his business somewhere dangerously just past the view of the gap in the wardrobe door…

Whatever had become of Raphael while you lost track of him amidst the throes of ecstasy—you think as the incubus’s tail unwinds itself from your wrists and his hand withdraws from between your legs—it appears that Haarlep is in no hurry to leave the wardrobe. And, as he steps aside to push you flush against the back of the wardrobe, where he pins you against the wood, you see no reason why you should be in a hurry to leave it either.

With a quiet exhale, Haarlep slides his hand back into place between your legs, and you whimper quietly. His lips molding into a silent shhh, you nod in silent acceptance as the palm of his other hand rises to press against your mouth.

“You come so beautifully for me, little mouse,” Haarlep breathes with a smile, the palm of his hand catching the pleasured exhale on your lips as he strokes at your clit before sinking two strong fingers into the aching wetness of your cunt. “Now… be a good girl and do it again.”

Your body answers by tightening around the drag of his fingers, a whimper of delight rising in your throat as you allow yourself to get lost in the pleasure of his hands. It is easy, of course, each stroke so maddeningly slick and sensitive that you find yourself sinking into the rhythm of his fingers like a mindless thrall, the world melting away as you grasp at Haarlep's back and whimper your desire into his palm.

He drinks in every last detail with a look of utter intoxication, his lips parted in indescribable awe as his eyes burn with sordid intensity at your bliss. It was as if he were savoring every last drop of your pleasure as it coated his fingers, drinking in every dribble of excess dripping delicious and sweet down the back of his hand as he pumps his fingers into you again and again.

“You like that, don’t you?” He whispers heavily, already knowing your answer from the way you gasp into his hand, the way your fingers dig desperately into his back as you tense and spasm around every thrust. But you nod anyway, his face spreading into a satisfied grin as he curls his fingers inside of you, fingertips stroking firmly over that sensitive spot that makes your back arch and your knees go weak. “Then show me.”

The command is more than enough to send you over the edge, gasping in quiet desperation as you tighten and twitch around his fingers in a series of wild, depraved spasms. Every muscle in your body seizes sweetly as the tremors tear through you, your body so unbridled and fervid with the violent bliss of your release that it’s nothing short of a struggle to stay quiet.

It’s no use.

Haarlep presses his hand tighter still against your mouth, his palm slick with your saliva as you moan desperately and freely into it, your body unable to comply with the need for silence any longer as it gives itself over to wash after wash of pure and unabashed pleasure.

If Haarlep minds, then his face certainly doesn’t show it—a wicked flicker of delight in his eyes and a smile on his lips as he dips his head to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue dragging over it as you arch into him, gasping for air and for mercy.

It only takes another few pumps of his fingers and another flick of his tongue to have you coming again, your fingers flexed hungrily into the muscles on his back as you cry out into his hand. And, true to his promise, Haarlep doesn’t stop until he's seen your eyes roll back, your hips grinding needily against him as you ride the descent of your release into him, your body slumping with exhaustion from the wild tension and pleasure of the afternoon.

“I could feast on your pleasure for an eternity, little mouse,” Haarlep sighs contentedly, releasing his hand from your mouth to tuck a sweat-soaked strand of your hair back into place. He trails a sharp claw along the underside of your chin and smirks at the shudder it plies from you. “The way you come with such… delicious depravity.”

His fingers, still inside of you, give you a few more pumps, slow and sweet, before withdrawing them from you at last, your gasp of delight hitting the air raw and bare as he swipes your own milky slick over your clit.

Eyes wide with worry, you clap an immediate hand over your mouth, your gaze shifting nervously from Haarlep to the dangerous gap in the wardrobe door, Raphael just beyond it. But Haarlep simply gives you an unbothered chuckle as he leans his lips into the curve of your neck, fingers lavishing another sweet stroke over your clit as he murmurs into your skin, “You needn’t worry, little mouse. He’s gone—departed before the first exquisite episode of your pleasure struck, I’m afraid.”

He traces a few lazy circles around your clit, and you let out another moan—free and full—as your tired hips roll softly up to meet him. Haarlep sucks gently at the sensitive skin on your neck and when he speaks again, you can hear the smile in his tone as he murmurs:

“Shame, really. I was hoping he might hear us.”