Chapter Text
Seated in Dammon’s lap, your tongue slides softly over the plush skin of his lower lip, soothing the spot where you’d just nibbled a little too rough.
In response, you get a gorgeous little half-moan reverberating through your palms where they’re pressed to his bare chest. Gods but wouldn’t it be nice to feel that hot, soft skin pressed up against your own…
At the thought, you pull back just enough to slide your tunic off over your head and discard it to the floor alongside your abandoned, half-finished drinks.
You want to dive back in and kiss him again, press your skin together and sate the burning urge in the back of your brain, but he moved first. His hands- firm, warm, large, reassuring, calloused- run up your back at the same speed that his lips slide down your neck. His sharp teeth stay well away from your skin, his motions are nothing but soft and sweet.
His hands find the back of your bra, and his gorgeous eyes flit up to your own in an obvious request for permission. You card your fingers into his hair and nod to him in assent.
He’s quick, and he has the garment off of you faster than you could perhaps do yourself, and then his lips seek freely over the newly exposed skin. Again, his sharp, tiefling teeth stay safely tucked behind adoring, worshipping lips as his mouth trails down towards the sensitive skin of your nipple.
When his long tongue reaches out to flick over it, you startle in his lap with a gasp. Your fingers gently grab fistfuls of his hair as he keeps his mouth in position, lips and tongue and the barest threat of fangs teasing the hardened flesh.
And speaking of hardened flesh, you can feel yourself growing ever-wetter the more you think about the solid, firm line of him pressed up against you through two sets of trousers.
Your hands give a gentle, hinting pressure against his forehead, urging him to pull back from your chest for the moment.
You run your hands down the planes of his chest- well-muscled from working the forge- until they rest at the stretch of skin above his waistband. Gods but he blushes so prettily for you. You undo the ties of his trousers first, before allowing your hands to wander off, massaging the sides of his hips in an almost ticklish attempt to tease him for just a moment longer.
And then you reach into his trousers and pull out his cock. The size of it makes you gasp just a little; it’s sizable enough that it’d be a rough stretch without any preparation… though you are very wet, and also very into the idea of still feeling him tomorrow morning.
You shift off his lap just enough to throw your leggings to the floor, and then return to straddle him, bringing your heat over his hardness and slowly, torturously rubbing along the length of him.
Outside of Dammon’s small bedroom window, a scrying eye flickers.
-
Gortash sits in his office at Wyrm’s Rock, watching the holographic image displayed over his imposing wooden desk, paperwork long forgotten. One of the scrying eyes in his arsenal is giving him a good show of how the potential hero of Baldur’s Gate chooses to spend her free time.
His cock twitches in his hand, pulled through the laces of his trousers and fisted against his palm as he watches her breasts tremble with each little grinding motion she does in the lap of that insignificant little blacksmith.
If she found that twerp anywhere close to satisfactory, then she needed to raise her damn standards, and the archduke is sure that he would all but destroy her mind with what he has to offer.
On the screen, she finally sinks down on the blacksmith’s cock, her pretty little head lolling back as she takes him to the root.
Enver has to firmly grasp the base of his cock to retain control at the sight of her. He has more of this little show to watch, after all.