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deadsetobsessions · 1 year ago

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Alley Drunk! Danny AU- Part 1

[Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4]

To not turn into a giant raging asshole hell bent on murdering people and destroying the world after everyone he loved died, Danny had ran from Amity with his chosen vice.

A bottle. That’s right. Even after Jazz’s talks about alcoholism as a poor coping mechanism as a form of self harm, he still chose alcohol. Or maybe that’s why he picked it, because it reminded him of her, right before the booze took the sting of grief off of her memory. He was never really all that good at listening to Jazz.

And now she’s gone, so it’s moot point. Danny really hated Nasty Burger.

Danny made it all the way to Gotham, bottle constantly glued to his hand. It’s better than Vlad’s creep-o-self looming over him all of the time. He bummed out on the streets, fitting into crime alley like a native. Danny learned to pickpocket. Not much, just enough for a bottle when his ran out. He stayed human. At first he tried to convince himself that it was because he didn’t want to be perceived as a meta in a city where Batman notoriously disliked metas. Then, as he sunk deeper, he admitted to himself in a shameful curl of a whisper that it was really because alcohol affected his human side much easier.

Ghosts need an ungodly amount of alcohol to even get slightly buzzed. Danny’s human side? Only one full bottle the shittiest tequila he could find could even hope to be more than buzzed. It sucked.

He’s spent two years being an alcoholic that didn’t actually get that drunk. Technically, underage drinking was a crime. But then again, so was being a vigilante ghost. So, whatever. He does what he can to dull the grief. Mostly, he slept on covered and hidden nooks on top of Crime Alley’s roofs. Gotham city had taken pity on him and cleared her smog clouds when he was awake at night. Stargazing helped, at least. It gave him a little hope. It gave him a little wish to change and better and live like he wants. But then the night ends and when the day comes, Jazz isn’t there. Sam isn’t there. Tucker isn’t there. His mom and dad are not there.

Danny always went back to the bottle, in the end. Not that it did much.

Which was why, when he saw three looming figures over a tiny child, Danny’s saving people thing flared with a vengeance and his surprised ectoplasm burned what little buzz he had achieved by downing most of the bottle away, leaving him stone cold sober and pissed.

Danny sighed, dumping the rest of the nasty tasting liquid out. There’s no point drinking that little.

He approached the trio, who were beating up an actual child. Ancients, he hated Crime Alley sometimes.

“Give me your shit, you little punk!” Asshole 1 decided to say like a typical mugger, raising his leg to kick the curled up kid below. Danny doesn’t let him land the kick, smashing the bottle on the asshole’s head before any of them clocked his presence. He pivots, pushing a bit of that extra strength he normally keeps on a tight leash into his hands, and punched the other two in a quick fashion, knocking them out.

With that taken care of, Danny turned back to the kid who was still curled up. Danny sighed again, the trembles in small shoulders plucking on his heartstrings.

“You okay, kid?”

The kid uncurls, and Danny stared. Holy shit, is he looking into a mirror? Blue eyes, black hair, and tanned skin. Holy shit, he’s even got similar jaws to Danny.

“Huh.”

The kid flinched.

“Y-y’er the drunk,” the kid flinched again, eyes darting to the broken bottle still clenched in Danny’s hand. “I- I ain’t got money, honest. Please-”

Danny blinked down at the kid, brain connecting the dots after so long without actual interaction. He’s panicking and staring at the bottle in Danny’s hand like it’ll kill him. Danny raised the bottle and the kid closed his mouth with a click, terror worming its way into the kid’s eyes.

“I wasn’t going to mug you myself, kid.”

“But- y’er the- the Alley drunk.”

Danny blinked. Did he get a reputation without knowing again? Goddammit.

“I guess. Am I famous or somethin’?”

“Nobody- nobody fucks wit’ ya.”

“I also don’t hurt kids.”

“…”

The kid stared at him dubiously and with a sinking feeling, Danny realized that maybe the kid already had some terrible experiences with a heavy drunken hand. He promptly chucks the bottle further into the alley.

“I drink, yes. But I’m also not the kind of scum that would lay hands on a kid, let alone anyone that didn’t provoke it first.”

“Oh.” The kid uncurled more, looking at Danny warily, more at ease now that the bottle has left the chat.

“Yeah. I’m Danny. Stone cold sober, right now.”

“…”

Danny waited.

“Peters.”

“Okay. Peters, do you wanna take their shit?” Danny pointed a thumb at the knocked out would-be-muggers behind him.

“Y… yeah, sure. What’s my cut?”

“All of it.”

Peters stared.

Danny shrugged and started looting.

"Y'er so fuckin' weird."

----

See, the thing is, Danny hadn't anticipated saving Peters- "'s actually Jason"- would result in having a duckling following him around. The kid, Jason, glared at everyone who even looked at them wrong. But that's not the problem, because Danny could take anyone who took issue with Jason's looks, it's more like there's a child following him around now and Danny doesn't want to be the reason Jason turns into an alcoholic. It's- well, it made him cut down on the drinking. He even got jobs- legitimate jobs that sucks out his his poor ectoplasmic soul.

Why? Because Jason's apparently homeless. While that's something Danny's okay with for himself, he can't ever condone that for an actual child. Jason's walking around in threadbare clothes and thin soled shoes in the middle of Fall, for Ancient's sake.

Danny grumbles as he piled a bunch of clothes into the shopping bag as he checked out. Gotham's Walmart is a different kind of hell, but Danny feels right at home.

Sure, the work might suck out his soul and he might hate being sober, but Jason's face every time he comes home to an actual place to live, warm clothes, and food was worth everything.

#danny phantom #dc x dp #DCxDP #dpxdc #jason todd #batman #crime alley #Danny: im gonna be an alcoholic #also Danny: a child needs help and I don’t drink anymore #Danny phantom’s saving people thing #drunk danny #alcoholic danny #but not for long #danny adopts jason todd #jason todd follows his big brother into being a vigilante #kind of #he becomes robin #but gets rescued by his long suffering brother every once and a while #alley drunk! Danny AU

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underdark-dreams · 11 months ago

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[ch1] - [ch2] - [ch3] - [ch4]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.5

Ramazith's Tower undergoes a change in management.

Tags: Mild Angst, Fluff, Oral Sex, NSFW | Word Count: 5.5k [Read on AO3]

Rolan had fought battles with Tav before. So why did he feel such a pit of anxiety in his stomach?

Perhaps fighting gave him too much credit. The goblin camp’s ambush on the Grove, the ghouls descending on Last Light Inn the very morning after she’d returned his siblings to him…they’d never really battled side-by-side before. He’d always found himself somewhat on the backfoot around her.

Today would change that, and there was no more time for those past missteps. Lorroakan could put up a stiff fight when crossed; he was sure to be irate at being denied the Nightsong.

Dame Aylin, Rolan reminded himself. She was a person, after all, not another relic for an archwizard’s hoard.

The Weave required his total and complete concentration this morning. Anything less might put Tav in danger, and that was unthinkable.

As such Rolan spared no thought for the morning’s customers and their tedious inquiries. Most he directed straight back to Tolna, to her clear annoyance—he could practically feel her silent glare on his back. His body moved through the motions of helping the rest, not caring how rude or addled they might find him. His mind whirred away far above the mundane.

Well-worn incantations trailed through his mind like a mantra. Each one that he knew by heart suddenly seemed worth practicing another dozen times.

With his thoughts caught in a loop, the minutes crawled by at an agonizing pace. The sun took an eternity to climb above the low structures of the outer city. Just as Rolan began to wonder whether Tav might have put off the conversation with her allies, the unmistakable signal appeared just as she’d promised.

A blinding, comet-like streak blazed across the sky.

Rolan’s pulse leapt into his throat as he stared up through the vaulted windows of Sorcerous Sundries. The silvery trail of it shone supernaturally bright, even against the cloudless blue of midday. Its path pointed toward the Upper City.

There was a chorus of exclamations from the customers within the building, some delighted and many terrified. A few ran out the front doors for a better look. Out in the courtyard, the troupe performing their unimpressive magic show turned tail and ran mid-demonstration.

“What in—”

A fleck of something molten singed his wrist—Rolan shook it away with a flinch. The dwarf hawking conjurement scrolls had disappeared into thin air on his right, leaving his lava elemental to shamble untethered toward the open front doors. Its trail of superheated liquid spread perilously close to the nearby bookshelves and alchemy chests. Rolan aimed a cantrip at the thing, just barely pushing it back into its containment runes.

Tav appeared the very next instant. Dressed for battle now, she led her companions in a dead sprint through the front atrium of Sorcerous Sundries. Her longsword swung already drawn in her hand.

“Now!” Her eyes pierced Rolan’s as she dashed for the stairs.

Rolan threw his work aside. He dipped to grab his quarterstaff from under the counter, then took off for the staircase to follow Tav and her companions.

Those few seconds passed like hours in his head. In a flash, the scene waiting for them above streaked through Rolan’s mind. He knew Lorroakan’s magic better than anyone—why the hells hadn’t he prepared her better for what to expect?

“Take out his Myrmidons first,” Rolan said in a rush as they took the stairs two at a time. “They’re Weave bound—grant him resistance—”

Rolan couldn't tell if she was listening. “Tav!” He heard his own voice shouting, and gripped the metal plates on her shoulder before she could step to the portal. “Don’t go near him until they’re dust, understand?” All the subconscious reasons why he’d avoided fighting next to her before were flooding back to him.

“Yes,” she said in clipped tones, but she spared him a fierce glance sideways. “We’ve taken worse.”

This isn’t about you, this is about me and my weakness and how I will go absolutely fucking mad if anything happens to you—

He wanted to shake the words into her, but there was no time. Instead, Rolan cast without thinking.

Just before her other leg disappeared into the swirling void, his hand directed a strand of Weave out toward her, wrapping her in defensive magic. He felt the telltale sap of energy in his chest and knew his spell had landed.

Pitiful consolation—but it was what he could manage. Rolan breathed in and shouldered his way through the portal behind her.

Already breathless and disoriented, it took him a moment to come to his senses on the other side. Rolan blinked against the bright Upper City sunlight filling the Tower before catching sight of his master on the far side of the dais.

Dame Aylin had beaten them here. Tav and her companions rushed to flank her shining wings—Rolan followed, trying to note the positions of Lorroakan’s waiting Myrmidons while catching the tail end of the aasimar’s rebuke.

“—one good reason, magus, why I should not strike you down where you stand!”

Aylin spoke like the ancient and powerful being she was; her words hit Rolan’s ears with the weight of some kind of dreadful prophecy. They would strike fear into any sane mortal’s heart.

Naturally, Lorroakan showed no such inclination to humble himself. He preened, belittled, outright lied to Aylin’s face about the glowing runes traced into the floor behind him. The man’s audacity made Rolan’s blood run hot. In this moment, he felt painfully ashamed that he’d ever called himself his apprentice.

Clearly, Aylin was not one to suffer such fools so easily. “A liar and a thief, desperate to stretch his miserable life with the Moonmaiden’s blood. Heretic—” Her feet left the ground as she rose into the air, righteously angry, her wingspan spreading behind her to cast a shadow on Lorroakan’s face.

Lorroakan’s eyes turned pale and cold as he watched her, and Rolan recognized the look as the one he saw before a blow was struck.

“A shame,” Lorroakan sighed, shaking up the cuffs of his robe. His gaze fell on Rolan. “Boy, mind the runes—if she won’t go willingly, then the cage must be ready to contain her.”

Even now he was too self-important to note that it was Tav’s shoulder Rolan stood beside, not his former master’s. A laugh of absolute pity rose in Rolan’s throat.

“You ungrateful hellspawn—” Lorroakan’s eyes widened with rage at the sound. “Stand against me, and you will die with the rest!”

Lorroakan’s hands made the gesture of summoning. Behind him, Rolan heard the four corners of the room surge to life as the Myrmidons woke for their master. Tav’s companions drew steel and shouted a flurry of protective spells.

Rolan took his stance and reached out for the Weave.

—

“Not in range—!”

Too late to heed Wyll’s shout of warning, Lae’zel’s greatsword sliced down into the flaming Myrmidon on the lower stair. A hellish whip of fire lashed out in response. She turned just in time, catching the brunt of it against her pauldron, but a lick of flame sliced her cheek.

Uttering a harsh Gith warcry, she vaulted bodily around the thing to refocus on the icy elemental swirling its way toward Aylin, leaving the other for the casters to handle. Gale launched a volley of magic missiles into the column of fire she left behind. Wyll’s Eldritch blast landed after like a small explosion, bursting the thing into dust.

Tav sliced in frustration at her own target. Every time her longsword cleaved the stormy Myrmidon in two, it seemed to reform nearly as powerful.

She cursed herself for ever underestimating a wizard as vapid yet as cunning as Lorroakan. He’d be easy to take down on his own; the problem was getting at him.

Lorroakan was protected up to the fucking gills, wrapped in elemental power from each of the Myrmidons he controlled. Rolan’s warning echoed in her head—their only course was to pick them off, one by one, until the wizard stood on his own.

Aylin was doing her damnedest, slicing and searing the two elementals nearest Lorroakan with the ferocity of survival. Rolan flanked her superbly, casting back anything that got close on her greatsword’s upswing.

This fight is just as personal for each of them, Tav realized.

Catching her momentarily distracted, the air Myrmidon conjured a gust of air that buffeted her backwards. She wobbled and clenched her legs beneath her, trying to keep her footing on the now spill-slick carpet. The awkward position forced her to thrust her heavy sword forward for balance.

The Myrmidon directed a surge of sparking energy at her. Whether or not it was aimed to, the bolt struck her longsword like a whip crack—lightning skipped and leaped from tip to hilt and rushed straight up to her neck.

Her sword arm spasmed involuntarily, agonizingly, from shoulder to fingertips. The numbing jolt was followed by searing heat that tunneled to her very nerves—the smell of burning flesh emanated from under her arm plates. She was screaming in pain before she recognized her own voice.

A sound she instantly wished she could call back. Rolan’s figure wheeled in panic toward her, turning his back on the archwizard.

No, her lips formed silently. Burning agony forced her wordless to her knees, though she wanted to yell in frustration at her own stupidity. Too many things were happening too fast; Lae’zel flew past with her greatsword held forward like a pike, battering the air Myrmidon away toward the railing with a precise rush. Aylin’s wings beat in righteous anger behind her as she shook her head with rage—the moonbeam circling her swelled with power, incinerating two more Myrmidons on her left and right.

But all Tav could see was the red wizard’s face twisted into a snarl behind Rolan’s shoulder, recognizing an opening and preparing to seize it. She forced air back into her lungs. “Rolan!”

She thanked every god listening that he somehow understood. Rolan turned back even as the incantation formed on Lorroakan’s lips—but the apprentice was quicker than his master.

Thunderous force erupted from Rolan’s extended palms. Shockwaves reverberated out like hot gusts of wind from a furnace, ruffling through her hair where she slumped, pushing rivulets of blood and sweat across her cheeks. The spell carved its path out toward Lorroakan in a crashing wave; his boot heels skidded against the floor like a ragdoll pulled back by a giant imaginary hand.

Then Lorroakan hit the railing behind him with a sickening crack and toppled feet-over-skull, joined by the crackling Myrmidon nearby that was just barely caught in the blast of Rolan’s spell.

There was the echoing shriek of the archmage himself, shrill and disbelieving, followed by the clatter and crash of metal and stone many meters below them. No doubt the crush of Lorroakan’s body was muffled by whatever it had collided with—no living thing could have survived a fall of that force.

The rest of her companions had paused the battle to watch Lorroakan’s fall, even Aylin herself. But then Tav realized that, in fact, it was over. Their final two opponents had just toppled into the abyss below; the rest lay crushed to dust on the floor of the Tower.

“Merlin’s beard,” Gale remarked in wonder. He was peering down over the edge of the dais where Lorroakan’s body had tumbled along with his conjure. “Who taught you how to do that?”

“I did,” was all the answer Rolan spared. His boots were already splashing through puddles and ash to where Tav lay slumped on her side.

He knelt beside her with barely contained panic on his face. “Where is it, your arm? I should have—” Rolan was casting around, clearly trying to conjure up some knowledge of healing magic.

The raw skin below her shoulder was throbbing and hot-wet with what she knew was blood; her tunic chafed like steel against sinew with the slightest movement. With effort, she unclenched her teeth enough to speak. “My p-pack—”

Rolan pushed away from her to where she’d dropped her belongings. Though turning her neck hurt far too much, she heard the clinking of bottles as he urgently rifled through it.

He knelt close beside her again, and his thumb uncorked the potion with one sharp nail. The taste was like honeyed wine as Rolan tipped it past her lips. She could feel the bloody skin of her arm sealing back together and unsticking from her tunic. Then a wave of calm swept the pain away with such force that her vision tunneled for a moment.

Her eyes cleared to land on Rolan’s face. All at once her chest was squeezed with guilt. He was the one whose whole world had just shifted on its axis in the space of a morning. He shouldn't have to nurse her just because her lapse in focus almost got her killed.

She pushed herself back to her feet without success. For a moment she feared that her muscles were permanently broken, but then she realized Rolan’s hand on her shoulder was holding her firmly to the carpet.

“Stay put,” he instructed sternly. “Give yourself a moment.”

“I'm fine,” she insisted. Her eyes traveled over him instead, checking for injuries. A cursory glance reassured her.

“Stop worrying about me—” Rolan was scowling at her in a way she found strangely comforting. “You’re the one who nearly lost an arm.”

She twisted said arm out from under her side, waving it experimentally to and fro until her shoulder plates jangled. “Still attached. See?”

“Only because—” Rolan cut himself off with an impatient huff. Before she knew it, his hands notched under her arms, and he hoisted her to her feet with surprising strength. He kept his grip there until she’d caught her balance.

Aylin swept toward the two of them, wings spread slightly behind her with the flush of victory. But the shine in her eyes was duller than Tav expected.

“Well fought,” she praised them nevertheless. “Both of you. I did not expect you to turn on your master so readily—” Aylin leveled her gaze down at Rolan. “But you proved yourself up to the challenge.”

Rolan dipped his horns to her slightly. “Lorroakan was never my equal in magic, let alone my superior. His plans for you only proved his utter foolishness. And his cruelty.”

“Then you are already wiser than he,” Aylin declared. “I am heartened to hear it. Perhaps you make a worthy consort for my steel-hearted friend after all.”

“Glad you approve,” Tav grimaced, praying none of the others had heard that. Beside her, Rolan coughed in a way that sounded strangely like a cover for laughter.

The subject seemed to amplify Aylin’s weariness, however—with a few parting words she flew the Tower to return to Isobel. Gale was at Tav’s shoulder in the next instant, and she could already read his face.

“I know, I know…Annals of Karsus,” she filled in with a sigh. Just once, she did wish for a moment to catch her breath.

Gale at least looked apologetic. “More urgent than ever, I’m afraid.”

Rolan regarded the other wizard with sudden suspicion. “You’re researching Karsite magic?”

“To fight the Absolute,” Tav explained wearily. “Listen, I’ll tell you ev—”

“We may need Astarion’s help,” Gale interrupted in a single-minded rush, “unless there’s a path past the vault defenses.”

“Don't look at me.” Tav turned to look at her Tiefling. “Rolan’s the Master of Ramazith’s Tower now.”

Her own words sent a shiver down her back. Rolan seemed to feel something similar; he straightened his shoulders to his full height as they looked at each other.

“If it can help, take it,” Rolan decided. He unclipped a small rune hanging at his belt and tossed it into Gale’s hands. “Give that to Tolna, she’ll disarm the route for you.”

The shift in power seemed to ripple around the room like a tangible thing. Even Lae’zel, who had been standing on the sidelines in disinterest at the subject of magery, was drawn in. She cocked her head in her birdlike way.

“This is how the archwizards of Faerûn choose their successor? Whichever apprentice defeats their master in combat?” She jerked her chin. “Barbaric,” she added, decidedly approving of the practice.

“That’s…” Gale raised a finger as if to counter, then took a rare pause. “We’ll discuss it on the way,” he finished.

In the same breath, the two of them headed for the portal and the vault below. Tav glanced to Wyll, who gave a nod of understanding and followed the others. She and Rolan were left standing alone in the middle of the Tower’s main floor.

The two of them glanced around in silence for a long moment. Under her boots, the fine carpets squished with a mixture of ice-melt, spilled sublimates, and shards of glass from shattered alchemy equipment. The stairs on all sides were dusted with piles of ash from destroyed summons. Early afternoon sunlight streamed in cheerily through the windows, as if unaware of the carnage that had just filled the place moments before.

“Nice place you have here,” she joked weakly.

Rolan didn’t answer her. His face was tilted up toward the towering bookshelves rising to the ceiling. Abruptly, he walked up the stairs to one and plucked a random volume from the shelf. Then he let its spine slowly fall open in his hands.

She followed after him with curiosity. There must be significance to the gesture, but she wasn’t sure what it was.

“I can read them,” he said down to the page, so low it was difficult to make out. “Every book in this tower…I can finally read them all.”

“You couldn’t before?” A unique form of torture for a mind like Rolan’s. Already, Tav was hit with another strong wave of satisfaction that Lorroakan was dead—a feeling she suspected would return many times over the next weeks and months.

“Cal’s going to love this,” he added with enthusiasm, replacing the book and tracing along the other titles. “This is the best library for leagues—not just books on spellcraft, memoirs and poetry too—”

“And Lia will love that the bastard’s dead.”

That made Rolan let out a laugh, his fang-like teeth glinting bright and sharp. He was handsomer than ever when he was happy like this. Without thinking, she leaned to plant a besotted kiss on his cheek.

Rolan let out a satisfied hum and took her hand in response. She allowed herself to be gently pulled behind him as he headed for a delicate staircase spiraling upward against the north wall.

“Where are we going?”

“Not sure,” Rolan answered truthfully. “But there must be a bath up here somewhere. We’re both a mess.”

Even without glancing down at herself, she knew he was right. Blood and sweat and ash had soaked through the seams of her armor to coat unpleasantly over her skin.

They passed up several flights, up through floors Rolan remarked he’d never seen before. They included what must be an artificer’s workshop, filled with half-built metal constructs. Eventually they reached what was clearly the previous owner’s chambers. A massive four-poster bed stood against the far wall, rounded with arched windows overlooking the city.

Tav felt a visceral urge to turn and leave the place immediately. But Rolan was surprisingly impassive, leading her with curiosity toward a small door in the corner. It swung forward with a touch, and they both blinked against the brightness as it latched behind them.

The room’s four walls were close-set but cavernously tall. Sunlight streamed in from the narrow windows many floors above, softly reflected by the pale polished marble of the walls. The space was nearly bright as day as a result.

From some high point that her eyes refused to focus on, a sheet of water descended silent and smooth like the surface of a flat bubble. It seemed to flow straight into the marble tiles under her feet without a sound. Behind the shimmering surface an enormous soaking tub was built into the floor.

Intrigued, Tav shook off the gauntlet on her free hand and reached her bare fingers through. The water flowed quietly around them, closing back into a uniform sheet below as it disappeared into the floor. When she withdrew, it took her weary mind several seconds to reconcile the fact that her fingers were completely dry.

“Ramazith’s magic,” Rolan mused beside her. He was inspecting the flow of water above as though he could see the structure of the spell beyond it. Something beyond where her eyes could reach.

“You can tell one wizard's magic from another’s?”

“If you're familiar with their work. Ramazith’s research on conjuration is famous. When I was quite young, I dreamt of learning it from the man himself.”

She watched Rolan’s face glass over slightly, and for a moment he looked very far away. Then his eyes flicked to hers. “He never wrote me back,” he explained simply.

A memory that would do no good for him to dwell on now. She released Rolan’s hand instead, and began loosening the ties of her plate armor.

They undressed beside each other without speaking. The only sounds were the echoes of metal falling against marble as she shed each section of armor to the floor. Rolan’s layers were much faster to make work of; when he was down to just his trousers, he turned her around to undo the tricky buckles behind her neck and shoulders.

Eventually all of their clothes lay discarded in piles around them. She shook her hair down around her face, feeling strangely shy—not because of Rolan, but at standing covered in blood and grime in the most lavish and spotless bath she’d ever seen. She quickly passed under the quiet sheet of enchanted water, and Rolan followed.

When Tav’s dry feet met the bottom of the basin, steaming water poured up rapidly from the carved stone itself and pooled well above her knees. She sank down into it with a grateful sigh, letting the water’s surface graze her chin. It was heavenly.

“Did I mention I love you,” she groaned, eyes closed.

“I can always stand to hear it again.” Water rippled against her neck, and then she was being drawn back against Rolan’s ridged chest. She settled contentedly against him and folded his arms around her own.

Soaking her worn muscles in a hot bath, feeling Rolan’s ribcage rise and fall steadily against her back—it was enough to feel utterly at peace for a moment. The steam rising around them was lightly scented with something fresh and herbal.

Balsam, she realized, which would account for the speed at which her aches and pains were dissolving away. The thought brought back a memory that made her smile to herself.

“You told me once that I smelled like balsam.”

“It’s always reminded me of you,” Rolan agreed, his voice humming between her shoulder blades. “Why is that?” He added, curious.

“Cheap way to patch yourself up,” she said. “We needed a lot of patching up in those days.”

Rolan settled her more comfortably on his lap. “I remember the first day we met. You were absolutely plastered in goblin blood from head to foot.”

“And I remember the look on your face…you were absolutely appalled,” she laughed, leaning her head back against one of his shoulders.

“It was quite shocking.” Rolan’s hands traced her arms under the water. “But sexy, in a way.”

“Is that what does it for you?”

“Yes.” Not bothering to deny it, he leaned down to kiss the juncture of her neck.

“Interesting,” she mused. “Maybe I should get into fights more often.”

“Though I admit, I much prefer you like this.”

“Naked in your bath, you mean?”

“Precisely.”

She turned with a laugh, straddling his legs to sit facing him. It came as only a mild surprise to find the old bruises on his face had faded away from the medicinal steam. Rolan rested his hands on her hips under the water, gazing at her from under his lashes with those flame-gold eyes.

She carded her wet fingers through his hair, tugging out its leather tie on the way. “You’re going to be absolutely insufferable about this, aren’t you.”

“About what?”

“All of it,” she answered, reaching past him for a bar of soap and lathering it between her hands. “Having your new tower all to yourself—” She massaged the lather into his scalp, dipping his head back slightly to better soak his hair. “Being Master Rolan now—”

Rolan closed his eyes with a deep inhale, letting her tug his head this way and that as she gently scrubbed at his wet hair. “Please don’t call me that around other people.”

“Why?” She asked, working her fingers up from his nape to back behind his horns. “You don’t like it?”

“I like it too much,” Rolan clarified, and though he kept his eyes shut, she thought his cheeks were flushed a deeper burgundy than usual.

“Ah.” She tugged his wet hair back a bit rougher than was necessary, dipping to nibble on the tip of one of his pointed ears. “So what you’re saying is, definitely call you Master Rolan when Cal and Lia come to see the Tower—”

With a splash that almost certainly soaked their clothes on the floor, Rolan flipped their bodies to land her up on the edge of the bathtub, back pressed against the cold marble of the wall.

“Insolent woman.” Rolan slung one of her calves up over his shoulder. Before she could catch her breath, his mouth descended hot between her legs.

With a gasp that echoed around the space, her head fell back against the wall. She clutched a fist into his wet hair, panting as the flat of his tongue smoothed up and parted her folds. “Fuck, Rolan—”

He only gripped her hips tighter in response to his name, sharp claws dimpling into her wet skin, tilting her up and open for his exploring tongue. When he plunged it between her folds and licked a curling shape upward inside of her, the tip of his nose brushing her clit, she groaned and shook against him and clenched her knees around his face to keep him there. He lapped at her eagerly in response, slinging her other leg up across his shoulder to join the first.

Seated against him for balance, she found her own very much thrown off. She clutched both his horns to steady herself, panting at the way his tongue swirled over her.

When the tip of his tongue hit her clit, she keened and arched her back into his mouth. “Right there—Gods—”

Rolan groaned involuntarily at the way she gripped his horns and ground herself against his face, seeking more of his hot and eager tongue against her peak. The sound only sent another shuddering wave of stimulation to her core.

His fingers gripped her with bruising force now as she rocked herself against his mouth, tugging his horns with an insistence that only seemed to spur him on. One of his hands curled over her wet thigh to use thumb and forefinger to spread her open. As he did, his lips closed over her clit to roll her in circles with his tongue.

Tav’s legs clutched and spasmed around the dagger points of his ears. Her balance nearly slipped against the wet stone under her—Rolan firmly pressed her back against the wall, holding her steady as she twitched and came under his mouth.

Shaking and off-balance, she leaned completely into his grip as waves of release clenched through her belly. Hot tears of sudden relief rolled down her cheeks, and she scrubbed a hand across her face before he could see them. Her other hand held tightly onto the ridged curve of his horn.

When she finally floated back down to her body, Rolan had slipped her legs down back into the warm water. He kissed a gentle path across her stomach, where the muscles of her core still ached and fluttered from her climax. The loose ends of his hair tickled her inner thighs.

Limp and spineless, she let her body slide back under the water to coil sideways on Rolan’s lap. Her chin landed heavily over his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him. A handful of warm water was poured over the crown of her head. In the back of her hazy mind, she realized he was quietly washing her hair for her in turn.

To her embarrassment, more tears streamed down her cheeks, rolling to patter against his shoulder. She hoped he couldn't tell the difference from the rippling bathwater. When a snuffle caught in her throat, she knew she’d given herself away.

“I'm so—tired—” She choked out, feeling very foolish for ruining such a rare lovely moment in a lovely place. But the tears still leaked out the corners of her eyes.

“Then stay here and rest a while,” Rolan told her, his nails gently scrubbing her scalp. He sounded remarkably unbothered by her reaction.

“I can’t,” she groaned into his shoulder. “I have so much to do—the Vault—”

“Maybe I can help,” Rolan replied, resolutely dumping more trickles of water to rinse out the soap. “For one thing, why in hells do you need a book on Karsus?”

Tav squeezed her eyes shut; she felt a jumble of words boiling up in her chest.

“Rolan…the Absolute is actually a giant, ancient, angry Elder Brain chained up deep under the city. And Gale thinks it’s wearing the Crown of Karsus, and that’s how Ketheric and Gortash and Orin are managing to control it, with these Netherese stones…only now Ketheric’s dead and we have his stone, so the containment’s breaking. And it’s going to go free and absolutely lay waste to the Sword Coast unless we get to it first.”

Rolan was very still against her as everything poured out. Then his fingers smoothed her wet hair back. “That doesn’t sound like a problem we can solve today,” he said decidedly.

“But I have—”

“Tav.” Rolan’s arms drew her away firmly. Unable to escape his gaze now, she nevertheless hung her head, ashamed for him to see her red-faced and weeping like a child. “You’re making mistakes. You nearly got yourself killed just now. If I hadn’t put mage armor on you, you might’ve lost your sword hand.”

She stared up at him. “But that spell doesn’t work if you’re wearing plate,” she blurted out.

“That’s not the—” He shook his head impatiently, as if she was changing the subject on purpose. “The point is you can’t help anyone if you’re dead. And if you keep going like you have been, you might get yourself that way. Do you understand?”

He let her lean forward to rest her cheek against his shoulder. “You’re one to talk,” she mumbled, feeling rather defeated nonetheless.

Rolan wrapped an arm around her back. “It’s not easy to ask for help,” he agreed quietly. “But there’s no need for you to do this alone anymore. It’s reckless, for one thing. And you have allies.”

She kept her face tucked against his neck, feeling his pulse against her lips, and thought on it.

“Do you think I’m weak?”

“What?” She raised her head to look at him. “Rolan, you’re…you’re honestly one of the most determined people I’ve ever met.”

Rolan examined her expression for a moment. One of his hands worried little circles into her back underneath the water. “I haven’t felt that way,” he told her. “I’ve felt stupid and ashamed for weeks. After everything, when you came to the city—” His voice broke slightly, and he looked up at the ceiling to continue.

“I didn’t want to see you. I didn’t want you to see me. After all the times you’ve helped me and my family, I couldn’t bear for you to see me at my worst all over again. It was painful,” he decided. His gaze tipped back to meet hers. “And now it’s better. You’re strong, and you’ve helped me. So let me help you, Tav. It doesn’t make you weak.”

She leaned in to kiss him. Hands through his hair, she pulled his mouth against hers, pressing their lips firmly together.

When they broke apart, she kept Rolan’s jaw held between her hands. A trickle of water ran from his hair down across his temple.

“I’m absolutely in love with you,” she declared.

As she watched, Rolan’s damp and freckled face split into a charming grin, the sharp tip of one fang notching over his lip.

“I know.”

#hey fun fact i am absolutely insane for these two #bg3 rolan #rolan x tav #bg3 fanfic #tw: lorroakan #but not for long #sage and soldier #rebgrrl writes #underdark-dreams #spicy #nsft

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