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justcallmefox89 · 8 months ago

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Submission: Chapter Two - Consequences

Drakul has reached the end of his very limited patience with a certain wizard.

It had been four days, four bloody days, since Drakul and his merry group of misfits had appeared at the Grove with wild promises of aid against the druids and the goblins. But as far as Rolan can tell the under-elf hasn’t accomplished anything of note. Oh, he’s charmed the other tieflings surely, especially Cal and Lia. And he manages to flirt with Dammon every chance he gets, flustering the usually oblivious weaponsmith until he’s a blushing mess. Not that Rolan cares who Drakul flirts with, of course he doesn’t.

What he does care about is the way Drakul looks at him, watches him when he thinks Rolan doesn’t notice. The way the drow’s eyes linger over his form, drinking in every inch of his body like it’s water and he’s a man dying of thirst. And when Rolan dares to meet his eyes Drakul smirks at him, impish and lascivious, crimson eyes widened in faux innocence. It’s maddening, the reactions Drakul can tease from him with just a look… and even more infuriating is that Rolan finds himself enjoying the attention, even searching out Drakul’s flirtatious gaze on occasion, eager to once again feel the heat that races over his skin every time their eyes meet.

With considerable effort Rolan wrenches his thoughts away from Drakul and back to more immediate concerns, namely getting himself and his siblings to Baldur’s Gate as soon as possible.

“We should have left by now! Damnation!” he growls for the umpteenth time, scowling at his siblings. “Instead we’re just sitting here- practically begging to be attacked. Staying is a mistake.”

His sister glares right back, ready to retort but is interrupted by approaching footsteps.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Karlach says, hefting her battle axe on her shoulder. “The tieflings need help.”

“And what about us?” Rolan argues. “There’s every chance we’ve doomed ourselves by helping these people. We will end up fodder for some goblin’s blade – all because Lia insists on helping every wounded foal we see. Our best chance is to make it to Baldur’s Gate own our own. This place is lost.”

Drakul snorts and mutters something in the drow tongue, too low for Rolan to make out, but the tone is clearly disparaging.

“Something to add?” Rolan sneers.

Drakul laconically shrugs one shoulder and continues cleaning bloodstains from his sword with a damp cloth. He pointedly avoids Rolan’s gaze, refusing to acknowledge the patronizing tone of the wizard’s voice.

“Why the rush to leave?” Gale, the human wizard and only sufferable member of Drakul’s company as far as Rolan is concerned, interjects.

Rolan sighs. “My apprenticeship with Lorroakan begins shortly. I cannot be late.” He pauses to allow the revelation sink in. “Yes, that Lorroakan. The greatest wizard in Baldur’s Gate.”

Gale hums in contemplation. “I’ve heard that name before. A young man, yes? Lives in Ramazith’s Tower in the Upper City?”

“The very same.”

“Word in Waterdeep is that he’s a bit of a cad. But you say he’s an accomplished wizard?”

“Of course he is!” Rolan scoffs. “The greatest spellcaster along the Sword Coast. As if I’d settle for a lesser mentor.”

“Of course he is!” Drakul mimics him, chuckling and sheathing his blade. He rolls his eyes. “You colnbluth are rarely as powerful as you believe yourselves to be. ”

“In that case, I’d very much appreciate it if you could arrange an introduction should we reach the city,” Gale cuts in, shooting Drakul a warning look. “One can never have too many powerful acquaintances.”

“If it’s powerful acquaintances your after, you have to look no further than yours truly.” Rolan preens, brushing down his robes. “Few can match me – in either magic or talent.”

“Then by all means, oh great and powerful magus, please rid these wilds of all the dangers you will face on your journey to Baldur’s Gate,” Drakul drawls, lowering himself into a deep bow. “Surely one so powerful as yourself will have no issues eliminating these obstacles posthaste.”

Rolan gasps, outraged. “You dare speak to me-”

“I will speak to an arrogant child however I like,” Drakul replies calmly, straightening up and meeting his eyes.

Knowing their elder brother’s temper and the storm that will soon be coming, Lia and Cal take several steps away from the pair. Barely a heartbeat later, Gale and Karlach follow them to safety.

“Arrogant child?” Rolan sputters, completely incensed.

“What else would you have me call you? You sit here, behind the safety of these walls, whining and complaining. You do nothing to aid your kin or assist in your escape from this place. Oh you posture and you brag about how powerful you are, how easily you could vanquish the goblins… but like a child you cower behind the true warriors. You disparage our efforts, my efforts, extolling your own virtues like a puffed up iblith, unconcerned with anyone or anything else. Do you think I choose to be here? That my companions and I are just on holiday, that we have nothing better to do than solve the problems of other people? You take for granted the fact that we give over our might and our talents to your cause and have agreed to protect you and your people. Thankless, egotistical child.” Drakul steps toe to toe with Rolan, so close that their chests brush together, and stares down at him with cold, furious eyes.

Rolan grits his teeth, his anger flaring even as his traitorous body responds to Drakul’s close proximity. He breathes in deeply in an attempt to calm himself, but only succeeds in dragging more of Drakul’s delicious scent into his nostrils. Beneath the smells of sweat, musk, and blood, which even under pain of death will Rolan never admit that he finds deeply erotic in their own profane way, he smells the scents he associates only with Drakul… night-blooming flowers, sandalwood, and evening twilight.

“You pompous, self-important, high-handed bastard!” Rolan hisses.

Drakul lashes out, catching Rolan’s jaw firmly with one hand. He tilts Rolan’s face up so that he can stare directly into his eyes. Rolan flushes a deep burgundy as his cock thickens in his trousers, licking his lips and involuntarily swaying closer to Drakul, painfully aroused by even this fleeting touch from the drow.

Something Rolan can’t quite decipher flashes across Drakul’s face, but it is quickly replaced by stern, uncompromising authority. He leans towards Rolan, bringing his mouth close to the tiefling’s ear. Rolan shudders and his cock grows even harder as Drakul’s warm breath ghosts over the sensitive shell of his ear.

“Usstan'sargh wael! I am Drakul’ayne, eldest son and weapons master of the noble and honoured House Barri’mtor. I am a lord, and you will give me the reverence I am due. Am I understood, little wizard?” Drakul growls, his deep voice rumbling low in his chest.

Rolan nods wordlessly, for once eager to obey another. To please.

Drakul draws back, a faint smile on his lips as he carefully studies Rolan’s face. “I asked you a question, Rolan.”

“I understand,” he answers, nodding rapidly.

“I understand, what?”

Rolan scowls, realizing what Drakul wants but reluctant to give it to him. He hesitates long enough for the smile to slip from Drakul’s face, replaced by a look of disapproval.

“I understand, my lord!” Rolan blurts out, tension seizing him at the thought of disappointing the paladin.

Drakul smiles at him then, bright and dazzling, releasing his jaw and gently brushing the backs of his fingers against Rolan’s ridged cheek. “Good boy,” he murmurs.

Rolan flushes with equal parts shame and pride at the praise.

“Uh, Drakul?” Karlach call hesitantly, shuffling from foot to foot. “We need to get going. Astarion is waiting.”

Drakul huffs and rolls his eyes. “And just when we were getting somewhere,” he grumbles under his breath, taking a small step away from Rolan.

Rolan mourns the sudden loss of his heat and internally curses Karlach, wishing for nothing more than to keep basking in Drakul’s presence, reveling in his fleeting touches and authoritative words.

“Be good for me, little wizard,” Drakul says, tapping the tip of Rolan’s nose with his forefinger, the seemingly innocuous words a thinly veiled command.

“I… um…yes,” Rolan stutters.

Drakul wordlessly arches one white brow.

“Yes, my lord,” Rolan quickly amends.

Drakul’s eyelids flutter and he releases a quiet, slightly obscene groan, just loud enough for Rolan to hear. “Such a good boy,” he whispers, before turning and quickly rejoining his comrades.

Rolan stays rooted to the spot, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he gasps for breath, aroused and furious.

How dare he?! How dare he speak to me like that! And what the hells is wrong with me that I… that I…

Rolan huffs and crosses his arms, unable to even finish the thought. Cal and Lia approach him slowly, trying to gauge his mood.

“So uh… that was something,” Lia says slowly, biting back a smile. Cal elbows her, unable to conceal his own smirk.

“Oh shut up!” Rolan snarls, shoving past his annoying siblings, eager to find some place where he can be alone and sort through the confusing jumble of feelings and thoughts Drakul has awakened within him. He unobtrusively tugs at the front of his trousers, annoyed to find himself still hard and wanting. Yes, some place with a bit of privacy would be welcome right about now.

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