#just got all the gold badges for each stage! so I drew this to celebrate :)

[tj3star]

🌟GOLD🌟

[mollymauk-teafleak]

“I’ll do anything you want me to do to you, but you have to say it out loud.” for the new Widomauk circus au?

So this didn’t end up going where I thought it was going? But I love it

When he watched Mollymauk perform, every single time, no matter how many shows and towns and months went by, Caleb found himself falling in love with him all over again.

It was in the way he moved, the way he strode around the small, sawdust scattered circlet as if he owned it, which of course he did. His hands would move like birds, flitting this way and that, sweeping and dancing to illustrate his words while his tail flicked and snapped to punctuate his gestures. He would leap from floor to the artfully arranged boxes that separated the audience and the stage, drawing them in, blurring the line between the awed huddle of townsfolk and the show itself.

It was in the way he dressed. He’d have his perpetually present hat, tall and grand and unselfconscious, with the holes in the side for his bedazzled horns to break free from. His badge of office, he could sweep it off to bow low to a pretty lady in the audience, or toss it from hand to hand as he told a joke, or hold it out to draw small pieces of gold foil from to scatter across the stage or else cleverly written, spiky limericks about the audience members. But it would always return to his head, leaving absolutely no doubt as to who or what he was. His coat was the other essential part of the costume, swirling and billowing with every movement he made, like an extension of his body, as much part of his performance as the words. The lights caught in the gilded thread work that made up the elaborate scenes entwining on its wine purple surface, bringing the garment into its own kind of life.

It was in the way he spoke, the way he commanded words so effortlessly and confidently. Nothing fazed him, like the whole tent could come down around him, be devoured by flames, and Mollymauk could turn it into part of his act. He was a showman, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

And, more than anything, it was in the way he sang. That was always how the show closed out, Mollymauk would make his final entrance with his lyre under one arm, the highly polished wood shining a rich honey gold in the light, the strings frighteningly delicate like spiderwebs. But Molly would draw from them the most beautiful music, his voice sweet and full to bursting, like he and the instrument were one and the same. After a few bars, the audience would be weeping and Caleb would be madly, dizzyingly in love.

The applause of the audience was muffled from a thunder to a rumble as the heavy curtains swept closed behind Mollymauk. Grinning wildly, he flew into Caleb’s waiting arms, letting the wizard spin him around and around until they were both light-headed and breathless. The high after each show was a funny thing, reducing most of the troupe, all seasoned and professional performers, to giggling children.

“You were incredible!” Caleb grins, in almost the exact same heartbeat as Molly said, “You did amazing!”

The wizard chuckled bashfully, “What did I do? You’re the star, I’m just the arcanist.”

Mollymauk looked scandalised, “But you’re the best arcanist! That shower of sparks you made, there were so many different colours I couldn’t believe it, I nearly forgot my lines!”

Caleb’s face flamed red and he pressed it to the crook of his husband’s neck, “You never forget your lines…”

“I did say nearly,” Molly points out, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

Caleb had to allow himself a moment of pride. After nearly a year with the troupe, he had been getting a lot better at his job. He no longer spent the whole show in a half blind panic, checking and rechecking where he was supposed to be and when until Yasha grew so irritated with him that she stuck the call sheet to his forehead with resin that took a week to fully peel off. Now it was as natural as breathing, he moved through the wings and under the raised seats right below the audience themselves without ever being seen, throwing out fire and sparks and coloured, scented smokes whenever the script called for it. The delighted gasps and startled yelps that arose from the crowds made him smile.

When he’d been with Ikithon, magic had been a privilege, something he was only ever allowed the briefest tastes of, something that was dangled before him like a lure and shrouded in layers of rules and regulations with severe punishments for its improper use. Now Caleb could delight in magic. He could use it for the smallest things, just to make people smile or save himself a few seconds. It was his, it was part of him. He could love it.

Just another thing Mollymauk had given him.

Feeling bold, Caleb kissed the softer skin under Molly’s jaw, letting it linger for a few seconds longer than he had to.

“Want to head back home?” he murmured, lips only drawing back a hair’s breadth before kissing him again.

Molly’s eyes sparked with interest, “We should help with packing everything down…” he murmured, teasingly.

Understanding immediately what his lover wanted, Caleb gave his best pout, pressing his body against Mollymauk’s and letting hand wander around to the nape of Molly’s neck where the tighter, more sensitive curls were plastered to his skin by the sweat of a full three hour performance under the bright lights, playing with them idly, “Surely they don’t need the ringmaster for that? Your job is done. I was hoping we could go back to the wagon and…celebrate a job well done?”

Caleb was far from experienced in flirting but he knew exactly how to seduce tall, purple tiefling ringmasters with painted lips and too much glitter in their hair that would stay on their shared pillows for weeks. He was rewarded with a deeper blush of colour on Mollymauk’s already flushed cheeks and a spark of interest in his dark eyes.

Caleb could relish using magic for the small things. Like for locking the door to his and Mollymauk’s shared wagon after pulling an already half-dressed tiefling inside.

Home would seem to most like an intangible, unattainable thing, when said by someone who spent their whole life on the move. But Caleb and Molly knew exactly where and what home was. It was in their ancient, listing, beautifully painted caravan, stuffed to the brim with coloured glass orbs holding eternal dancing lights, woven blankets from all corners of the realm, an old but dependable cookstove, bright brass cups and sugar glass bottles both empty and full, more books than most libraries and a hundred other oddities gathered on their travels.

And, most importantly, a surprisingly comfortable slatted bed with deep blue sheets and just enough room for two. It was this that caught the two men as they rolled and kissed, hands roving all over each other as they clumsily dispensed with clothes.

Caleb was already painfully hard by the time they were both naked and Molly’s fingers closing around him drew a longing hiss from between his teeth.

“Molly…” he whimpered pleadingly, burying his face against the tiefling’s neck.

“Ah ah,” Molly wrapped his legs around him and whispered in his ear, “I’ll do anything you want me to do to you. But you have to say it out loud.”

The urge to whine for everything under the sun was powerful but Caleb swallowed hard and forced himself to think. He rolled back so Molly was on top now, looking up at him longingly.

“I want the toy…the cherry wood one…”

Molly grinned, looking positively wicked in the low light of the lamps which had obediently dimmed at Caleb’s command. He pressed a lazy finger to his lover’s freckled nose.

“Close. But not enough, try again.”

Caleb whined, squirming, “I…gods, Molly…I want you to fuck me. With the cherry wood cock you had made back in Rexantrum. The big one.”

When Molly kissed his forehead, he knew he’d done well and relief washed over him, cooling against his burning cheeks. It only took the tiefling a few moments to tease their toybox from its secret place under the bed and retrieve the toy but the absence of his body against Caleb’s was maddening.

One slender, heavily tattooed leg rested on the bedframe so he could work the bulbed end of the toy into himself, not exactly an easy task given its size. Caleb eased the experience by wrapping himself around said leg and pressing kisses to the inside of his lover’s thighs until Molly was laughing and swatting at him, informing him that his beard was tickly.

There was no non-awkward way to fetch anything in the tiny interior of the caravan; Molly had to stand on the bed and reach over Caleb to grab the tiny bottle of lube they kept up there though Caleb wasn’t about to complain at the view he got.

It really was a fantastically beautiful sex toy. The dark, slick oiled wood looked incredible against Molly’s skin and he wore it so confidently. The heavy, inviting curve of it, buried between his lover’s thighs, just made Caleb whine all the more.

Molly made note of that, flashing him a grin and singing happily, “On your belly, handsome.”

Caleb obeyed, happy to sprawl lazily in the vast, downy embrace of the bed while Molly positioned himself behind him and began to work him open with a sprightly slap of his ass and two fingers dripping thick oil that smelled of winter spice.

“That’s enough,” Caleb murmured thickly after a minute or so of those careful, precise fingers sliding in and out, running along his rim.

Molly raised an eyebrow quizzically, “You sure?”

“Uh huh. I like it when it still bites a little.”

With an impressed chuckle, Molly turned him over so he could see his lover’s face, pressing a kiss to both of his cheeks before throwing his long legs over his shoulders. The toy nudged at Caleb’s entrance teasingly, making his muscles flutter expectantly and a wide pit of longing to open low in his stomach.

“Please fuck me,” he growled out, before Mollymauk could even ask, “Please. Gods, Molly, I need you in me.”

“My good boy,” he sounded even more impressed, “You’re learning.”

The first thrust into him had the edge of pain Caleb had wanted, just enough to make his toes curl and his eyes roll back a little. Then it was as easy as anything, sinking into the slow, steady rhythm of Mollymauk’s hips that built so gradually, almost in perfect beat with how Caleb’s heartbeat began to race.

He didn’t care that he was being loud, loud enough that there would be pointed looks when they joined the rest of the troupe the next morning nor that the caravan was creaking its disapproval as it rocked like it was caught in a storm. Mollymauk earned every single cry and gasp and curse that rolled from his lips ten times over. A full show’s worth of desire and want, all of those times he’d fallen in love with him again, crashing together inside him as Molly’s hips jackhammered back and forth and his lips gave searing kisses all over Caleb’s chest.

Caleb sucked in a sharp breath, unsure if he’d get the chance to warn Molly before he came. Whether he did or he didn’t, it turned out not to matter as a sudden crack echoed through the tiny space and the whole damn world tilted on its axis. There was a crash and a rattling ruckus as everything in the caravan slid, clattered and resettled. It was only a second but it was so sudden and loud, it was like an impossible to follow eternity. By the end of it, Mollymauk was upside down against the wall and Caleb had more aches and pains than he thought it was possible to have.

There was a long, stunned silence.

“Um…” Caleb squeaked, “I think one of the supports snapped…”

Molly gave a long, almost minute long sigh, tail flopping down against gravity across his own face with a dull slap.

“Did you at least get there?” he finally asked, voice flat.

“I…have absolutely no idea.”

The next day, upon surveying the damage, Beau would insist it was karma for them skipping out on helping to pack down after the show. Caleb was inclined to agree.