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spellsparkler · 10 months ago

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27 with Lae'zel!!

27: Maintaining a weapon between uses

Confusion, Row learns, makes Lae’zel look faintly murderous. They could laugh at the look on her face, but she wouldn’t appreciate it, so they don’t.

Instead, they both stare at the blade on the tarp on the ground, the clouded metal too filthy to shine in the sunlight. The scabbard rests against Row’s knee. “Huh,” they say, and glance up at Lae’zel’s slitted eyes and incredulously raised eyebrows, back down again. “Mortifying.”

Lae’zel – of course – agrees more fervently than they’ve ever seen from her. “It is,” she says emphatically. “You should be embarrassed.”

Row didn’t even plan it this way, which is perhaps the most ridiculous part. They’d approached Lae’zel’s tent – rapidly growing from their scrounged poles and lengths of fabric into some elaborate set-up that borders on ostentatious – with their sword-scabbard hanging from their hand by its straps, and they’d asked a favour. (Sword, is, perhaps, a misnomer. They found it – honestly can’t even remember where, the ship and the first few hours out of it are a blur – and stuck it onto their belt at some stage, the dull-metal blade with its thick handle and blunt edges. It’s not long, but it’s no hand knife, either. A longer sort of dagger, maybe. It doesn’t seem like it’s made for smallfolk, so the distinctions aren’t perhaps of much note. It’s something that can be used for stabbing, under the right circumstances and when few other options are available, and they’d been under those circumstances today, when their citole had been knocked out of their grasp – thank fuck it hadn’t been really damaged – hence the inept stabbing. And hence the blood.)

(Lae’zel is interesting, in that she’s stubbornly difficult and also profoundly, logically easy. The thing coiled watchful behind their right eye helps, of course, but of their quick-growing and motley crew here Row honestly finds her the most straightforward; all harsh-cut stone and if, then. But the magnitude of the threat as she perceives it is quite different, and the unfamiliarity of everything around her puts her on her guard, if she’s ever known how to be off it in the first place. Mapping her out is simple – laughably so, with the tadpole there to chart the topography at a glance – but finding a hollow to mould themself into is extremely hard. She’s too scared shitless to want anything, which is odd, seeing as how some of the others’ wanting is made entirely out of fear. Row is unconvinced she knows what a friend is, so any quest to puzzle out how to become one might be entirely doomed from the get-go.)

(But she is fun to poke at; and the gambit Row’s taken, much as it seems to vex her, is not without its merits. The earth’s been so thoroughly knocked out from under her that any steady footing brings relief, and to that end she seems to like the pattern of Row’s raillery and her own answering irritation almost as much as they do. She likes things that have become familiar. And she visibly hates to be idle.)

Row had asked for help with their more-or-less sword, seeing as martial weaponry is their last resort but it’s still better than nothing; they needed it today, they could need it again, and it won’t do them much good if it’s rusted or dulled or otherwise damaged. Lae’zel had glanced up at the orange-washed sky and magnanimously agreed. The blade hadn’t come out of its scratched leather sheath on the first pull, which was, in retrospect, the first clue – but they’d pulled, and pulled, until finally it came loose and clattered on the tarp-covered ground, smelling quite bad and tacky with hours-old blood.

The inside of the sheath must be filthy, too. Row wrinkles their nose. Lae’zel continues to stare at the weapon as if it’s a personal insult – as if the blade had killed all her family, or, worse, had tried to and failed.

“You didn’t clean it,” she says.

“I didn’t,” Row agrees gravely. “Evidently, I need the help.”

There is a lengthy pause. Lae’zel reaches out to touch the dried-out grime, pinches still-viscid gore between finger and thumb. The makeup around her eyes has smudged something fierce. She asks, “Why?”

Row pokes at it, too, still watching her carefully out of their right eye. It feels unpleasant. “I didn’t think about it,” they say smoothly, and Lae’zel looks, still, like she is considering taking up the sort-of-sword and plunging it directly into their gut, which Row is beginning to think is just the expression her face makes when she isn’t sure what else to do. (It’s very strange to her, perhaps more so than literally everything else. She was practically born – hatched? – with a weapon in hand; Row’s ineptitude is not just an embarrassment, it’s incomprehensible. It affronts what it is to be alive.) (Behind their eye, the tadpole writhes.)

Honestly, Row isn’t sure how they forgot to wipe it clean. They remember they’d gotten within reach of their instrument very suddenly – they must have just stuffed it away so they could grab the citole out of the mud. And promptly forgotten about it. They’d all been in danger of dying – there’d been other things on their mind.

Lae’zel’s lip curls. “Get the soap,” she says, and Row does.

(It’s the one bar of soap they have, residing in its pouch in the supply pack. It smells a little of lemongrass. It’s used sparingly, shared between the whole camp – except Shadowheart, who had her own with her and seems ill-inclined to share, and Wyll, who found a sliver of lye soap in the pack he was given before he left the Grove. It’s a shame Row didn’t anticipate getting snatched up by a flesh-ship on a quiet mid-week night; they’d have prepared better.)

Lae’zel takes the soap; she scrapes off just a corner with her short-clipped nails and mixes it in with enough water to make something like a lather. She doesn’t speak while she does it, but she moves slowly, careful to let Row see what she’s doing, the way she spreads the mixture down the flat of the blade, bubbly and sweet-smelling. When she takes up a ragged scrap of cloth, she tosses them one, too – they fail to catch it and pick it up from the dirt. They watch as she starts scrubbing the blade – fiercely, in long lengthwise motions, even the particularly stubborn gore yielding eventually under her hands.

“Should I clean it like this every time?” Row asks, fixing her motions with rapt attention.

“After every use,” Lae’zel says. She turns the blade over. “It shouldn’t take this long.” A pause; she glances up from her work, eyes rimmed with black. “This is a shoddy weapon. The metal is weak. I’ve never seen its like.”

Row shrugs. “It’s a backup.”

Taking care of a sword-thing, they learn, is not difficult. It’s essentially the same process they go through with any bladed tools, and that’s something they’re no stranger to. The only difference is preparing for and attempting to negate the corrosive influence of blood. Lae’zel offers to show them how to sharpen it, although she seems unconvinced that its edges won’t crumble at the slightest pressure. They agree, and discover they don’t enjoy the sound of a whetstone.

She looks at them – straight-backed and stern, hand resting by the oiled whetstone – and scoffs. “You’re worse than a child,” she says; her voice is very muffled by the fingers Row’s stuck in their ears.

They remove them. “Than a Gith child,” they reply, because they’re quite confident they’re better at weapon maintenance – or usage, when it comes to that – than any child not hatched with a sword in hand. Lae’zel glances at the blood-smeared rags, thoughtful, and Row doesn’t even need the tadpole to see her remembering the tiefling children and their wooden weaponry, their grips uncertain, their feet slow and arms ill-weighted. She’d looked very perplexed, upon seeing them.

She nods, now, sharp and expressive. “Yes,” she says, “You’re right. Faerûn’s children are much worse at combat.”

It sounds so unfamiliar in her mouth; Row quirks a brow. “Did you mean Fay-run?”

“I said –” Lae’zel starts, and then she scowls, eyes slitted, looking down her nose. She sits so steel-straight that she’s got double height on them, even when they’re both on the ground. (Row thinks they might need to start dragging around crates to stand on; craning their head to look everyone in the eye is starting to give them a horrendous crick in the neck.) “I said it correctly,” Lae’zel insists, icy. “I don’t make the same mistake twice.”

The hollow space behind Row’s right eye shifts, cold and running as river-water. “Sorry,” they say lightly. “I was joking.”

Lae’zel looks at them. In the faint orange light of the sun beginning to set, her eyes look molten golden.

She takes up the apparently abysmal-quality blade. “Don’t,” she says, with steely finality, and she holds it out to them, hilt-first.

#completely clueless as to the quality of this. who knows! I'm not editing anything today and you can't make me #row tag #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #my writing #microfic #lae'zel #bg3 tav

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rafeandonlyrafe · 2 months ago

Text

handlebars

words: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, male and female receiving oral, face fucking, golf, rafe calling reader slut and whore but lovingly lol, established relationship, female masturbation kinda, bit of a dom/sub relationship but really its just rafes personality, semi public sex

“princess.” rafe presses a kiss to the top of your head as you're sat at your vanity, dabbing some blush onto your cheeks.

“mhm?” you tilt your head up, allowing rafe to press a kiss to your lips, not used to feeling your kiss without lipgloss, the next step in your makeup routine.

“if you're good for me and don't complain about being bored today, ill let you suck me off on the green.”

“really?” you squeal, turning to get a better look at rafe.

“yeah.” rafe nods. “but no complaining while we are golfing. topper will be joining me so you gotta wait until after we are done.”

“im gonna be so good rafey, promise.”

“i know you will, good girl.” rafe bends to give you another kiss. “finish getting ready, im gonna go load my clubs into the car.”

“mkay.” you nod. “love you, handsome.”

“i know you do, baby.” rafe smirks before leaving the room.

you turn back to your mirror, quickly finishing your makeup before getting an idea.

you part your hair down the middle before tying them into pigtails on either side, adding a pink ribbon around either hair tie, pulling a couple strands out to frame your face.

you skip down the stairs, dressed in your favorite golfing outfit. despite never playing and just watching rafe, you love to dress the part, wearing a tight white athletic tank top and a flouncy pink skirt, so short it shows off your matching pink underwear way too easily with just the slightest bend of your hips.

“shit.” rafe smiles up at you. “can't wait to strip those clothes off you later.”

“why thank you baby.” you give a twirl, showing off your outfit to rafe, knowing the ultimate compliment on your clothing is to tell you how much he wants to rip them off of you.

“im gonna have to kill top if he even looks at you with your tits out like this.” rafes arms wrap around your waist to pull you tightly against his front, lifting your feet up off the ground.

you wrap your legs around his hips, pressing sticky kisses and leaving pink gloss behind as rafe carries you outside, placing you in his passenger seat that has become yours, your name even added in rhinestones to the sun visor next to the mirror.

you hum along to rafes music and cycle between looking out the window and looking over at rafe as he drives, the muscles on his arms defining his every turn on the way to the country club.

“oh, there's toppers truck.” you point as rafe pulls into the parking lot, grumbling something about you knowing what his truck looks like before pulling into a spot.

you wait for rafe to walk around to open your door, helping you step down and keeping your hands held tight together as he grabs his clubs and slings them over one shoulder.

“hi topper.” you smile as you see him sat in a cart, quickly moving to the back as you approach.

“hey rafe.” topper says, completely ignoring your hello, but you know it's not due to being rude.

“no complaining, remember.” rafe says as you slide along the bench seat, making sure not to move too far so your thigh touches rafes as he gets in to drive.

“i remember.” you nod. “i will definitely not complain when i get really really super bored.”

rafe shakes his head, an unwilling smile growing on his face as he drops one hand down to your thigh, squeezing it so tightly you almost cry out before he releases and puts the cart into drive, speeding towards the first hole.

“i was so good, wasn’t i?” you turn your head to the side to look at rafe as he drops topper back at the parking lot.

“i mean, you started complaining when we played 18 holes instead of 9.” rafe tsks.

“okay, but only for like a second before i remembered! come on rafe,” you lean over him, placing your hand on his chest, fingers ghosting up and down to entice him. “don’t you want me to suck you off?”

“of course i do.” rafe captures your lips in a kiss, tugging you closer to his side as he takes off again, navigating the course to an isolated spot.

“finally.” you move to your knees on the cart, watching as rafe stands and walks to the passenger side of the cart, keeping his back towards the main part of the club just in case anyone comes by.

you reach forward, tugging on rafe shorts, undoing the zipper and button and pulling the sides of his pants apart. you reach into his pants and pull his cock out from his underwear, already starting to harden.

“i love it when i get my mouth on you and you’re still soft.” you press kisses along his length, feeling it grow under your lips before placing the head of his cock into his mouth, swiping your tongue over the slit.

“you’re such a whore.” rafe laughs. “dressed up like a slut and now you’re acting like it too.”

you just nod, not willing to take your mouth off his cock just to acknowledge how much of a slut you are for him. you both already know what the truth is.

rafe hardens in your mouth as you begin to move your head up and down, building up a slow pace that allows you to enjoy the taste of his skin, tongue sliding along the underside of his length.

“faster, baby.” rafe taps your cheek.

you pull off and frown up at him. “let me enjoy sucking you off. you said you’d let me.”

“yeah but i wanna see what you can do. impress me.”

the challenge from rafe works immediately as you wrap your lips around his cock, head bobbing up and down a lot quicker now as you build up tolerance in your throat, rafes length and girth too much to take him all the way down immediately.

“that's my girl.” rafe smiles down at you. “doing so good baby.”

you take a deep breath through your nose and move forward, pushing your nose into rafes shirt as you swallow around his length, resisting the urge to smile as you hear rafe moan.

“fuck.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, determined to keep his cock all the way down your throat for as long as you can.

“god, you just keep getting better at this darling.”

you pull off and drop your head to cough before smiling up at rafe. “wanna fuck my mouth now?”

rafe leans down to kiss your forehead. “im gonna put a ring on your finger one day baby, i swear.”

“you better.” you know you're still young, but you can't wait for the day you can call yourself mrs. cameron.

rafe straightens back up, smearing the head of his cock over your mouth, coating your lips in a second layer of gloss.

rafe grabs onto your pigtails as your mouth opens, keeping your throat as slack as you can as his hips push forward.

rafe moves your head in unison with his thrusts, fingers knotting around the pink ribbon to keep his grip.

you have to reach forward and place your hands on his thighs to keep from falling forward, your knees no doubt turning bright red as they scrape back and forth with the power of his movements.

rafe doesn't bother holding back his moans as he tugs on your pigtails, hips undulating and rocking, hoping he's far enough from anyone else to hear his groans and gasps of your name.

“next will be your pussy.” rafe smirks down at you. “as soon as we get home im getting in that delicious little cunt of yours.”

you moan around his cock, thighs squeezing together as you think of all the times rafes been inside of you.

rafe tugs your pigtails, holding them like handlebars on a bike as his cock grows in your mouth. he wishes he could go for longer, to fuck your mouth for hours, but the thought of getting home to your pussy makes him too excited to hold himself back.

“gonna cum right down your throat.” rafe says, grunting as his hips speed up. “unless you want me to paint your pretty face for everyone to see.”

you moan again, the sound vibrating around rafes cock as your hand drops to your pussy, pressing over your underwear to give your clit some relief.

“you like that huh?” rafe questions. “want everyone at the country club to see my cum dripping down your face?”

you push your hand under your panties, rubbing at your wetness, a finger plunging into your heat.

“hey, cut that out.” rafe tugs on your pigtails. “you can rub your clit but don't open up your cunt for me. that's my job.”

you groan but move your fingers back to your clit, leaving your pussy to clench around nothing.

“don't worry, bunny.” rafe pats your cheek. “you'll be bouncing on something soon enough.”

rafe moans as your tongue flicks over the underside of his length, throat constricting as you swallow along his cock.

“fuck, close.” rafe warns, pumping his hips forward with renounced speed.

rafes cock swells in your mouth and there's mere seconds before he releases, cum spurting down your throat.

“fuck!” he moans, giving one last thrust before pulling out.

you take a deep breath, hand still moving on your pussy as rafe breaths deeply, checking over his shoulder before tucking his softening cock back into his pants.

“stop that.” rafe hums, eyes dropping to between your legs.

“im so close.” you whine, keeping your fingers thrumming over your clit.

“yeah, and i wanna be the one to make you cum so stop.”

rafe picks you up and places your bum on the seat, frowning when he sees your knees. he presses kisses to each of the red splotches.

rafe pushes your thighs open next, pulling your hand out of your underwear as he tugs them to the side.

you didn't expect rafe to surge forward, mouth greedily eating your cunt, slurping on your wetness.

“fuck!” you squeal, head falling back as he focuses in on your clit, sucking with the taste of you on his tongue, sticking it out to flick over your clit.

“im- im gonna cum!” you warn, fingers tangling in his hair, pressing his face further into your cunt.

his mouth keeps working as you reach your high, moaning out rafes name as your clit pulses against his tongue.

he moves lower to press against your entrance, briefly dipping in. “gonna fuck you so soon.” he whispers, and you swear it's more to your cunt than it is to you.

“shit.” you fall back against the seat as rafe rearranges you, flinching when his hand brushes against your clit while putting your panties back in place.

“better not be sensitive by the time we get home.” rafe says, flipping your skirt back down to cover you before he shrugs. “or be sensitive, im fucking you either way.”

“you're such a dick.” you giggle as rafe drops his head to kiss you, lips melting together, the shared taste on your tongue mixing.

“love you.” he says. “future wifey. you give the best head.”

“wow, thanks.” you roll your eyes sarcastically, hands moving to your pigtails as rafe rounds the cart to drive back.

“you know, you really messed up my hair.” you frown, attempting to fix your bows without a mirror to look in.

“yeah, you can't wear that style again.” rafe looks over at you. “unless you want me to fuck your face every time.”

“well…” you tap your chin, a smile growing.