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Deirdre is unsure of a great many things—where this misadventure might lead her next, when she’ll finally be rid of the godsdamned tadpole wriggling around in her head, whether or not she’ll live to see the end of next week. Each question that races through her mind on an endless loop remains unanswered with each passing day, leaving her lost and desperate, though she isn’t alone.
Her newfound friends have breathed the air back into her weary lungs, picking her up and dusting her off no matter how many times she stumbles. Yes, life has been full of uncertainties since her escape from the nautiloid, but there is one thing that she knows beyond doubt—if not for her merry band of misfits, she would have given up hope, sequestering herself to some uninhabited island far away from civilization to wait out her remaining days alone. Her life—which has only just truly begun—would have been over if not for the friends she’s found.
She’s come to adore them all—the pale vampire spawn with his pointed smile and witty quips, the Blade of Frontiers and his unwavering dedication to the greater good, the tall tiefling with her one horn and endless optimism. They each bring something unique and necessary to the table, whether it be their brains or brawn, their skill with a lockpick or expertise in combat. She cares for them so very deeply and cannot imagine a world in which they don’t exist, but only one has truly managed to find his way into her heart.
Gale.
From the very moment she pulled the wizard from a waystone not far from the nautiloid wreckage, she’s been utterly taken with him. Every little detail of him is more than just desirable, from the way his silver-streaked hair curls behind his ears perfectly so, to how it falls across his face after a stirring battle. His doe-eyes make her heart flutter when they light up with excitement during a discussion about the intricacies of magic, or after they soften when he first sees her each morning.
Gods, he drives her to the brink of madness without so much as lifting a finger.
Deirdre longs to be near him in every sense of the word—they’ve grown inseparably close emotionally speaking, but she aches for more. She craves to run her fingers through those locks until they’re beautifully mussed, to feel the rasp of his beard against the sensitive flesh of her neck. She needs to hear his voice whispering in her ear, deep with want, needs to be kissed until she’s breathless. Her hand itches to hold his, to caress the callouses from the staff he wields, her fingers constantly finding excuses to brush against his as they walk alongside each other.
She needs to feel, needs to be touched.
She’d tell him so, but he’s already undeniably aware. It’s more than evident in the way she’s gazing at him so longingly as he lounges back against a plush pile of pillows, a magical tome spread open in his lap. She’s lazing atop his bedroll with a book of her own, though she can’t recall a single word that she’s read in the last hour, nor what the title is. A knowing smile tugs at the corners of Gale’s lips, crows feet wrinkling around his eyes when he catches her staring with her bottom lip pulled tight between her teeth.
“Something on your mind, dear?” He breaks the comfortable silence that’s filled the tent for a better part of the evening, his honeyed voice drifting across the short distance between them. She feels a soft blush spreading over her face at hearing his endearing moniker for her, this sudden bashfulness so contradictory to the depraved thoughts she’d just been having.
“Oh, plenty of things,” she tells him, mischief sparkling in her amber eyes. “All of which pertain to you.”
Curiosity piqued, Gale marks his page and closes the book, leaving it forgotten in his lap now that she’s stolen his attention away. “Care to elaborate?”
“I would, but it’s all dreadfully filthy and rather unladylike.”
“I suspected as much, given that lovely blush you’re wearing.” The apples of his cheeks bloom with a brilliant pink not unlike the one he speaks of. “Under any other circumstances I might warn against sharing salacious thoughts aloud, however, being that we’re hidden away from any listening ears, I must insist that you do.”
His suggestion catches her off guard but excites her nonetheless. Their relationship, though romantic, has yet to become physical—save for a single kiss they had shared after celebrating their success in saving the Emerald Grove. Deirdre would have been happy to give him more than just her lips, and is still eager to do so, but the curse Mystra had bestowed upon him has kept them at a distance. Any undue excitement will undoubtedly disrupt the Netherese Orb nestled so precariously within his chest, bringing forth a death far more catastrophic than the tadpoles ever could.
Even their one and only kiss, so tender and innocent in nature, had pushed his limits—she worries that expressing her fantasies will be too much for him to bear. Deirdre rolls onto her side and props herself up on an elbow, tempted yet understandably hesitant given the risk. “Are you sure that would be wise?”
“So long as we avoid direct contact, shall we call it, I believe we’ll be just fine.” His confidence is nearly enough to sway her, but she still harbors some concern for not only his well being, but that of the entire Sword Coast. “A few words shouldn’t hurt anything.”
“That’s a rather contradictory statement coming from a wizard of all people,” Deirdre teases, pulling a low chuckle from him. “A few words spoken by you are enough to burn entire buildings to the ground—I’ve seen it for myself, you’ll recall.”
“And the words that spill from those luscious lips of yours are enough to render a man weak in the knees,” Gale says, and gods, surely he must know that his voice is capable of just as much. When she meets his eyes, it’s clear that he’s more than aware of what his soft, low timbre does to her—they’re dark and half-lidded, staring into hers with an intensity that makes her heart pound against her ribcage.
She wonders what he’s thinking, if his thoughts are nearly as explicit as hers have been over the course of the evening. Does he also crave the sensation of her skin against his? Does his desire burn as hotly?
Her answer lies in the way those eyes follow the long line of her body, lingering on the strip of pale skin between the hem of her camisole and the waistband of the cotton trousers she wears. His hands clench in his lap, fingers flexing, evidently just as eager as she is to touch and be touched.
“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that you’re already seated, isn’t it?” Deirdre tilts her head in a flirtatious gesture, thankful that she’s managed to speak the words without tripping over them. She isn’t shy by any usual means, but it’s difficult to match his wit and eloquence when he’s looking at her this way—she’s nearly melting beneath the heat of his gaze.
“Rather fortuitous, indeed,” he agrees, the hint of a sly smile on his lips. “Seeing as there’s no danger of me collapsing and concussing myself, will you indulge me?”
“I’d love nothing more, but even if the orb doesn’t explode, it seems awfully cruel to leave you wanting and unable to do anything about it.”
It’s simple enough for Deirdre to extinguish the flames of lust that engulf her—she can disappear into the privacy of her tent and take care of things with practiced fingers and a vivid imagination—but Gale isn’t so fortunate. Any arousal he might feel must be handled with patience and a demonstration of unrelenting self-control. How can she possibly share her most obscene imaginings and then allow him to suffer alone with his?
“Deirdre, your selflessness truly knows no bounds,” Gale starts, his tone wavering somewhere between affectionate and lustful. “Every single day you give, give, and give until there’s nothing left—just this once, you should take something for yourself.”
“Gale…”
“I know that you need more from me than just my company, no matter how much you might enjoy it,” he tells her matter-of-factly, sitting up straighter in a subtle display of just how serious he is. “I see the way you look at me, I feel the intensity of your desire and gods do I ever share in it. If not for the orb, I’d…” he trails off, lost in the contemplation of his next words. “In short, you shouldn’t be obligated to abstain only because I must.”
Deirdre’s brow furrows as she attempts to decipher exactly what he means. “Are you suggesting…?”
“That you share your fantasies with me,” Gale finishes. “Preferably whilst pleasuring yourself, if I might be so bold.”
Her breath catches, the blush upon her face swiftly traveling down her neck to fill her chest with color. She wants to accept, but won’t this be too much for him? To see her writhing atop his own bedroll, hand shoved unceremoniously down the front of her trousers as she touches herself?
Ultimately, her desire to fulfill his request—and her eagerness to ease the dull throbbing between her thighs—wins out over any lingering fear.
“I… That sounds… You’re sure?”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything, Deirdre.”
“How should I start?”
“With disrobing, perhaps.”
Oh.
A bit shakily, she pushes herself up to her knees, cushioned by the blankets beneath her. Gale’s eyes are locked with hers until her hands begin to move—they flicker downwards then, watching as she begins pulling at the hem of her flimsy camisole. Up, up, up it goes, slowly revealing more and more of her creamy skin for his hungry eyes to devour.
As she pulls it over her head, she worries that he won’t enjoy what she has to offer—her breasts are modest in size, her skin marred with scars and spattered with freckles. She isn’t flawless, and certainly is no goddess. Will she be enough for him?
The low hum of appreciation she hears when she tosses the camisole aside tells her everything she needs to know.
“Look at you.” Gale’s voice, normally smooth as honey, is now rough with want. “Even the most talented of artists could never hope to sculpt anything nearly as magnificent as you—the greatest of masterpieces pale in comparison.”
“Flatterer,” she accuses softly, a shy smile painted across her face. His eyes are transfixed by her breasts, lips parted—a groan escapes him when her hands come up to cup them, thumbs brushing over rosy nipples. “Like what you see?”
“Do I like what I see?” he asks almost incredulously. “No, Deirdre. I’m utterly captivated by you, smitten with you. If I could just touch you, I’d—“
“Aren’t I supposed to be the one doing the talking?” she interrupts, a playful glimmer in her eye.
“Yes, that’s right.” He nods with a rueful smile. “Believe it or not, I have a tendency to become even more verbose when I’m… excited. I hope you can excuse my interjection.”
“All is forgiven, my darling.” She doesn’t miss the way his blush deepens when she calls him that, though he can’t possibly be more red than she is. “I do wish that you could touch me. What I wouldn’t give to replace my hands with yours.”
She makes a show of squeezing her breasts, pinching and plucking her nipples until they harden between her fingers. Gale watches with rapt attention, shifting against the pillows as if he suddenly can’t get comfortable—she suspects she knows the reason why. His mouth opens, something clearly waiting on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t speak until Deirdre nods her approval.
“Do you often think of me touching you?”
“Every night since we first met,” she answers honestly, amused by the way his brows climb up to his hairline with surprise. “I imagine you holding my breasts this way, teasing my nipples… Picture your lips latched around them...”
As if on cue, he absentmindedly licks his lips, wetting them as he surely pictures it for himself. She’d climb into his lap right now if she could, allow him to lavish attention upon her chest, suckle at her nipples until they’re raw and oversensitive—a barely audible whimper slips from her at the mere idea of it.
Gale nearly groans before asking, “Is that what it’ll take to earn those lovely noises? My mouth on you?”
“Mhm,” she hums in reply, hands beginning the slow descent down her abdomen. Gale’s eyes follow, watching intently as her fingers seek out the laces of her trousers, pulling them apart. “I know that tongue of yours must be talented, the way it wags so frequently—I’d like to put it to good use.”
Soft cotton slips down her thighs, and Gale curses when he sees that she’s forgone underwear. She smiles to herself as she pulls the trousers off completely—as gracefully as she possibly can given the limited space — and then she lays herself back down upon his bedroll, leaving him still seated at the foot of it.
Somehow, she feels both confident and bashful under the weight of his gaze. He’s looking at her as if she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—perhaps even more beautiful than the goddess he once laid with—but it’s only natural to be nervous in front of fresh eyes. Her knees stay together, hiding her most intimate of places from him, and suddenly any courage she holds begins to slip from her grasp.
Silence settles over the tent for only a moment before Gale picks up where she left off—surely sensing her hesitation—his voice soft, tone encouraging. “Show me where you want my tongue, Deirdre.”
Slowly, she allows her knees to fall apart, Gale’s face coming into view between them. The purple lines creeping up his neck are practically glowing in the dim light, a clear indication of his excitement, but he leaves her no time to worry.
“Spread yourself open for me.” His voice is but a low rumble that emanates from deep within his chest, coaxing her thighs further apart with every word. Her knees come to rest atop the bedroll on either side of her, leaving her sex entirely exposed to the cool evening air and Gale’s admiration. “There’s a good girl.”
Her gaze follows his to the crux of her thighs, and though she can’t see it for herself, she knows that she’s already wet with arousal, her clit swollen with need. She can hardly stand it anymore, needs to relieve the throbbing ache, and so trembling fingers work their way down to where auburn hair grows sparse and soft.
“Just look at you.” Gale builds her confidence back up with his tender words and adoring eyes, giving her as much attention as he can without reaching out to touch for himself. She does what he cannot, dragging the pads of her fingers through her slick and bringing them back up to rub tight circles against her clit. “You’re utterly mouthwatering—I’d give anything to have just one taste of you.”
Through half-lidded eyes she sees him kneeling before her, knuckles white where his hands grip his thighs—between them she can see the stiff line of his erection, impressively thick and straining against the fabric of the trousers he wears.
“Gale,” she gasps, fingers working more quickly as a result of her desperation for him. She touches herself as she imagines he would—sliding two slender digits inside to curl against her most sensitive spot—but it isn’t enough. It will never be enough.
“What are you thinking about now, sweet girl?” he asks, though there’s a knowing smile on his lips when she finds his face. “Tell me what you need.”
“I need your cock,” Deirdre blurts shamelessly after a string of breathy moans—under any other circumstances she might feel embarrassed about her admission, but not while he’s looking at her with such open desire. “I need you to fuck me.”
Gale exhales roughly, hands tensing. “Those pretty fingers aren’t filling you up well enough?”
She shakes her head adamantly against the pillow beneath her, a pathetic whimper bubbling from her lips as she withdraws, moving back to the top of her sex to pick up where she’d left off. Her orgasm is building swiftly—she can feel herself working up to the precipice of bliss—but she needs more than just the sensation of skilled fingers against her clit. She aches to be stuffed full of him.
“Please, Gale,” she whines, tipping her hips upward in a beseeching invitation. “I need you inside me.”
She should know better than to beg him for this, and it’s lucky for her that his willpower is more enduring than her own. He remains kneeling at her feet, palms pressed to his thighs as he watches her bring herself closer and closer to orgasm.
“You truly have no idea how badly I want to be inside you, but we both know that can’t be allowed to happen.” His voice is laden with lust, desperation evident there just as well. “However, I do believe I can offer you some relief.”
Before Deirdre can think to ask, she hears him murmuring an incantation unfamiliar to her, a sudden glow painting the walls of the tent with a bluish hue. There between them now hovers a translucent hand, more substantial than Gale’s own—when her eyes meet his, she realizes the intention behind casting such a cantrip.
“Yes, please.”
There’s an amused hum from Gale as the hand leisurely floats its way down between her thighs, approaching where she needs it most. Her hand is gently nudged out of the way, spectral fingers taking the place of her own.
“Relax,” he instructs, and she easily obeys, allowing her hands to rest upon soft blankets. “You do so much for me—for all of us. Allow me to take care of you, if just for one night.”
The sensation of a magic hand is unlike anything she could have ever anticipated. It isn’t cold, nor is it warm like that of a person. It isn’t hard, but it lacks the true softness of skin. It’s foreign and more than a bit strange, but hardly unpleasant, especially as the pad of its thumb presses to her needy clit.
“Oh!”
Gale has clearly been paying attention, as he’s manipulating the hand in a way that mimics her own touches, and it’s enough to have her mewling his name like a blasphemous prayer. While the thumb rubs quick, tight circles around her clit, two fingers drag along her wetness, collecting it before breaching her and slowly pushing in to the knuckle.
“Fuck, Gale.” Deirdre can’t help the way she sobs because gods, the stretch is delicious, divine, and it’s exactly what she’s been aching for. She surely looks as sloppy as she sounds, but can’t bring herself to care—though it wouldn’t matter if she did, as Gale is still singing her praises, completely taken with her.
“You are leagues beyond beautiful like this,” he croons, curling the fingers deep within her. “Skin flushed and glistening with sweat, plush lips parted as you cry for me.”
She’s rolling her hips now, working in time with the thumb pressed so perfectly against her clit. Tears gather at the corner of her eyes, rolling down ruddy cheeks when she finally squeezes them shut, giving herself over to the pleasure entirely.
“This image of you will live in my memory forever, though when I recall it while I’m alone late at night, unable to sleep, it’ll be my cock splitting your pretty cunt.”
“I’m— Gale, I’m—“ Her words transition into a jumbled string of incoherencies, but he understands nonetheless.
“You’ve been such a good girl, so patient,” he tells her, the hand between her trembling legs maintaining just the right speed and pressure to carry her right up to the edge. “You’ve earned every bit of this—now, let go for me.”
Those four little words are all it takes to finally send her falling into ecstasy.
Deirdre’s entire body shakes as her orgasm crashes over her, spine arching up and away from the bedroll as she all but screams his name for the entire camp to hear. She’ll feel awful for causing such a disturbance so late in the night after she comes down from the high, but for now, all she cares about is how incredible those phantom fingers feel inside of her. She clenches down around them, grateful for the fullness they provide and unwilling to let go just yet.
When her hazy eyes finally flutter open, she isn’t sure of how much time has passed—it could be mere seconds, or possibly an hour. She’s utterly boneless and exhausted where she lays, still slightly trembling with the aftershocks of such intense rapture. She hardly manages to lift her head, but when she does, she finds Gale almost exactly where she’d last seen him, the spectral hand now occupying the gap between them.
Gods, he looks nearly as wrecked as she does. His immaculately styled hair is now tousled, some strands sticking to the sweat dampening his forehead. His skin is reddened with a beautiful blush, dark eyes gazing down at her with complete reverence. Such a disheveled appearance leads her to believe that they’ve quite possibly danced too close to the line between life and death, but when he next speaks, he maintains near-perfect composure, as if he’s never felt better.
“I could watch you come undone a thousand times over and never grow weary of it.”
Deirdre laughs breathily, a diffident smile on her lips now that the heat of the moment has passed. She thinks to cover herself with a blanket, or begin pulling her clothing back on, but Gale seems content to continue drinking her in—she wouldn’t ever wish to deprive him of the opportunity. She wishes she could offer more than a pretty view, alas it’s all she can do until they discover a way to neutralize the orb.
“I’d suggest we put that theory to the test, but I worry we’ve already pushed our luck enough for one night,” she says regretfully.
“What if I told you that I’m feeling reckless?” he asks, eyeing the mage hand that still hovers before him.
“Then I’d encourage you to quit while you’re ahead, lest we end up at the center of an explosion so powerful that they feel it all the way in Baldur’s Gate.”
Gale chuckles, a bit of darkness hidden in his tone. “You’re right, of course, as you always are. There’s just one last thing I’d like to try before I dismiss our conjuration, however.”
Deirdre watches with widening eyes as he dips his head down to meet the spectral hand, dragging his tongue along the two fingers that had been buried within her dripping sex only moments ago. When his lips wrap around them, his eyes meet hers, clouded with the same lust that’s lingered there since she first removed her camisole. He hums as he sucks the digits clean, releasing them with a lewd pop and a roguish grin that reignites the sparks of desire within her belly.
“On second thought, perhaps we ought to make use of the hand again,” she suggests, earning herself a hum of approval from Gale. “Wouldn’t want to waste a perfectly casted cantrip, after all.”
“No,” he agrees. “We certainly wouldn’t.”