Archive of Our Own

Something was different about the sharran today. Even Lae'zel had taken note of it, after numerous snapping attacks that the others urged her to allow without retribution. She does not understand it. 

Shadowheart is often quiet, often quick to lash out too, but this display was noticeably worse than usual. Most had given her a wide berth, and all were ultimately unwilling to explain why - prattling on instead about what is polite, as if the cleric's actions warranted such kindness - but that had been the day. Now, it is night, and it is no longer acceptable. 

Lae'zel has woken to the irritating sounds of the cleric's muffled groaning. Normally, Shadowheart is a relatively quiet sleeper, which is why Lae’zel often favours her to be in closer quarters than the rest, but tonight she seems determined to be irksome. It is no matter. Lae’zel will wake her. 

The cave in which they have found shelter is cold. The chill settles over her skin as soon as she steps outside the comfort of her tent. Lae'zel once would have preferred to sleep without the barrier, unused to the idea of sleeping so unguarded - so alone - but there is no denying its certain benefits. It will be something she will need to let go of, when she returns to the Astral. 

A wince, as sleep slow memory returns to her. She may never be free of this place. It only makes the cold's sting sharper, like fresh blades. 

Shadowheart never likes it when Lae’zel sleeps near her, and this opinion did not change when Lae’zel had explained the logic behind her choice. It is simple; her ears are finely tuned, and many members of their party do not sleep quietly. She requires proper rest to be of use in battle. The cleric cannot grasp this, but she does not rise to violence so the matter is at rest, at least for now. Shadowheart rarely seems to let conversations end naturally, and often reignites arguments long after they are closed. Lae'zel has been both witness and mark to this, and finds it to be a mostly positive trait on Faerûn. The culture here appears to distrust truths that come too quickly. 

Lae’zel is willing to wait for an opportunity to compete further, but the Sharran’s disrespect in the meantime is infuriating. She has fought with Lae'zel at every possible opportunity, and even when their opinions fall into alignment, the half -elf will often deflect this truth with her wits. This was only worsened after the crèche. Lae'zel does not know what to do with her.

For now, she cannot sleep. A breathy gasps comes from behind the darkened sheets of the thicker tent, followed by a groan. Her frustration peaks again at the sound.

Still, it is her duty to defend her party from perceived threats, and her pleasure to slaughter them, should it come to that. Should Shadowheart be transforming, she will end her life before the mindflayer can take her place, but it is not something she will relish in anymore. As she approaches, the air carries a scent that makes it more likely to be the former. The ill ease in Lae'zel's stomach lessens to an excited buzz. 

The smell of blood fills her senses, familiar and welcome. She will not have to put the cleric down tonight, though someone else may have gotten close. There is pained breathing coming from within the cleric's lodgings, and Lae'zel will know why. 

Lae'zel attempts to soften her steps, grabs a knife as she passes, because she is no fool. Shadowheart may be weak but she is not Gale. Anything that might have bested her in close combat is worth being armed against. The rusty scent only becomes stronger as she approaches, and the familiarity is digging into something else, because this is not quite the same as the battlefield. This is not lifeblood. Lae'zel inhales deeply, fascinated. 

It smells divine.  

More than battle, it tips into passion; like a warrior walking off the wound that may bring them to their end, all to strike another. Lae’zel lingers outside, struck by its potency. Surely this scent cannot be brought about by the ghustil alone. Thankful that she has shed her armour for the day, Lae’zel pads silently to her companion’s tent, ears pricked and waiting for reaction. There is only the snores from the others up the hill. Lae’zel’s mouth waters, and she spits the excess into the dirt in disgust. 

What could have her so entranced as to draw such a physical response? There is another sudden faint note of sound from within Shadowheart’s tent, and this time Lae’zel launches immediately into action.

She covers the remaining distance in one long, leaping stride, pulling back the flap of the Sharran’s tent, ready to assess the level of threat when… there is nothing. 

“Lae’zel!” She is awake then. Lae’zel frowns, but this does nothing to calm the situation. Shadowheart hisses and snarls, as if they had not moved past that by now. “What are you doing? Get out!”

Such a loud response to what Lae’zel cannot consider anything but a kindness… She had come to avenge her, as necessary. This istik does not respond like one should. Lae’zel notes that she should leave her to her own defence in the future. 

There is no threat, but she assesses the situation to its close. Shadowheart appears fairly composed, but there is a light sheen of exertion on her skin, and inside the tent the bloody musk is thicker. It sticks in Lae’zel’s throat, demanding as it is distracting. She cannot help but lose her breath tasting it. Shadowheart is only loudly complaining with no explanation offered, so Lae'zel interrupts.

“What is this?” She spits out the words so they do not appear as desperate as they are. It is the wise choice. 

There is no purple light, but Shadowheart winces. She is bent up in her bedroll, sitting only in the sense that her head and shoulders are upright, quite pathetically. Her glare is sparkling in the dark. Lae’zel watches her run a hand through her hair, and startles to realise that what she had first seen as bedding was in fact the cleric’s mane, free of its typical bindings. She has never seen Shadowheart in such disarray, and that is concerning. 

The istik does not consider this a factor. Atypical of her species. Truly concerning. 

“It is none of your concern, gith .” Her nostrils flare, and the sweat that coats her skin flavours the air sweeter still. Lae’zel will not salivate all over her companion’s space, so she is forced to swallow it down with Shadowheart’s next wince, hiding her indiscretion. “Please leave me be.” 

If this had been a week ago, Lae’zel would have left it there. However, now that they are getting closer to this Shadow Curse, she is aware of their likely need of a healer. With Vlaakith’s fresh betrayal - the threat of attack from her kin - they would all do well to keep this one alive for now. 

Shadowheart assumes the meaning of her silence, and assumes wrong. 

“I'm not transforming, if that's what this is about.” She is pushing up on her elbows now, and Lae'zel realises she has taken an untoward step further into the tent, and is being assessed as a threat. She did not mean to do that. Her mouth is watering. 

It is then that Lae'zel deduces the mixing of scents that has drawn her here, and feels foolishly embarrassed for not realising sooner. That she would not recognise the intermingling of blood and sex is beyond her, but she quickly chalks it up to distraction. She was not truly trying to determine the origin, only to languish in its presence. Shadowheart grumbles on the floor, so she grumbles back.

“Your scent and sounds have woken me. There is blood in the air, though you are not hurt- explain.” Lae'zel spares her the rest. She has seen the way the cleric attempts to flirt with their commander, and believes any talk of sex may render the woman utterly useless for further conversation. 

There are dark rings around Shadowheart's eyes, worsened when she rubs her fingers into those sunken sockets. When it becomes clear that Lae'zel is waiting for her to answer - quite slow to do anything, these half elves - she closes them entirely. 

“Isn't it a bit late for you to be bothering me? People will get ideas.” 

Lae'zel rolls her eyes. “I am not swayed by the assumptions of istik.” This is a lie. Lae'zel does care by now that Tav will not turn on her, remove her from the safety of the relic that she once would have died to carry herself. At least, she was willing to risk it. She would have killed this one for it- that is certain. 

She holds her ground. 

“You will explain.” 

Shadowheart's frown deepens into something far worse as Lae’zel stands waiting. A little pit of anxiety settles in her stomach as a smile creeps over pale features, because Lae'zel hates not knowing things. Hates that there is so much she does not understand- things Shadowheart loves to draw everyone's attention to, as if Lae'zel's abilities or lack thereof could be so amusing. She bites back the urge to snap. Shadowheart will tell her eventually; better not to squirm while she waits.

It does not take long. Shadowheart shakes her head. “Of course. You wouldn't know, would you? Gods, you're so lucky, and too thick to even know it.” 

This is something that might have planted the seed that led to another bout of violence between them, if it had been a few weeks ago. Lae'zel has been humbled since then. She understands that there is a chance she will never escape this blasted plane. Better to understand the locals than be overwhelmed by them.

“I will not repeat myself again.” She demands. “Explain.”

Shadowheart sits up properly then, a haughty and self-righteous action that only stiffens Lae'zel's spine further. A waft of warm air sends dizzying desire straight to her core, immediately overwhelming and delicious in itself. Shadowheart is bleeding - somewhere under the sex and sweat and something she still cannot name - and Lae'zel is made weak by its call.

She finds herself locked in Shadowheart's gaze. It is not an unusual spot for her to be; Shadowheart watches her often. The cleric is intimidated by her, as she should be, but it is somewhat comforting to be observed so carefully. It is what Lae'zel is best accustomed to- having appraising eyes on her often means that she is succeeding, even if they are Shadowheart's. 

“Well, do you know where babies come from?” 

Lae'zel clenches her jaw. “You are being tiresome-” 

Shadowheart begins to laugh, a weak sound that cuts off when she suddenly freezes still, eyes wide. Lae'zel finds her instincts rushing to react, but there is no danger here. She forces her arms to her sides, but her fists still curl in on themselves, as much as she is trying to force their ease. The moment passes as quickly as it started. 

“Sorry, I- why am I apologising to you? I'm on my period, gith, and it hurts. It's that simple. Now please, leave me alone.” 

Lae'zel’s ears pin back when Shadowheart's whispers pitch up too high. “That does not answer my question.” 

Shadowheart groans, but it sounds more like a scream. A muffled scream. She is easily worn down in this state, Lae'zel notes. She does as she is told.

“Mammals who can give birth usually bleed for some amount of time during their cycles. It's normal, now go to bed.” 

Lae'zel frowns, more confused than ever. How can this be normal? Shadowheart smells like carnal pleasures surely too depraved for Faerûnian standards. The istik in camp were concerned when they first saw Lae'zel's sleepwear - there is no way they accept this from every person capable of birth? Lae'zel finds each certainty she learns about this planet less sure than the last. 

“And it is painful?”

“Yes. It hurts very badly. Go away, Lae'zel.” 

“Then why do you-” Lae'zel does not reconsider before she speaks, her brain addled by information and the scent now clogging up her thoughts, though she likely should have. “You reek of sex, kainyank. You have only spoken half truths.” 

Shadowheart, who until this point had been comfortably resting against one of the enormous pots she insists on lugging around, bolts slightly more upright. The sheen on her skin is dazzling, and Lae'zel blinks several times as the blankets pool around Shadowheart's waist, sending another draft her direction. It is too much to bear, but she cannot bring herself to leave. 

“You can't just say that, Lae'zel!” Shadowheart hisses at her, hackles raised but nonetheless unthreatening. Her face scrunches up in anger, like the small felines that enjoy brushing against Lae'zel's legs seemingly everywhere they go. Lae'zel's lips twist downwards before she can stop them, and it only serves to send Shadowheart over the edge. 

“Don’t smirk at me like that, you're so pig headed you probably assumed we all laid eggs until fairly recently. Hells, maybe up until right now.” Shadowheart gnashes her teeth as she talks, and Lae'zel finds she wants to snap her own in response. 

“You believe me so unprepared that I would not know of sexual reproduction? I did not neglect my studies in K'liir- I was among the top-” 

“Gods, I want to kill you!” Shadowheart's hands are balled up, but there is no light of Shar's embrace. No, this is all her, and Lae'zel is excited to learn from this. Shadowheart only appears more frazzled by the second. “Have you ever just listened to anyone in your entire life?” 

“Yes.” Lae'zel juts her chin high. “Those who have earned it.” 

Shadowheart sighs. The fight seems to drain from her as quickly as it appeared, and she looks weakened for having experienced it at all. Lae'zel finds herself curious again. 

“So you bleed from your genitals?”

“Sadly, yes.” 

Lae'zel is no fool. She cannot see very well in the dull light, nor is she as perceptive as Astarion or Tav or even Shadowheart herself, but she is well trained, and knows better than to waste time. As they have been speaking, she has been picking things up. There is blood under the sharran’s fingernails. 

Still, this is a pitiful sight. This is the perfect time for Lae'zel to practise her Faerûian manners, since she will likely be trapped here forever. When the weight of that grief threatens to bring her to her knees, she quickly powers along. 

“Do you need supplies while you bleed? Or anything else that might cease your incessant whining?”

Shadowheart scoffs, but she relaxes. Lae'zel is learning so much so quickly, and stands straighter for it.

“I guess it's sweet of you to check on me. I think Wyll is too frightened to even talk to me after dinner today.” Lae'zel rolls her eyes. Shadowheart's words had been cruel, but not untrue.

“Wyll is still a child.” 

Shadowheart laughs, though it is an exhausted sound. “I doubt there is that much of a difference between the two of you. Do you even know how old you are?”

“Do you?” Lae'zel cocks her head to the side and lets the barb rest. Sadly, it appears her words have little lasting effect. Shadowheart takes a deep breath in and holds it for a moment. 

“No.” She says, releasing all at once, tension as well as air. “But the monthly bleeding should end in the final third of my life, so not there yet anyway.” 

She moves slowly, bending her legs at the knee, and Lae'zel swallows. She should probably leave, but Shadowheart is staring at her, and she smells so delicious that Lae'zel fears she may drool if she opens her mouth again. She will not drool in front of Shadowheart. 

“You're blushing. Did you know?”

Lae'zel does know, as unfortunate as it is to note. She shakes her head. “I am not. It is a trick of the light.” 

Shadowheart narrows her eyes, her vision unimpaired by the dark. Lae'zel feels suddenly uneasy under that watch, and steadies herself for an attack that does not come. Instead, Shadowheart leans forward slightly, and there is suddenly something different about her, something Lae'zel cannot place. The woman who had failed so constantly to do battle with her is no more; perhaps she is aware that she has the advantage. Lae'zel squares her shoulders to show that this is not the case- blush be damned. 

“Orgasms.” Shadowheart says suddenly, and Lae’zel is rightfully baffled. 

“Excuse me?”

“Orgasms.” Says Shadowheart. “They help with the pain. To answer your earlier question- why I ‘reek of sex’, as you so artfully put it.” Her voice drawls, and Lae'zel identifies suddenly that she is being manipulated in some way. Still, she is intrigued.

“Your honesty is appreciated.”

“Well, it's not like you care anyway. You could smell me from down the hill, and you're not even blushing.” She is teasing, so Lae'zel does not correct her. It may have been her moans that led her here, but it was indeed her scent that has caused this conversation to drag on. Lae'zel thinks she knows where this is going, and is unimpressed. 

“And I suppose this is your attempt to request a lay?”

“You're the one who brought up sex.” Shadowheart is smiling when she gestures at the tight space around them. “And this is my tent. I'm sure you understand the implications.”

Lae'zel bears her teeth, and Shadowheart looks like she is about to laugh again before it cuts off into another wince. The bloody whiff in the air makes Lae'zel woozy. It does look painful…

“How does sex ease your suffering?” She is genuinely curious, but Shadowheart's expression darkens. 

“It's a muscle thing.” Shadowheart sighs. “Look, I’m throwing you a bone, at a time that just so happens to benefit me.” Shadowheart shrugs. “What do you say?” She is flushed, but she always was. Lae'zel cannot read her very well, and she is half expecting to be led into a trap, but she cannot deny the allure of it. She can always challenge it in the morning- the cleric is well known for her lies. 

Lae'zel nods stiffly, and lowers to her knees. As they are brought eye to eye, it becomes more clear in the dark that Shadowheart is shivering; by cold or pain or desire has yet to be seen. She is close enough to scent the sweat on her collar - to taste it if she wanted to - but Shadowheart has maintained eye contact, so she will also. 

“There's something else you gith do, you know? That gives you away?” Shadowheart cocks an eyebrow. Lae'zel doesn't like it. “Your eyes. they're like a cat's eyes-” she drops her voice to a whisper. “Your pupils blow wide when you're excited.”

Again, this is something Lae'zel is well aware of. Githyanki know their bodies inside and out, but this is outside of her control- a weakness she cannot counter. That Shadowheart would notice is one thing, but that her body would betray her as such is another. Both are easily spun to her advantage. She is curious - has been curious for some time - and Shadowheart must taste-

She manoeuvres in the small space given to her to straddle Shadowheart's waist, to enjoy her musk and the anticipation of knowing she will have it. “Be silent, before I change my mind.”

“Oh, I don't think you will.” Shadowheart leans close enough to feel the heat of her breath, the cold air outside unimaginable now. “I've seen the way you eat your meats- you wouldn't be able to sleep down there thinking of me, now that you know.”

She is not wrong. Lae'zel has been caught in the scent of the cleric's blood, her arousal- she wants to see such a thing for herself. To run her tongue through the gore and-

It is a startling thought. To perform such an act for an istik… it is abominable. Shadowheart has not earned such submission, but her mind is stubborn and does not allow the thought to dim. It would be for her own desire after all, and the custom here may be different. She could make it different. 

Unable to bear another moment of that smug face, Lae'zel surges toward and kisses her, hoping that will move this along. She is tired from so much talk. 

Shadowheart makes a muffled sound of surprise, but it melts into a moan quickly enough. Lae'zel has not lain with an istik before, but this one fights her as much as any high standing githyanki might, hands holding her head like she is guiding her. It is infuriating, but the stab of pain when Shadowheart's teeth close around her lip is sating- invigorating. Lae'zel hums approval, and does not waste time in letting her hands roam. 

The overshirt Shadowheart has chosen for the night is not her usual skin tight attire, but one of the looser pieces they had found down in the underdark. It is easy to slip her hands beneath it, and her flesh is so soft it gives Lae'zel pause for just a moment. The cleric uses this lapse to trail her lips up Lae'zel's jaw, and to push her lower, to angle her head as one might steer a mount. Lae'zel pulls back herself and snaps at the hands that try to stop her. 

“Strip.” She says. Shadowheart is already smirking, but she pulls her shirt over her head as she is told. Her chest is heavy and moves as such. Lae'zel has never seen breasts like these, and finds it suddenly difficult to look anywhere else, undisturbed by Shadowheart's amusement.

“I have nothing else on.” She whispers. Lae'zel thought as much. This close it is impossible not to drink directly from the air, but the certainty that there is only this flimsy piece of fabric between her and the source makes her hungry. Starving. Shadowheart does not wince when Lae'zel's claws prick her skin. “Take your trousers off.” She says, and there is no need really, but Lae'zel already feels overheated, so she can wait. 

She rises quickly and pushes them down her legs. Shadowheart bites her lip, the blanket twisting up in her legs as the bend and part, and only speaks up when Lae'zel goes to remove her underwear. 

“Leave that on.” Lae'zel does not care, so she shrugs and lowers herself back to waiting lips. Shadowheart grins when Lae'zel tears the sheet away, bites when she tries to break the kiss, and moans when Lae'zel bites back. She is only asserting dominance. Typical of the sharran to think they were still competing for it.

The goal is too compelling to ignore for so long. Lae'zel kisses down her neck, her chest, a line down until she is between Shadowheart's legs to witness this concept for herself, and is greeted with the source of her torment. What has kept her so enraptured since she entered this tent- it is a sight unparalleled.

Shadowheart's earlier self pleasure is immediately evident. Her lips are swollen and glistening with spread slick, but this is not unusual, not what has led Lae'zel here. No, the cleric's arousal is beautiful, but it is the bloody streaks that turn it to art, to something so stunning Lae'zel forgets herself, and stares openly. Shadowheart squirms, impatient but silent, until Lae'zel grabs an ankle in each hand when her knees threaten to close around her head. 

“Hey!” Shadowheart yelps. “Get on with it, you're making me nervous.” 

“I have never seen anything like it.” Lae’zel is aware that her eyes must be the size of meal plates when she looks up, but how could she ever articulate it? Shadowheart only rolls her own, so surely she is beyond explanation. Lae'zel tries anyway, because there is no one else here to speak with. “This is extraordinary.”

“I can assure you that this is very ordinary.” 

Shadowheart reaches down with one hand, and like a thief runs her fingers through Lae'zel's prize. They come away a deep red, red enough to still be bright in the darkness, and Lae'zel swallows thickly around the scent, at the sight of the drying streaks of blood already strewn across pale thighs. Shadowheart paints more for her. She wants to lick them away. 

Shadowheart finds all this deeply amusing it seems. Her laughter is snide, but Lae'zel cannot stop staring, and does not care. “You're panting like a dog, Lae'zel. For all your talk- just do something-” 

Lae'zel does not let her finish. She is investigating, and brushes the back of her knuckles along the path Shadowheart's fingers had taken, parting the folds with careful precision. She does not understand the pain associated with this condition- where it comes from or how it is furthered, and follows the sighs Shadowheart makes for guidance. 

They are choked sounds, unlike those that had woken her- a challenge? Lae'zel can rise to a challenge. 

It is impossible to ignore just how desperate she is to taste her. The excitement is very at odds with her desire to maintain some level of decorum with these companions of hers, but she may be beyond that now. She delays just for the last shred of her dignity; she will not salivate for this. Lae'zel teases herself by tasting flesh first. 

She will not lie and say she has never thought of having Shadowheart. Their arguments have been sufficiently captivating; this woman often finds her way into Lae'zel's thoughts, and she seems determined to continue the trend, snapping at Lae'zel about almost everything. They may have ‘buried the hatchet’, but since the humiliation she suffered at the crèche it appears that she has lost standing with the sharran. It enflames her- emboldens her to imagine her weakness; the moment Shadowheart's false exterior crumbles would be all the sweeter for such a rich garnish as blood. 

And this blood… up close it is truly indulgent. Lae'zel breathes in deep through her nose as she ravages Shadowheart's thighs with her teeth and tongue, careful to avoid the tracks. When she tastes her, she will drink from the source. She sinks her fangs into soft skin to muffle her own sounds. 

She has teased them both enough. When she reaches the apex of her legs, she buries her nose in the coarse hair there and lets the scent wash over her in its fullness. It is different to the blood that spills in death, the undercurrent of arousal cutting it beautifully. Lae'zel does not care if she drools when she opens her mouth and lets herself taste. 

Lae'zel does not do anything in halves, and she approaches this the same way. She curls her tongue at the edges when she lays it across the length of Shadowheart's sex, but blood still spills before she can draw it back into her mouth, no matter how careful she is. She lets it linger before swallowing, and Shadowheart is watching her so intently that she can see the whites of her eyes, even in the dark. 

“All you imagined it would be?” Shadowheart asks, and she is still mocking, but her voice betrays her. What Lae’zel would do for an inch of self control, but that has been slipping through her fingers since… since everything she ever knew proved itself false. She does not offer an answer, only hums and narrows her eyes. She will see her unable to speak at all, by the time she has had her fill. 

She lowers herself more comfortably to the ground, letting the palms of her hands push Shadowheart's thighs further apart. She can be flexible when she needs to be. Lae'zel keeps this in mind for later. This is not the most comfortable position for what she plans to do. 

It will suffice for now; Lae'zel cannot wait. As she swallows her first taste of this ‘period’ blood, it only serves to deepen her lust for it. It is as expected; divine, richer than any she has sampled before, something that she knows she will crave again. Maybe Faerûn is not the worst place to be trapped after all. 

Shadowheart’s fingers find their way into her hair, and Lae'zel almost growls before she thinks better of it. There is only one thing the istik could want. There is only one thing Lae'zel thinks herself capable of doing. Their interests are aligned once again.

The mess already between her legs is not enough to sate this new need. Lae'zel licks her clean in moments, letting the taste marinate in her mouth before drawing her attention up towards her clit. Surely if Shadowheart had already found release, then that may urge the flow of blood. Lae'zel is not overthinking this. 

Shadowheart gasps when she meets her, grip tightening in Lae'zel's hair as she finds what suits best. Lae'zel favours the roughness her past lovers had offered to her, but with a few experimental licks she understands that that might be too much for Shadowheart. She whines and shakes like she is in the throes of death, like Lae'zel has plunged a knife into her guts, and it is pretty but not as good as the noise she makes when Lae'zel lessens the pressure. 

“Oh, fuck!” Lae'zel scents it before it happens, before Shadowheart oozes bloody pleasure that is all for her. She rushes down to taste, and Shadowheart's other hand takes up the mantle of her clit, fingers desperate but careful- she may know little, but she knows her own body. Maybe Lae'zel has read her incorrectly. She meets her eyes and Shadowheart is smirking. Lae'zel flicks her tongue and closes around the whole of her in a kiss. 

Shadowheart is a very secretive woman. If she is hungry she will eat alone, and if she is burning in the sun she will urge the group aside with projected worry for another. Lae'zel does not expect her to moan like she does when she plunges her tongue inside her in search of more. She almost draws back with the shock, because Shadowheart had been keeping up her ruse for some time; she is sure that she has been the one audibly enjoying this experience, but Shadowheart is guttural - Lae'zel wants to hear her again. 

She opens her eyes to watch, moaning herself at the overwhelming desire fills her, drowns her. It is difficult to give her attention to anything else, but Lae'zel has always had good focus. She will not be brought to heel so easily.

Shadowheart clenches around her tongue, hips rolling up against Lae'zel's face and finally- she sees her. The mask begins to crack. Lae'zel tightens her grip around her legs and keeps them forcefully apart when they begin to shake, and bites Shadowheart's hand when it gets in the way of her tongue. She receives a harsh slap across her cheek for it; the blow landing twice against her pride. 

“Shit, sorry- instinct- just don't stop.” 

Lae'zel understands instinct. She understands pain too. She does not understand Shadowheart- not yet. 

Agile hands have worked themselves around the straps of her harness and pull uselessly there. Lae'zel could deny her for the slight to her dominance, but this… stopping is out of the question. She cannot tear her eyes away, and returns to her task with relish. Shadowheart will not last. 

She keeps pace to bring her to climax, ears straining to hear every destructive huff of breath that the cleric releases. Her eyes are closed, her forehead scrunched up in focus. Her flesh is soft under Lae'zel's hands. 

Her previous lovers have not been soft , or manipulating or mewling, but at least they would cry out her name when they fell. Shadowheart cums with a sharp intake of breath and a moan all her own, and Lae'zel is proven correct when her orgasm brings another fresh release to her lips. 

She had meant to stop there. She had meant to leave Shadowheart still squirming, tempted to touch herself while the memory of Lae'zel’s tongue is still fresh. It is the most logical thing to do- but she does not do this. 

Shadowheart laughs at Lae'zel's growling groans, unphased as she licks her clean again, but it is breathy and delicious. Lae'zel glares up at her, even as she cannot control herself. This position is tough on her spine- but she will see this istik crumble. She will leave her broken for any of the megre lovers she may take on this plane again. Lae'zel gives her one last long lick, and sits up.

“What's wrong? Tired already?”

“Bah, my neck is aching. I will change our positions.”

She sits up and pulls Shadowheart forward, onto her back. There is a shocked ‘omf’ sound but no other protest, and she proves easy to reposition. Shadowheart braces herself on her elbows when Lae’zel drags her hips off the ground for easier access, practically bending her in half to better eat her out. Lae'zel notices this because she is almost forced to look at her face in this position. She had not thought of that. 

Shadowheart really is quite beautiful- for an istik. Lae'zel was not sure at first, but she has seen how others treat her. Even in her home world, Shadowheart is considered attractive, but she does not usually look like this - flushed and undone - and she is all the more delectable for it. 

Lae'zel laps her cunt open, excited to work under such attention, and it clenches around nothing for her. Shadowheart glares until the moment she cannot, until Lae'zel dips her tongue back inside of her to feel those muscles contract. She has seen nothing but Shar's wrath distract the cleric so fully. This is also filed away. 

Half elf is not so different from gith, as loathe as she is to admit it. Shadowheart is softer than anyone she has ever had, with flesh to spare and pierce and bite, but the results are the same. There is less fight in her, but she is already weakened- bloodless, like Tav after Astarion's nightly visits. Lae'zel understands that she is not getting an accurate reading. They will have to repeat as a control. 

The blood comes slower than her arousal now, but that is no matter. Even without it, Shadowheart tastes good- just bitter enough to keep Lae'zel's attention. Besides, there is no lack for either. Lae'zel can feel blood drying around her throat where it has seeped past her chin when she swallows.

Shadowheart is breathing heavily, but Lae'zel has never been less attentive to a partner's pride. She has also never feared a lover less, never not fought to her pleasure; listening to Shadowheart whimper makes her feel strange- unsure of herself. This is new. Lae'zel does not like it, but there is much to ground her. She delves deep.

The sharran's body is decorated with a number of thin scars, almost invisible. Lae'zel has never seen them before - Shadowheart is often well covered despite her clothing’s suggestive nature - but they are attractive when put on display. Lae'zel reaches a hand around her hip to trail her fingertips along a spidering of silky silver that curls around from her back. A whip perhaps. Or a curved blade? 

She wants to ask, but she has found something that drives Shadowheart to a madness and she will not stop. Shadowheart is almost snarling through her teeth in her desperation, and Lae'zel is enthralled. She's fucking her with her tongue, pointed so that she can lap at her insides for all they can give to her, and bloodlust is as bloodlust has always been. She is consumed by it. 

Through Shadowheart's moans there are hints of words: “ fuck ” and “ yes ” and Lae'zel's name fractured in a thousand different ways. Lae'zel holds her firm as she works her to another orgasm, and then another when she finds the desire to continue greater than the weight of her pride. She shifts her position, and the pressure of her harness against her cunt almost sets her ablaze. 

That using her mouth to pleasure this kainyank has made her so wet is not a surprise but it is still a blow. How far she has fallen, and will continue to fall it seems, as she attempts to grind against her leathers. Shadowheart's cries are delicate and easily broken with a lash of her tongue, a distraction and an aid all in one. Wishing to bite, Lae'zel settles for a moan.

Above her, Shadowheart laughs. Her grip tightens in Lae'zel's hair. “You're getting off on this, aren't you?” She jeers. Lae'zel cannot answer, but she glares up as best she can. She's still blushing, but there is no hiding here- nothing to do but thrust her tongue, sudden and deep and flared, fast to take her apart. The muscles seize, and Shadowheart's legs stiffen, her eyes close-

Lae'zel has lost count by now, but this orgasm weakens her as surely as if it were her own. Surely some tadpole charm, some ghaik trick, but Lae'zel's breathing hitches. She digs her claws into Shadowheart and tries for control - tries for anything that might reorientate her - but then Shadowheart arches, bearing her neck, and Lae'zel finds she has none. 

She cums with an intense wave of shame, almost paralysing with its force. Her harness isn't rough, but it is as if Shadowheart is trying to make this harder for her; she pulls it taut in the throes of her own aftershocks, and the pressure is too much. That is natural; there is nothing Lae'zel could have done to stop it. At least Shadowheart is too concerned with her own pleasure to witness hers, but it still happens. Lae'zel tries not to be distracted. 

“Oh shit - okay, okay-” 

Shadowheart's eyes dart open, and Lae'zel meets them meekly. Her legs feel weak, and her tadpole squirms, desperate to reach out and join with another. Lae'zel keeps herself from sinking in shame by locking it away behind action. Shadowheart yelps. 

“Whoa, slow down-” Lae'zel cannot help but follow the command, and keeps herself in check by lapping with minimal force around her clit instead. The nerves pulse under her attention, almost overstimulated, but not yet. She can give her more. “Gods, Lae'zel!”

Shadowheart's cries are all Lae'zel had idly imagined and more. Her name is ecstasy from her lips. Humiliation forgotten, Lae'zel regathers herself, blinks the blind lust away and breathes.

Faerûnian sweat is sweet. It is something she noticed quite early on, and found grossly off putting for the first few weeks. It had made the world she had found herself trapped in ever more alien, even more terrifying, but now… now she buries herself in it. Shadowheart does not appear bothered, only rolling her hips up to follow Lae'zel's mouth. She could be a fine consort, if she learned not to speak. That is an unlikely thing to happen. 

Shadowheart's final orgasm is shuddering, but she makes that sound again. The one from the back of her throat that appears to be magical. Lae'zel has trained for her entire life, and has never found something that she cannot parry in some capacity. Whatever this is, she appears especially vulnerable to it. 

Blood globs in the back of her throat, forcing her to swallow around it, and Lae'zel knows when she is being watched. Shadowheart is always watching her.

She doesn't spare the pressure as she takes what she is owed- what Shadowheart had taunted her with. There is less blood now, but Lae'zel knows a possible addiction when she encounters it. Usually, these things are easy to refrain from, but she has already blown right past the warnings. Shadowheart's hands are limp against her shoulders, but she listens anyway. 

“Stop, I can't take more.” She rasps, and Lae'zel believes her. Her voice is hoarse and Lae'zel wonders how loud they have been. She did not mean to make a show of this, but Shadowheart allows her to linger, to enjoy the scent and taste of this for another moment, without touch too much. Her cunt is glistening and pink with pleasure, a sight Lae'zel is sure she will not forget quickly. As sure as her first kill will always be held in her memory, this is stored away too. 

Lae'zel licks sweat from the creases when legs meet her groin, up her stomach when Shadowheart pulls her that direction. It is enough to drive her to madness, to make her so stupid with desire that she doesn't care for what the sharran might say about it. She has had her fill, but she will not fault herself for overindulgence. Not now anyway. 

Shadowheart is still making noise when Lae'zel crawls up her body to kiss her, trailing lips up her neck towards her lips until Shadowheart pushes on her shoulders. “You have- stop Lae'zel, that's disgusting! There's blood all over your face!” 

Lae'zel pulls back, and for a moment sees herself astride Shadowheart, in the long mirror she keeps in the corner of her tent. She has not lied to her; the blood smears as high as her nose and as low as her neck- quite formidable, as if she feasted directly from the belly of a slewn foe. 

“So there is.” She acquiesces, and wipes her chin her the back of her hand. When that proves ineffective, she tries to clear the worst with her tongue. Shadowheart's grip on her shoulders grows noticeably more firm. 

“Don't do that, you'll get me going again.”

Lae'zel frowns, confused. “Maintaining my hygiene causes you pain?” 

“No, you stupid creature- you're turning me on.” 

“But you are no longer in pain?”

“No- okay, fine- the orgasms loosened the contracting muscles, which is what was causing the pain, and the endorphins help with the rest. Happy now?”

Lae'zel stores this information away, slightly dazed. “I am satisfied with your answer.” 

“Finally.” 

Shadowheart is endlessly confusing, and likely a bad person for study when it comes to Faerûn. After all her talk of more, she lays back and drags Lae'zel down with her. Her bedding is much more plush than anything Lae'zel has laid in before, and it makes her skin crawl a little to be surrounded by so much give . It is like Shadowheart- she can likely get used to it.  

Laying with Shadowheart anywhere would likely feel odd. Lae'zel is stiff, awkward in that she has no idea what to do with her arms. There is blood dying on her skin. She forces out words when the silence starts to sting. 

“This occurs monthly?”

“Yes.” Shadowheart strokes her hair, her touch so feather light that Lae'zel may have missed it, if she were not so aware of every inch of her body. It is not entirely unappreciated. 

“Understood.” Lae'zel is confused by this grapple Shadowheart has her in- it is weak and she could easily get out of it. She does not move, as they are making an agreement. This seems lost on Shadowheart until it isn't.

“So you expect a repeat performance then?” Her fingers become more resistant against her scalp, and the tugging is distracting, but not unpleasant. Clearly she wants something.

Lae'zel frowns, cranes her neck to better see her face, as if that has ever helped her understand Shadowheart. “I expect you to sate me, when you are less… weakened.” Shadowheart does not react, so she continues. “And if you require pain relief, I will be present.” Shadowheart rolls her eyes, but does not dispute it. Lae'zel tries to settle how fast her heart is racing. 

She is comfortable- too comfortable. If she were to listen to the protocols, the specific ones flashing behind her eyelids, the ones she has overtaken too quickly… she would have to leave. She is not sure what to do, as has become custom. Carefully, she lays an arm across Shadowheart's waist, and tries to forget the limb entirely.  

Shadowheart does not react, which puts her at ease. She does, however, make a chuckling sound moments later that grates immediately on Lae'zel's ears. 

“Not really one for pillow talk, are you?”

Another one of these foolish idioms. Lae'zel sighs. 

“What does this one mean? Pillows do not talk. What are you-”

“Nevermind, it's just… it was just funny to have to explain these things to an adult.” Lae'zel resents that, scoffing and frowning until Shadowheart giggles again. It is a startling sound, too free and light for someone so easily drawn to brooding. Lae'zel laps at the skin at the base of her neck, in the hollows of her collarbones, and purrs in content. 

“I have not lain with someone so long after sex before.” She admits, and the admission startles her more than it does this bleeding istik. “Is this… is this a common practice?” She knows what it is. It is easier to delay this way. Maybe this is pillow talk.

Shadowheart swallows, audible even when she clearly tries to keep it quiet. “Yes, and no.” She only continues when Lae'zel moves as if to rise, rushing then. “I guess it depends. I like it though, so…” 

She trails off, leaving the ball in Lae'zel's court. Unfortunately, Lae'zel does not know many ball based games, or how to play them, so she answers honestly. 

“I do not know how I feel about it yet.” She has never been restrained in such a way. She has seen the others embrace each other, but this is different. Extended. A bit too warm for her taste but something compels her still. She cannot put voice to this feeling. She cannot voice how enjoyable it is to have steady hands toy with her hair.

Shadowheart sighs. “Then just leave. You've taken up enough of my time as it is.”

Lae'zel grimances, but she is sated and the morning will approach fast. There is no reason to stay. Her body protests quietly when she rises and leaves that sphere of comfort, reeling with confusion all the while. Everything has left her unsteady lately. Even in the most carnal pleasure of sex, she cannot escape her branding. 

Hshar'lak. Betrayer. She does not say anything before she leaves, only nods and flees. A coward as well as a traitor. 

The night is still cold, but she is warmer now. The owlbear coos at her as she passes, and she ignores him too. 

Vlaakith's true betrayal has left its scars on her. Lae'zel had not noticed before how deep those wounds ran until the sensation cut into her gut quite suddenly. She keeps walking until she's back within the safety of her own tent, and does not utter a single sound. She knows that she is not the only one in camp with keen ears. 

Her skin tingles, and Lae'zel rubs her hands harsly up and down her arms until the feeling subsists. Her heart is thumping wildly, so sleep is out of the question, and the idea to tend to her weapons is struck down before it can fully manifest. Her companions care for little more than their rest, as she has now learned is standard here in Faerûn. It is strange; she does not understand how they sleep with such quiet, such unity. No one is guarding them but the dog. Lae'zel has grown to understand the want of a ‘pet’, but she does not trust him with such a task. 

Mindlessly, she folds her legs into a meditative position, uncomfortable only in that it draws her attention to her strain in her neck. She finds herself stuck there, when she realises that she has little to meditate on- nothing she would like to dwell on. Nothing to compare to her protocols, and no logic to be found in them. 

The same sinking pain in her chest that has plagued her for days comes again full force, and Lae'zel cannot bear it. This heartbreak is not honoured by anything, and its existence is embarrassing in a way she had never experienced before. There is no public shaming for her mistakes, but the pity in Tav's eyes is twice as humiliating as any punishment. Hells, Lae'zel could take punishment, can take pain, but this unmoors her. There is nowhere left to look for guidance. 

Ultimately, she's just confused. More confused than ever. She strips out of her harness and tries not to make a sound as she uses her body for pleasure, for distraction- tastes blood when she gasps.

The next morning, Shadowheart appears fine. Normal, after all of her talk of pain. She casts her restoration spell on Astarion's victim for the night - Wyll today, his foolish do-goodism twisted by the spawn - and she does so without complaint. 

She smirks when she notices Lae'zel watching her. The cleric confuses her endlessly. Lae'zel will need to observe her more carefully in the future; if she can learn to understand this one, she will find herself right at home here. This is a grounding idea, something she can do . Shadowheart’s stare quickly melts back to its usual disdain. 

There is little time to dwell on it further. Tav wants them to reach Moonrise today, and there is much left to do. All this confusion will just have to wait.