They arrive at the capital city Reaga via the travel ring. Cecelia detested relying on other mages for magical travel, or if she wanted to be honest, she just hated relying on others, period. Allowing the irritation, she felt emote enough to be felt by those around her, visible even in her full adventuring garb that consisting of sweeping Enchanter’s robes of white fabric layered with enchantments. The collar swept up, flaring around her face which was further concealed by the Lemusian scarf of such a purplish blue it was nearly black. She had tight sleeves over her gloved hands and a massive, pointed hat. The overall effect wasn’t necessarily intimidating (at least not until she started casting) but worked to knock others off balance, especially since the hat helped boost her height to well over seven feet. The sleek black cat draped over her shoulders could be mistaken for fur throw, except for the alert green eyes and flicking barbed tail.

Tristan looked far more approachable. Nearly as gaunt looking like his companion, and if not standing next to her, impressively tall, but almost enchantingly handsome. Long silver hair was loose around his face, the fine bone structure of his face peeking through and accentuated by the lightly pointed ears that had the casual observer guess him for an exceptionally pale Half Elf. Dark lensed glasses concealed eyes that were solid color, pitch black, that had others guessing he was a Succubus, the disparate race that had a demonic heritage to unusual physical effect. His clothing was also appealing, perfectly tailored embroidered jacket in silver and black, fitted trousers tucked into glossy leather boots that, upon close inspection, had delicate filigree tooled onto the surface. The both of them together were a study in contrasts of push and pull. And Cecelia was all push, with her constant lithe spell causing subtle effects like shadows extending from her to make people near her subconsciously step back.

Stepping out in tune from years of traveling together, they case the room without appearing to do so and move in tandem to the processing office. They drop countless bribes to bypass registration. The clerk seemed none too interested in antagonizing them, especially since they seemed to fit in with the general populace. The clerk looked like they had already forgotten about them after tucking away the small pouch of gold that was tossed their way. After all, these people were certainly no Knights who were looking to cause trouble.

Once outside, Cecelia paused, tipping her head back to examine the buildings towering around them. They were all sharp angles, steep roofs with textured patterns that gave the overall impression of looming coldness. As much as she loved her childhood home of a small cottage in the woods, she couldn’t help but grimly approve of the overall aesthetic. It harmonized a disturbing amount with her look. Something to think about, considering this city openly dealt with Imps.

“This place reeks of sulphur.”

“Oh, as if they’re summoning demons on the streets. It’s your imagination. Or more likely, it is sulfur. We are in a building of magic users. It’s a common enough component”

“You simply must crush my spirits; how can you live with yourself when you treat me so cruelly?”

“With ease.”

Tristan waited patiently for a moment, then tapped her arm. She nodded, and they both started walking swiftly, making a few turns down some alleys. Without breaking stride, they uncapped and drank their potions of invisibility. It was no guarantee that they weren’t being followed. After all, Cecelia had instilled in herself the ability to see invisible well over a decade before. But there were a few other tricks they had, and the next one was for them to approach a dead end and, taking Cecelia’s hands, Tristan flew them straight over, landing almost soundlessly in the next alley. A few more times of this and the potions have worn off.

Tristan started slowing his pace, looking for something. After a bit he nods, walks up to the back-alley door of a small shop that seemed to sell one of everything, and reached into an alcove after shoving aside a small crate that concealed it. He pulls out a couple of small packages, along with a note. Scanning it quickly, he looks at the packages, lip quirking. He passes along the package titled “Mudling” as well as the note that says “Silver Drake Inn, Mossgrove.” “T.”

“Smells like Tara!”

“Yes, I gathered it was her from the T.”

“Cruel! You go a few days without rolling around with Tristan and you turn mean!”. Cecelia turns her head slightly towards her familiar, meeting her eye. “Meaner, then.” She amended. They both snort and Tristan raises a brow but doesn’t ask. Tristan’s long used to being outside the constant conversations going on between them, although it seems he notices it more now than he used to. He wonders if it’s because he’s paying more attention to her, or if she’s more open about it. He watches as she tips her head in thought.

“Mossgrove is one of the districts, yes?” He nods in agreement.

“I know it and have seen that inn before.” He smiles and continues. “I’m thinkin’ even you will be thrilled.” Tristan shouldn’t be able to see Cecelia’s skeptical expression of how covered up she is, but years of traveling together along with her way of moving makes it clear as day. His mouth forms into a full grin at that, exposing his fangs fully. “Just wait and see.”

He leads them onto the primary thoroughfare and hails a carriage in a short time. Or perhaps not, with the both of them being so visible, and he at least looking quite fine in his clean-cut garments. With a charming smile, he opens the carriage door and offers his hand. She pauses a moment, then rests her hand on his as he helps her step up into the carriage. Being the height she is, stepping up isn’t something she would give thought to, but he seems to be in an oddly formal mood. Maybe it’s being back in the capital city of Tosmond. She knew he had lived here along with Tara, doing what they could to foment unrest in the demonic influenced system that currently ran the city.

She looked out the window as they traveled, marking their route and picking out buildings so she would have an anchor for teleportation that didn’t involve being trapped in a building. She kept part of her attention on Tristan and on Mithrila’s running commentary as she sniffed the entire carriage, including stepping over Tristan to get a better look out his window. He absentmindedly ran his hand over Mithrila’s back in long strokes.

“Mithrila.”

“Ugh, but he’s so good at it!”

“I know. It’s distracting me.” Her familiar response was to make herself more comfortable in his lap. The Dhampir continued to pet the lounging beast, who had started up purring. His hand was firm over her fur and muscles, digging in deliciously to the areas with denser fur. Blinking, Cecelia snapped her attention back to her surroundings and tried to block out the wonderful sensations.

“You need to practice with distancing yourself.” She clenches her jaw in response.

It’s not too much longer before they pull up to the curb and disembark, much to her relief. Mithrila leaps onto her shoulder as she steps down from the carriage, accepting Tristan’s hand again as she does so.

“You’re a bitch at times, you know that?” She feels Mithrila’s claws knead her shoulder contentedly as Tristan pays the driver.

“You’re thinking female dogs. Female cats are Queens.” Blinking smugly at Cecelia’s wash of amusement, they both take in the building they’re standing in front of.

It is impressive, as it turns out. There are multiple entrances of varying sizes, and the entire facade is a riotous blend of various hardwoods and brass. Over the entrances is a sculpture of a dragon made from brass tubing, studded with rivets. The style reminds her of something, and she analyzes it.

“It’s like an alchemy still.” She feels Tristan move up near her by the slight chill in the air.

“The manager is a Gnome.”

“Ah.” That explained it, in that with Gnomes, you could never know what to expect from one to the next, except that they threw themselves wholeheartedly into what they decided to do. Intrigued, Cecelia follows Tristan in through the tallest set of doors and strides into one of the more bizarrely laid out common rooms she’s seen. After just a moment, she can see the sense of it, though. There are multiple levels catering to the diverse clientele’s heights. She notices there’s even a truly tiny pair of booths ensconced at a height in one wall, presumably for folk that would be that size. She wondered how often pixies came to a city that was infamous for enslaving those who couldn’t defend themselves. A sharply dressed Gnome was wiping down glasses, preparing for the evening dinner crowd. He bustles over to one of three podiums and clambers up the small set of steps behind it so he’s at the same level as them.

“Ingenious.” He beams at Cecelia’s statement.

“Isn’t it? The doors are a simple sorting device, too. I can tell just by which entrance is used what kind of clientele I need to prepare for! Although, ah, you two are unusual even for the type I get in here, and I attract only the most eclectic personages! I am so thrilled to get an Elf and a Dhampir in! The last Elf I served was oh, fifteen years ago, and I never had a Dhampir stay overnight. Oh, Mister Golfen at your service! Alas, I just had a party of Half-Orcs take most of my sized extra-large rooms, and all I have left is my deluxe suite, appropriately sized for ah, the taller sorts such as yourselves. I hope it’s not an issue that there’s only one bed, but from what I remember Elves don’t really sleep, and there’s a lounging couch that should do the trick!” Cecelia, Tristan, and Mithrila stared at the Gnome a beat.

“No, that should do us fine.” Tristan was mentally reeling at the casual stripping of their identities. He looks at Cecelia helplessly, then back at the beaming Gnome.

“My, isn’t he the most adorable kitten when he’s off balance?” Only years of experience with Mithrila kept her from snort-laughing in response, but she closed her eyes tightly. “Hmm, one bed? Well then. I wonder where you two will sleep, since I call dibs.”

A human girl led them to the wing where the suite was and showed them how to use the complex key to gain entry. It would be a rare rogue indeed that could pick these locks. The girl hands the key over, curtseys, and informs them that supper is served from sixth bell to nine. Thanking her, they enter the room, where Cecelia incants several spells of concealment while Tristan locks the door and inspects the rooms.

The sitting room is well furnished, and Tristan’s eye lingers on the reclining couch, glancing at Cecelia as he thinks of a few uses for it aside from resting. Snorting lightly at his thoughts, he firmly turns away from it and continues his search. He didn’t expect to find anything nefarious, but you didn’t survive long as an adventurer by not inspecting everything with a level that your average person would call paranoid. Mithrila padded along with him, leaping up onto shelves and sniffing everything in reach. He kept a weather eye on her as he flipped cushions, opened drawers, and looked under the fine wooden table that was large enough to seat a small group. Neither of them found anything out of the ordinary, aside from a rather nice chest that was magically chilled, containing drinks and various snacks. He moved on to what he guessed was the bedroom and was beaten there by Mithrila, who somehow was resting in the middle of the bed, even though he had seen her in the other room not a moment before.

“Oh, I see how it is! I’m relegated to usin’ my bedroll instead of sleepin’ on this fine bed?” Pink maw exposing white fangs greets him as Mithrila stretches luxuriously and yawns, then rolls over to expose her belly. “Ah well, if that’s what you’re offering in return, how can I say no?”. He leans forward and buries his fingers into the silky fur to thunderous purring. He hears a curse in the other room. “You alright in there?”

“Yes!” The declaration is followed by some muttering that Tristan can’t quite pick out, and when he peers through the door, he sees her lifting the package she had dropped. Unusual for the normally precise Enchanter, but he supposed everyone has a moment now and then. He turns back to see Mithrila diving under the bed, likely to inspect the underside of the mattress. Stepping over to the bed, Tristan slides his hand over the sheets. A rather fine silk, as it turns out. He gets a vision of Cecelia, sprawled out on the smooth surface, hair fanned out underneath him.

He really needs to stop this, he...Needed to come to terms that there was no way he could walk away. Even if she was just... Learning about the needs of her body and he was convenient, he wanted to... not be used, that was too ugly, but serving her if she would have him. Maybe she would tire of him eventually, but... Not soon, he didn’t think. Heart thudding, he spins away from the bed and walks into the privy and stops in his tracks. It’s something more like two separate rooms, one small one for performing necessaries in a water closet, and another much bigger room, almost as large as the bedroom but fully tiled. He can feel that the room is warmer, likely due to hot water in the brass piping everywhere, exuding heat. There are drains in the floor surrounding what looks like an extremely shallow but massive metal tub. When he steps closer, he sees that it’s not shallow, but is recessed into the floor, with either end sloping up to support a body above the water and deep enough once full to float in. He’s staring at the tub when Cecelia enters the room.

“Very well, I’m impressed!” Her voice is warm as she reaches past him and pulls a chain with a large red glass finial on it. He notices the others hanging there then, a clear one and an icy blue. Water streams out of multiple holes in a metal panel in the ceiling, dumping straight into the tub. There’s a hole in the center that the water drains out of. Another tug, and the hot water stops. “Wonderful! I’ll have to see if we can convince Mister Golfen to leave this hellhole of a city and open up shop, well, literally anywhere else.”

“Ah, I very much doubt that will happen soon. He’s a key member of the underground movement. He helps slaves out of this city.” He follows her back into the main room and takes a seat on the couch, reaching for the package titled “Scalpel”. He scans a few notes in it and nods.

“Tarabellum says to give her a message tomorrow morning. She’ll meet us at nine bells at a location we can decide on then.” Nodding, Cecelia hops up on the table, opening a booklet that must have been in her package. Settled in, they both read in companionable silence.

They were both reading, or rather, Cecelia was reading, and he kept getting distracted from the reports Tara had sent him on the infiltration she was working on in Aiven high society. He should be committing it to memory, but…his eyes drift to the table that Cecelia’s laying on, face up and holding a booklet over her face as one long leg swings back and forth over the edge of the table. Her foot is bare, toes pointed down and the half of her robe that is draped over her keeps fluttering as she moves, exposing flashes of calf and every now and again a tantalizing bit of knee and thigh. Tristan blinks hard. What has gotten into him? He had suppressed his body for years, for decades, for nearly a century! And now here he is, needing to adjust himself because he can’t stop ogling the young Elven woman that’s reading in the same room as him. Tristan’s constantly…hungry. It worries him that with the return of lust will come a darker impulse. So far that hasn’t been the case, and each time they had gotten intimate, he hadn’t gotten an overwhelming impulse to tear into her skin. Just to feel it. Taste it. Hold it in his hands and thrust his tongue into her and gods be damned, now he really needed to adjust himself! He shifts his gaze to her hands as she flips a page of the book she’s studying. Wait…

“Hey now, what is that you’re reading?” She continues to look up into the pages, but a smile spread across her face. A rather wicked smile.

“A book Tara sent me. It’s educational.” Tristan feels his skin flush as all the books that his oh-so helpful sister flash could send in his memory. He clears his throat.

“Ah, and would it be tipping you off on how to distract a lad past endurance?” Cecelia glances at Tristan then.

“Hmm? No….” She seems to notice the fluttering of her robe then, and with a stab of disappointment, he watches as she lifts her leg back up onto the table. A wash of heat evaporates the disappointment when she bends her far leg, allowing the robes to slide off her knee and exposing an expanse of pale thigh. She shifts, so she’s laying on her side facing him and then rests the book on the table in front of her. Cecelia looks up at him and he wonders how he could have somehow missed the sensuousness that was so much a part of her. He hoped it was because this was a recent development and not that he had been blind all along. It was probably recent... Tristan’s attention gets pulled back to Cecelia’s chest. She must have loosened her normally constricting robes because they’re open at her throat and exposing some of her collarbone now. “Would you like me to show you what this chapter is about?” Cecelia looks down at the page open before her, dark lashes fanned across her cheeks. “I found it very interesting. It’s about the female body and discovering what methods work to maximize self-pleasure. Apparently, I have been ignorant of how to properly do so.” The throaty tone she spoke with belied her academic words. Just listening made Tristan’s breath quicken.

“Is that so? You’d best go on, then. For, ah, learnin’ reasons.” Tristan stopped pretending that the reports had held any interest for him and tossed them on the small table. Deciding to get more comfortable because he got the feeling, he was going to end up crushing something if he didn’t. He noticed Cecelia’s eyes on him as he did so. After a moment’s hesitation, he slowed his movement and let her see how he was shifting his body and sliding his penis into a more comfortable position. He knew she was curious, and it ached his heart how she was relying on him for her first experiences with a partner. He hears her breath sigh out. The sensation of knowing his body simply being viewed by her was a turn on for her was a little baffling to him, but then again... He looks at her body on display for him and feels a throb of desire. Leaning back in his chair, Tristan crosses one leg over the other, ankle resting on the knee, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on them. He’s unaware of how his eyes are gleaming, how collected he appears even as his heart races. “Go on…” Now Cecelia’s the one gathering herself, clearing her throat and bringing her mind back from wherever it had been traveling. He enjoyed seeing her get riled up. She lost some of the tension that seemed to be always lurking under the surface and made her seem somehow softer.

“Ah, hmm, yes.” Cecelia breathes a moment while looking at Tristan. As always, he looks elegant, but tonight he was more relaxed. His embroidered jacket was resting over the back of the chair he sat in, and the top button of his blouse was unbuttoned. Her lips quirk. Scandalous. Turning her attention back to the book, she glances at the diagrams and notes. Cecelia really was learning from it. “It says that when pleasuring oneself, one should take the time to first touch all areas, that one may learn with a slow touch on their own what will best inflame them…” Her hand wanders, and Tristan’s surprised she starts at her face. Her fingertips trace feather light over her eyelids, down the slope of her cheek, down her jawline where he sees her apply enough pressure to leave a line. She moves over the point of her chin, stroking down and then up over her lips. Cecelia spends some time there until, with a lick of her lips, she drifts down and back up her jaw. She runs the backs of her fingers up the outside of her tapered ear and, judging by the way her eyes start open, she’s surprised by the discovery she’s made. Cecelia’s chest heaves once, and she shifts her body, which he noticed had been making small motions as she discovered what she enjoyed. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she scrapes a nail down her neck, and he wonders if she’s just immersing herself in the sensations, or if she was remembering his fangs against her flesh. That she was thinking of him while she lay there in full view as she became visibly aroused was making areas other than his heartache, he noticed.

Impatiently, she shrugs out of her robe, small breasts barely concealed by the silken under layer. She brushes a hand over her nipples, and they immediately respond, pricking at the silk covering them, and his own body responds to the sight. The urge to bury his face against her skin, to rub his cheek in claim on her, to leave her covered in marks from his mouth, to slide his tongue around each nipple is overwhelming.

Letting out a gust of air, Tristan realizes that all the hunger is... carnal. None of the heritage he feared and hated was stirring, and the rush of relief was nearly enough to make him tremble. A soft “Ah” from Cecelia made his cock leap in response. Apparently, she found that her stomach was sensitive, as her fingers slid around, her hips thrust and again Tristan felt his cock throb. She’s panting now, sliding her entire body against the mounded-up robe beneath her. The silken under robe slides up, exposing her small clothes, and he can’t help but let a hungry growl rumble out of him. Her eyes flash open, shocked, and he’s smiling behind his hands as he realizes she had forgotten he was in the room with her. Her chest is moving with each breath she takes. A few shallow breaths later and she looks down for her place in the book, like a caught out delinquent student.

“Um. It, ah, says…” Cecelia’s distracted by her hand, running under the edge of her clothes. “That... it’s good to...try different, um, poses. Positions. And. When touching, here ah….” her voice trailed off as she closed her eyes and slid her fingers into her small clothes and began rubbing at her clit.

“Cecelia…” she whimpered a response and kept up her movements. “Look at me.”

Cecelia’s expression feral now, she sees him yet is looking through him. Her eyes are half lidded, and her hips are tilted, so her hand has access. It wasn’t necessarily the first time he’d seen a woman touching herself like that, but the other time had been… Calculated, almost artificial. It had worked, of course, but in the way that saying it’s cold when you step outside in the winter, as opposed to stepping into a raging blizzard that Cecelia’s actions inspired. Tristan stands, stalking towards Cecelia and with a cry she comes, grinding against her hand and making moans that are delightful to hear. She’s still laying on the table, looking up at him and he lets out a little half laugh as he realizes that this is one of the few times he’s looked down on her. Normally with Cecelia, Tristan must look up, unusual for him to encounter with his height. Now he’s found he’s already gotten used to being near her and looking up. Leaning down, Tristan captures Cecelia’s mouth with his, kissing her deeply as she moans into his mouth. He pulls back just enough to look into her face. “Top marks.”

Sense returns to Cecelia with Tristan’s words.

“Top marks.” His face is just above hers, black eyes gazing into her blue ones. She breathes in and then snorts it out in a laugh. His breath puffs out in a short laugh of his own, which makes her really start laughing. Drawing her knees up and covering her face with her long-fingered hands, Tristan takes both of Cecelia’s hands in his own, pulling them away and resting them on the table as he looks down into her laughing face. She’s cackling, head tipped back with tears streaming from the corners of her eyes, and he did this to her. The warmth that infused him at the thought makes him laugh and try landing a kiss on her.

“I always—” a muffled kiss “did exceed—” lips moving together with a flutter of breath “at my classes-” a tongue slid into her mouth and hers pushing back on his “I would have been—” sucking at her bottom lip, “uh even more keen on getting to class on time—” licking under her jaw and her voice rises as she speaks faster, “if you were there teaching what are you doing um…..”

Tristan’s hands had slid down her arms, edges of his nails scraping the entire way, just hard enough to leave a tracery behind them. Then his hands are on her hips, and Cecelia’s suddenly being pulled around so both her legs are hanging off the edge of the table as he stands between them. Her dark silken under robe is still rucked up, and she’s laying there in front of him, blinking up and grasping that his mood had shifted somewhere different. He’s not laughing anymore, although she can see he still has a taste of humor about him. He’s leaning forward over her now, hands on the table to either side of her shoulders and his groin presses firmly against hers. She gets the feeling that the mischievous smile he’s wearing looks a lot like the one she had not long ago, when she was teasing him with a glass of wine at a celebration.

“Hm. Actually, I was thinkin’ you were that teacher just now. Mark me and see how well I was payin’ attention.”

A soft “what?” Is the most Cecelia gets out before Tristan’s long fingers slide under her ribs and help her sit up. She looks almost baffled now, and he feels an upwelling of the urge to see just how far he could push her. He wanted this to last though, so he slides back half a step, removing that delicious pressure against his cock and removing the temptation to see if he could get her to cum again just by rubbing against her. He ducked his head, black eyes gleaming, and suddenly he looked very much like the predator he could be. Cecelia wobbled in front of him, somewhere between confused and passively receptive. It reminded Tristan of the time he had played at biting her, and oh, how he wanted to hear her plead under his mouth, but later. For now, what he wanted was to start her off slow. So, he lifts both hands to her face and gently brushes his fingertips against her brow. Reflexively, she closes her eyes, and he moves over them, leaning forward and softly kissing each lid. He can feel her relaxing into his touch and continues to ease her into it, gently massaging the muscles of her face, fingers pressing lightly against tendon and bone. He’s surprised at how fast she falls into it; her breath deepens and evens out, almost hypnotic. Her eyes stay shut even when he moves on, and he spends quite a while touching her soothingly. Tristan blinks, realizing that Cecelia has possibly gone into a light trance, that peculiar method of sleep that her kind had. Sitting up even. He smiles, still hungering for everything he had been thinking of before, but in better control of himself. It was good to let her come down, too, if only so he could drive her up even higher. How to start? Ah, yes…

Tristan’s hand that had been supporting Cecelia’s head and stroking her neck muscles moved lighter, cupping her head so it tilted and exposing the long length of her neck and shoulder. His thumb dragged across her skin and her breath shuddered. She was limp in his hands, which was a wonderful feeling, so warm... soft... silken... and responsive. A trickle of magic and one of his fingers is almost icy to touch and when he runs it along her neck she gasps, eyes wide now and entire body flexing with his touch like a plucked string. Her eyes seek his and he can see a flash of muddled emotions on her face. Not fear, but... Something that brought out a wolfish sense of play in him. The kind that has a bite.

“As I was sayin’...” The trail of cold goes up the side of her neck, and down. She makes a muffled whine, and he notices her fingers flexing on the wood of the table. Good start. He lingers there, experimenting, teasing, seeing what makes her squirm away or press into his hand. When her responses plateau, he moves on to the place he had been looking forward to for a while now. Leaning forward, he lets his lips brush against the edge of her ear as his hand comes up and strokes her other ear at the same time. The sound she makes is a somewhat hilarious “guh” but her head tips back at an angle that would punish for someone less flexible. He alternates, taking a moment to let a warm breath tickle one lobe, then an icy tracery to the tip of her other ear. He was always amused by just how long they were when he had gotten glimpses of them over the years, normally hidden away under her wide-brimmed hat. His own ears came to tapered points but were far more like a Half-Elf’s than the slender sweeping things that Elves had. As much as he enjoyed seeing her writhe in front of him, he eased up before her nerve endings were over stimulated. He wanted to leave her wanting more, over and over and over until she couldn’t take it anymore and then...He felt a curl of anticipation shock through him. He was honestly looking forward to having her touch her skin to his, he found to his wonderment. It had been so long he almost couldn’t remember the sensation, except for the brand of her mouth and hands she had left on his psyche since they had started this courtship.

Tristan had been keeping busy with hands and mouth the entire time, tracing over the same areas Cecelia had run her hands not so long ago. When he got to her breasts, he found them already peaked, and with a touch of sadism, he slid his breath over each one and attempted to move on. The snarl she let rip would have been startling if he hadn’t expected it and he felt a grin forming. Her hands had remained planted on the table the entire time, her legs hooked under the edge and her torso tipped back slightly, allowing him to reach each place his hands and mouth could wander. “And what’s that for? Are you sayin’-” his lips brush the silk over the top of one breast “that you want something?” Until this point, Cecelia had been wordless but now a spill of Elvish, Common, Trusch, as well as some languages he didn’t even know blend in an incomprehensible jumble. He got the gist of “fuck your mouth” and some threats involving a flaming dragon before she wound down, chin tipped at him with a baleful glare. “Ah, well then. Since you asked so nicely.” He got to hear more of those words as he pulled a nipple into his mouth right through the silk. He let it slide out and kept listening as he paused a moment, then blew on the damp silk. Was that Gnomish? Her legs whipped out from the table and wrapped around his waist, hands clenching at his shoulders as her eyes blaze.

“Stop. Teasing. Me.” It seems he had hit her limit. Each word had been bitten off, and Cecelia was literally steaming. Tristan was pretty sure if he didn’t have a magically formed shield that worked against heat that he would be uncomfortably hot right now. Maybe it is a good thing that he’s her first sexual experience after all.

“Alright luv, no more teasin’’. Tristan nuzzles her cheek, and he can feel an instant drop in Cecelia’s prickly emotions (and temperature) when he rubs his cheek along hers in a long stroke. He does it again on the other side, then covers her mouth with his own. They both thrash for a moment, he trying to stay somewhat controlled, and she, increasingly wild. His thighs bump against the table as he shoves against her, her legs flexing around him, goading him on. Coming up for air, he pants a moment, then frantically starts yanking at his belt, flinging it away from him to slap against the wall. Cecelia’s grinding at him so hard that he can’t get a hand between them, and her hands are tearing his shirt open, buttons flying. Snarling now, he picks her up from him and heaves her just enough to break her grip and get some space between them. Panting and looking feral, she tries to calm down. The way she’s looking at him, that blue fire, that... that shock, as her eyes look down and see the silver fretwork of scar tissue covering everywhere his shirt didn’t conceal. She heaves a gasping breath, and he’s afraid she’s going to weep, or scream, or worse yet be disgusted by his disfigured body, like he’s seen people do in the past. Instead, she goes cold, which he had rarely seen out of her. The dark blue of her eyes has gone steely. She reaches for his shirt and reflexively he leans back out of reach. She fixes on him with those frozen rage eyes, and he pauses.

“Let me see.” Her voice is amazingly level, and he realizes it’s the same voice she has when in battle. Crisp, controlled, assessing possibilities and channeling arcane forces to burn people alive. It’s a strange feeling to be the cause of it. He looks down, silver strands of hair trickling forward as he opens the remaining two buttons and allows his shirt to drape open. He knew what she would see, the same thing he tried not to look at every time he dressed. Crisscrossing scars, as if from not hours, or days, or even months, but years of torture. She sits upright, leaning forward. It’s hard to judge where exactly she’s looking with pupilless eyes, but he’s pretty sure they’re flicking from one tear in his skin to the next, cataloguing each one. He can guess what she’s thinking.

“Whoever did this is dead. I think.” Her eyes, still flint-hard, flash up at him.

“You think.” She huffs a breath, settling some of the pent-up emotion. Her hand reaches out, and he tenses up, but he sees she’s aiming at a higher point on his chest. Her fingers touch the silver disk he wears as an amulet. “You have had this a long time.” The rush of relief at the change of subject almost makes his legs weak, and he sighs out a long breath.

“Aye, it, it was my mother’s. Ah, please-” her fingers had brushed further down against his skin, and he tenses up again. She stops, and he can see she’s listening to him but is also hurt by his rejection of her touch. “I’m sorry. I’m not ready for that.” He huffs, a laugh tinged with frustration. “Moments ago, I was ready to have my way with you, right on the table, and now I can’t even let you touch me…” The look she gives him is peeved, to say the least.

“What do you mean, you can’t let me touch you?” Cecelia brings up her hands and for a minute they wrestle with each other, partly in play but also part in earnest. Tristan keeps forgetting that she’s stronger than him. Her frame is wiry, and she simply looks like a frail creature. So, he cheats. He thrusts up against her and her head rocks back. Tristan does it again and the noise that comes out of Cecelia slams back all the built-up passion into him at once. Cecelia is fighting him again, goading him on to use his body on her, inflaming him and it’s not until he’s tearing off her clothes and unlaced his pants with one hand, he sees what he’s doing and jolts to a panting stop. Cecelia is there in front of Tristan, lusting for him and so, so ready, yes, but also still enraged. She also looks like she might explode at any moment if he doesn’t do something.

“Cecelia.” Her eyes narrow, and if she doesn’t remind him of a viper that’s had its tail stepped on, he can’t think of a better visual. “I very much want to fuck you right now and here.” Her head tips dangerously. “But I don’t want our first time together to be filled with rage, or tears, or with anythin’ on our minds but the absolutely wonderful things we’re doing to each other.” Her head tilts in the other direction, and he’d be damned if he could figure out exactly where her mind was at.

“You promised no more teasing.” Ah, there it was in her voice. Cecelia wasn’t pleading, but the hurt again. He comes in to nuzzle her again, this time adding a nip to the edge of her jaw.

“Ah, that I did, and...” Tristan pulls Cecelia abruptly to the edge of the table. “I meant it.” Her eyes widen as she feels his cock slide up between her legs, not inside her butt laying up against her entrance. “There’s an awful lot-” he thrusts, and the slickness coating her lubricates his entire length. “I can do this to you, and I do want I want-” he tilts his hips, and the movement spreads the lips of Cecelia’s vulva, baring her clit directly to his cock. “To feel you cum while I use my cock on you and to cum with you screamin’ under me…” Cecelia’s still for a moment. Tristan’s not sure how much she understood with him rocking up against her the way he was. Then she exploded into movement. Her legs were wrapped around him again and he’s glad for it, because he wasn’t sure he could have stopped her from impaling herself if she really wanted to. Her hands are clawing at him, and he takes her hands in his, lacing his fingers through hers and tipping her back on the table. Each thrust had her snarling, each rocking of her body building up something deep in her. He could tell when something shifted in her temper, where she stopped fighting and began to tense. Her legs squeezed him in time with his thrusts, the rest of her body a heady blend of flexing muscle and heated softness, and he was getting very close to throwing away his fancy notions and just slide right into her.

“Are you still feeling teased?” Tristan’s fingers are clenched with Cecelia’s and he can feel the pulse of her fingers at the sound of his voice. “Is this makin’ you feel good?” Her voice calls out incoherently, and she’s gripping even harder at him. He shifts over her, sliding the entire length of his shaft over her clit, and he can feel her body tremble under him with the buildup. “You’re getting close, so close.” So was Tristan, and as soon as he heard her voice dip the way he had heard when Cecelia came before, he gave up any pretense of holding back and added his voice to hers, groaning as he felt her come undone under him. Cecelia did scream then, bucking wildly under him as he came hard, white ejaculate landing on her black silk-covered breasts. Apparently, that had an effect on her because Tristan felt her shudder against him again. Slowly, he unweaved their fingers from each other as they got their breaths back. He pulls both of their bodies back to the edge of the table and is surprised by the reproachful look on her face.

“We definitely need to talk.” Cecelia reaches for him and gives a kiss to remove the sting. There is a feeling of magic washing over them from her, mystifying them both clean. He pauses a moment, and then nods, tucking himself away.

“Let’s get comfier.” Tristan leads them over to the small sofa he had been seated on and he relaxes, leaving space for Cecelia to sit next to him. He’s looking down so is taken by surprise when she steps up onto the sofa and settles down onto his lap, arm around him and head resting on his shoulder. He’s stiff for a moment, then smiles softly and puts his arms around her, enjoying the sensation of being held and holding her.

“I think we need to work on letting me touch you. I... Very much like it when you make me feel good, but…” Cecelia’s hand comes up and traces along Tristan’s face. “I want to touch you as well, to make you feel good...all of you.” Her voice is soft and almost dreamlike, her hand soft and warm against him.

“That’s fair, and I want you to know that you... are the closest I’ve been to someone in a long, long time.” Tristan feels her lips curve against his neck.

“Should I be worried about what you’ll be capable of once you’re back in practice?” Cecelia feels his chest rumble in a suppressed laugh.

“I’ve barely broken out my abilities tonight. I’ll have you know there’s some very striking things I can do…. But yes.” He turns his head and brushes his lips against her mouth. “I’ll try. For you.” He feels her mouth soften against his in another smile and she murmurs.

“Good, we can keep trying together. We can start by you taking me to bed. I’d like to sleep with you tonight.” She had slipped into Elvish, where the connotation for sleep meant the restful state. Tristan smiles against her mouth.

“I’d like that, too.”

They had lain down together, Cecelia in her silken under robe and Tristan still wearing the ripped blouse and beltless trousers. They had only shared a bed once before, and that had almost been by accident. Now it felt different, tentative movements as they tried to figure out how to lie together instead of just falling into exhaustion. It turned out that she preferred to recline on a mound of pillows to fall into that odd trance state that Elves had instead of true sleep. After a moment’s thought, he lay his head down on her lap, much to her bemusement. He smiled up at her.

“Well, it’s a silk pillow, isn’t?” She made one of those short involuntary laughs that seemed to surprise her whenever they happened, which he adored. He wasn’t sure how comfortable resting like this would be for her long-term, but he still wore his ring of sustenance that cut down his sleep from eight hours to just two and thought they could always move if it became uncomfortable. He had bought the ring at the first opportunity decades ago, anything to escape being trapped in his nightmares... Uneasily, he shifted and then stilled, folding his hands over his chest after flipping the buttonless sections together. Eyeing it with some amusement, he can’t really complain seeing as he was the one who drove her into such a frenzy to tear it open. He supposed he should be grateful she hadn’t incinerated it while she had been so riled up. He glances up at her, and apparently her thoughts had followed his because she was looking away with a suspiciously hot tinge to her cheeks. With that thought warming him, he shut his eyes and gave in to rest.

Tristan’s heart is pounding, and he’s confused. Why is Cecelia leaning over him like that? Then, in a muddled way, he remembers they were resting in bed together. Her hand is laying on his face, and he realizes he’s gripping one of her legs. With an incoherent murmur, he heaves a sigh, feeling his heartbeat slow back to normal as he nuzzles her hand and rolls onto his side. He feels her fingers slide through his hair and he drifts off to sleep again, comforted.

Troubled, she looks down through her lashes at the beautiful and tormented creature before her. Her floating had still been light enough that when she had felt his body twitch, she opened her eyes to see a look of horror on his sleeping face. Slowly, she lowered her hand from her thigh to touch the side of his face. His hand whipped out, reaching up and grasping her thigh almost painfully. Cecelia felt him take a deep breath, then another, and blearily open his eyes. She feels Tristan’s hand rub her thigh possessively, luxuriating in the sensation of warmed silk, and then he rolls over with a sweet mutter against her palm. She wears a slight smile, a little sad, and she drags her fingers through his moonlight pale hair as he settles. His blank memories bothered her, mostly because it seemed like they haunted him rather than being truly forgotten. She suspected they would come rupturing out of him at some point, much like the vile negative energy that he sometimes used in battle. There seemed to be some kind of connection there. That ability had always worried her, and not just because Necromancy was one school banned to her and was abhorrent to Elven kind. Sighing, she closed her eyes. Maybe she could gain some insight while she mused, although she doubted it.

Tristan’s eyes flutter open, and he’s feeling... good. He feels silk under his cheek and hand and realizes he’s cupping Cecelia’s leg much as her resting hand is cupping the back of his skull. Her breathing is that eerily shallow evenness that signifies a deep trance. For a time, he lays there and simply enjoys the feel of contentment that not getting plunged from nightmares brings. After a bit, he realizes he is in the same breathing pattern as the Elven woman, and wonders again at how easy it is, how natural it feels to match their life signs to each other. It’s disrupted when he gets up. He had a suspicion he wanted to verify and couldn’t prove it from the angle he was at. Slowly, he tips his head so her hand rolls off, then gets up with as much stealth as he can muster so as not to disturb her rest. He was quite stealthy by nature and practice, and got off the bed, rifle around in his pack, and seats himself on the opposite end of the bed without her being alerted. His mouth curves into a smile as he takes in a full view, pleased that he was right. Cecelia was transcendent, black hair braided and slithering off her shoulder. Her brow studded with silver and gems from the magical circlet she wore, her face was all realms and smooth transitions with shockingly dark lashes slashing across her cheeks. She wasn’t what one would consider pretty, especially by human standards. She looked too sharp, too thin, too fey. Especially when her eyes were open with their pupilless swirl of blue on blue. Knowing that his own eyes were similar, but pitch black, made him glad he wears dark lenses to conceal his eyes. She had never done so, unapologetic about her looks and the discomfort she could evoke in others. Except... Him. He realized with a rush all the minor concessions she never made when socializing with others were presented, almost with painful formality, for him with their every encounter. He tilts his head, considering. Is she...Courting him? Thinking to himself that he needs to find someone to ask about Elven customs, and just how serious she is (he suppressed the upwelling thought that it’s deadly) he pulls out his pencil and opens his sketch pad to a blank sheet. There, her face in one of the few times it could be called peaceful, there, her body, lounging with inherent grace, there, the sheen of black silk…

“““

Stretching with her eyes closed, she realizes there’s an absence of weight on her lap. She hears a soft scratching noise at the foot of the bed and opens her eyes to see Tristan sitting cross-legged with his sketch pad on his lap, pencil at work on the paper. To Cecelia’s great pleasure, he seems to be unconscious of the fact that his shirt is flared open, exposing his neck and chest. He pauses and eyes her, stretching a second time, smiling teasingly at her.

“That’s gone and done it, ne’er to be finished.” Cecelia smiles in a slightly rumpled manner and dismounts from the bed to disappear into the privy. When she comes back, Tristan feels a warm hand touch his shoulder before she leans over to peek at what he had been working on for over an hour. He feels her breath puff out in amusement.

“I look like I’m glowing!” She pauses, considering. “Is that... How you see me? How do you see everyone? I hadn’t thought what your being able to see in the dark would mean…” He leans to the side slightly to get a better look at her face.

“This is how I see you…” He touches his pencil to the drawing, strong contrasts of black fabric gleaming in moonlight against illuminated skin, her body languid in rest. Some deep emotion flickers across her face, and he leans back to do that particularly cat-like move of rubbing his cheek against hers before he moves his mouth to her ear to nibble on a lobe. She squeaks. He can hardly believe his fortune at getting such an adorable noise out of the reserved Enchanter. Eager to see if he can elicit more of the same, Tristan tosses aside the pad and pencil to the side of the bed and wraps his arms around the sputtering mage. He levers Cecelia onto the bed with him, sprawling across his lap. Practically squawking now, he’s muffling his laughter against her skin as he plants kisses and nips everywhere he can reach. She’s flailing and landing light slaps against him, howling with mock outrage until he grabs at an arm and runs his mouth down it from wrist all the way to the soft area at the bend of her elbow. Tongue swirls against skin and she draws in a sharp breath, eyes flashing. His own peer at her through locks of his hair, still loose from his night’s rest. Cecelia attempts to tug her arm away, and Tristan growls lightly, mouth still latched onto her skin.

The vibration sends a tingle right down her arm and across her chest, making her gasp. She can feel his eyes on her, and she decides that maybe luring him is the way to free her arm instead of inciting another wrestling match. Shaking her head so her braid is tossed back, Cecelia huffs out a breath. The silk fabric rubs against her breasts, with the expected results. Lowered eyelids concealing her smug expression as she feels his attention wander from her arm. Until she feels his other hand come up to cup a breast, fingers somehow chilled and stroking a nipple while he kept up whatever it was Tristan was doing with his mouth on her arm that kept sending tingling bursts through her body.

“Oh, you bastard! What, ah, you… get from there!” Laughing, Tristan debates on what part of Cecelia to let go and decides that his mouth was what she was referring to, and swipes his tongue up her arm, taking small bites as he goes. The gasps and whimpers goad him on, the feel of her writhing under his hands and mouth delightful. He maneuvers her onto his lap, so her breasts are at face level and goes from one to the other with mouth and hands, every now and again giving a chilly flick to turn her soft gasps into squeals. Her legs are wrapped around his waist, squeezing rhythmically with the strokes of his tongue.

With a frustrated cry, Cecelia pulls her under robe completely off, flinging it aside and burying her hands in Tristan’s hair, guiding his mouth back to her chest. He pauses for just a moment, looking at her bare skin and breathing it in. His hands come up, delicately tracing the undersides of her breasts, which have her arching herself in an unbelievable curve, the back of her head nearly touching the mattress. Her groin pressed up against him and he looks down the length of her entire body, completely bared to his sight and touch. And taste. Sliding his hands around her ribcage, Tristan pulls her back upright, sucking and licking, listening to Cecelia’s cries and feeling her hands slide under his shirt and he can’t find it in himself to flinch, not with his mouth on her hot flesh. And oddly, he can feel her hands, or he can feel the tingling strokes of her hands, like after images in a powerful light. They’re moving together again, her, hot and liquid, against him, hard and grinding.

Cecelia’s hands have wandered up again and press firmly against Tristan’s head, stilling his movements as she heaves in air.

“Lay back for me.” Her voice is full, overflowing with emotion. He looks at her, so wild yet poised, amped up to the edge yet patiently waiting. He nods and maneuvers them both so he can recline in her abandoned nest of pillows, her riding astride him. Her hips roll over him and he groans and the sensation and sight. “Can I touch you?” Her fingers brush against his stomach, and once again he can’t care enough to object, so he nods instead as she smiles and rides his erection through his pants. She leans forward and rests her hands on his shoulders, which are comfortably familiar at this point. Too familiar, too safe... Cursing, Tristan reaches down with his hands and pulls open the lacing on his breeches and tugs them down far enough so he can feel Cecelia sliding against him.

Laying beneath her as Cecelia discovers how to move on, Tristan is utterly erotic, and when she leans back, he can watch her full body shifting over his. He thinks it couldn’t feel any better until she reaches down, fingertips tracing over his stomach and then around the head of his erection. It seems to give her an easier time of moving too, because suddenly she’s riding him hard and fast, hand stroking him at the same time with her free hand pressed hot against his stomach for balance. He didn’t know why he ever thought she would take it slow. Once she had a goal, she pursued it until she either won or destroyed everything in her path, and he was thinking he was about to be destroyed. Or maybe that was just the feeling of climax swiftly approaching, he didn’t think he could hold it off any longer, especially not now that she’s leaning forward with that intent look on her face, gasping as she rubbed her clit against his cock. He grabs her hips and thrusts through her pumping fist, then cries out, coming while continuing to thrust under her. He feels her hand clenching on him, going beyond a place where pain has meaning, especially as he feels the muscles of her thighs flutter and she screams, crying out his name along with curses and promises.

It takes over a minute before Cecelia even unclenches, all during which Tristan touches her, stroking at her thighs, murmuring soft nonsense to her as he soothes her body. Finally, she lets out a long sigh and curls forward, breath gusting against his chest.

“I... Very much need a bath.” He lets out a surprised snort of laughter. She gives another of those slow, low-lidded smiles. “Want to help?” He lays under this arcane creature’s gaze and can only give one answer.

“Absolutely.”

They don’t leave the bed right away, instead sorting themselves out with the help of small cleansing magics. Shortly after, Cecelia wraps the sheets around herself and waves her books to her nest. She had cast little yesterday, but she should plan for what would be needed today. While she did that, Tristan leaned off the bed and fetched his sketchbook and pencil, then rolls onto his side to face her.