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dracoqueen22a/n: Written for Fjolly Week, Day Two, prompt of alternate meetings
Title: Strange What Desire
Universe: Critical Role, Alternate Canon Campaign Two
Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Fjord, Yasha, Sabian
Rated: M
Description: On an evening ashore while docked at port, Fjord stumbles into the company of a mysterious colorful tiefling who’s also looking for a good time.
As much as Fjord loves the ocean, there’s a lot to be said for the stability of dry land. For the creature comforts, for the readily available supplies, for the fresh air, and for space that isn’t crammed with unwashed sailors, for the foods and the water and the ale, and more than that, for the company.
Unfamiliar faces. Pretty faces. Friendly faces.
Their first night docked in Port Zoon, Fjord stays on the ship, not because he wants to, but because it’s his duty. He helps tend to the rigging and the minor repairs and the restocking -- all under Baldeck’s stern glare. Sabian somehow weasels out of the labor and skips off the gangplank with the rest of first shift, and Fjord just knows the little asshole isn’t going to come back until right before they set sail, conveniently missing all of the work.
Fjord’s more than a little perturbed by the time he sets foot on the dock the next evening, as the sun’s drooping on the horizon, and the reek of salt and rot and unwashed bodies lingers in the air.
Port towns are better than inland towns when it comes to acceptance, but Fjord’s still a half-orc, and he knows what he looks like. He hunches his shoulders and slinks into town, debating for half a second before turning toward a more merchant district. If he knows Sabian as well as he thinks he does, the jerk will be holding court in the seediest bar possible.
It’ll cost more silver, but Fjord will stay elsewhere.
He wants a drink, a bath, a meal that’s not made of salted fish and hard tack, and a bed that doesn’t shift and sway whilst hanging above a halfling and beneath a portly dwarf whose idea of washing is swimming in the ocean once a year.
He finds a bathhouse first, and the water is a dull gray but absolutely worthwhile. It’s perfumed to cover up the smell of the dozens of others taking advantage, but it’s warm and deep, and Fjord nearly falls asleep while he soaks.
“Sir, we’re closing soon,” one of the attendants politely reminds him, so Fjord leaves a few extra silver for the trouble and drags himself out of the bath. He feels like a whole new person, like he left layers upon layers of salt-sweat and tar-grime behind.
Fjord ventures back into the streets as the sky glows the dark blue of past sunset but not full night. Laughter floats on the air, the scent of cooked meats accompanying it. He follows his nose a few buildings down to an inn and tavern. A sign sways in the wind, announcing it as the The Seashore’s Shanty. Music spills from behind an aging wood door.
Perfect.
Fjord pushes inside and is immediately swallowed by warmth and a dull roar of noise, not offensive, but welcoming. No one gives him more than a second-glance, and there’s a decent spread of races across the board.
He works his way to the bar, slides in between a human done up in leathers, and a half-elf showing miles of freckled skin. He signals the barkeep and slides into an easy accent, reflective of Vandren, asking for dinner and an ale. The smiling man behind the counter promises both, and Fjord finds an empty table in the corner to kick back.
Fjord watches the crowd.
There’s a colorful, rowdy group in the corner. Another table houses a mixed group of males who look like they just got off shift in a mine. A few loners drink their cares away at the bar. A staircase leads upward to a second story holding rooms. Fjord has one of the keys in his pocket.
Food and drink arrives. He eats too quickly, scarfing down the stew and bread without any manners. It’s the best food he’s had in weeks. He swallows it down with his ale and signals for another, a happy warmth and buzz building in his gut.
It’s not perfect, but it’s as good as it gets.
“Well, aren’t you a handsome stranger.”
Fjord blinks and half-turns to see the most colorful individual he’d ever met striding his direction, a grin on his lips, and tail swishing devilishly behind him. He’s got a mug of ale in each hand, and one he plunks down on the table in front of Fjord before he leans in, the scent of incense and something else, something sharp, wafting out from him.
Fjord lifts his eyebrows. “Uh, hi,” he says. “Can I help you?”
“Most definitely,” the tiefling purrs and nudges the mug of ale Fjord’s direction pointedly. “A gift, my green friend, for someone I’d certainly like to get to know. Carnally or otherwise.”
Fjord’s face heats. It floods all the way to the tip of his ears. “That’s, uh, mighty forward of you,” he says, and he gropes for the ale, swallowing half down in a quick glug because he thinks he might be in over his head.
“I am a forward person.” The tiefling leans in closer, jewelry jangling from his horns, his lavender skin a contrast to the blood-red of his eyes. “The name’s Molly. What can I call you?”
Fjord licks his lips and lowers the ale. “Fjord.”
“Easy to say, I like it.” Molly grins, and Fjord feels a bit like a fish out of water, or one barely under the surface, within reach of the talons of a seahawk. “You look like you could use some company, Fjord. Mind if I join you?”
"It'd be rude of me to say no." Fjord gestures to the empty chair and slides his own a little aside, inviting Molly into his space. "Thanks for the drink."
"Least I can do." Molly leans in closer and his breath puffs wet and warm over Fjord's skin. "Mmm. You smell like the sea. Sailor?"
Fjord licks his lips, heart beating faster. "That obvious?"
Molly chuckles and leans back, taking a long drink of his ale, throat bobbing as he does so. "Lucky guess." He smacks his lips, tongue flicking out quick to catch a stray drop of ale.
"And you are...?" Fjord asks, taking in the garish coat, the lazy slouch, the trinkets dangling from Molly's horns and the splash of color on the side of his face -- is that a peacock?
"Not from around here." Molly twists a hand, rings catching the light with a sparkle. "I'm from a little bit of everywhere. I travel, too. Though I'm not a sailor." He crinkles his brow, lips forming a moue. "I can't say I'm not interested. Is it as exciting as they say?"
"Not even close." Fjord's eyes dip to the open collar of Molly's shirt, loosened ties giving way to miles of lavender skin, peeks of another tattoo, but more than that, dozens and dozens of scars, long and thin. "Seems like you got more than enough excitement on your own."
Molly laughs and drags his fingertips over his collarbone as if measuring the scars. "I might be a little dangerous." He brushes a stray lock of hair from his face. "Are you opposed to danger, Fjord?"
He gulps down his ale and sets the empty tankard on the table. "I've been known to hold my own."
A hand lands on his knee. Fjord looks down at it. Lavender, talon-tipped, a cheap bauble sparkling from one finger.
He looks up, and Molly's leaned in, that smoky scent of incense cloaking him. "What about company?" Molly asks. "Tonight?"
The tips of Fjord's ears burn. "I, uh, don't have that much coin." He rubs the back of his neck, pretending his cock hasn't twitched and half-thickened in his trousers. "If that's what you're implyin'."
There's a moment where Molly's eyes widen, and Fjord half-expects to get slapped for leading him on. And then Molly's lips curve into the widest grin Fjord's ever seen, his pointed canines peeking through his lips. He squeezes Fjord's knee and laughs.
"Sweetheart, you're so pretty I feel like I ought to be paying you," Molly says and his tail flicks into view, jewelry jingling cheerfully from the tip. "But, no. A night with me isn't gonna cost a thing." His hand slides up, thumb applying a light pressure.
Fjord's heart thuds faster, pumping heat through his entire body. "I have a room upstairs."
"Perfect." Molly leans back and takes his hand with him, and Fjord's dick throbs angrily.
Molly snatches up his tankard and finishes off his ale, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. The tankard thunks to the table. "Ready to go?"
Fjord licks his lips. “Yeah.” He stands, dusting off his hands, glancing quickly around the tavern interior. No one’s paying them a bit of mind.
Molly hops up, coat swirling around his legs and his long, leather boots. Gods, but Fjord wants to peel them off. How does he even get them on?
Two swords hang at his sides. Fjord tries to get a better look at them, but the sway of Molly’s walk, the shift of his coat, the twitch of his tail -- those are too distracting. He follows the tiefling through a crowd getting increasingly boisterous, and squeezes past two large humans making threatening eyes at each other.
They pop free on the other side of the melee near the stairs. Molly pauses to tip his head at a woman standing braced up against the wall, muscular arms folded over her chest.
“I’ll be back, dearling,” Molly says as he pats her on the shoulder. “Don’t wait up.”
Her dual-colored eyes flick to Fjord then back to Molly. “You sure?” she asks, and her voice is soft, but steely, like the whisper of a blade pulled from its sheath. Maybe even that massive greatsword peeking up over her shoulder.
“Yep. Fjord and I are gonna have a great time.” Molly tosses a wink over his shoulder. “Aren’t we?”
“Sure are.” Fjord side-eyes the woman, making note of the aura of danger cloaking her like a second skin. “Ma’am.” He tips his head.
Molly snorts.
The woman’s lips twitch toward something like a smile. “Have fun.”
A hand latches on to Fjord’s shirt and tugs him toward the stairs. Fjord stumbles after Molly, his face flushing with heat.
“Impatient?” he asks, with a little laugh.
“To get you naked? Definitely.” Molly tosses another wink over his shoulder, and then lets it linger on Fjord’s now bare collarbone. “I want to see what’s hiding under all that.”
Gods.
Molly tows him up the stairs, and then Fjord’s back hits the wall when they reach the landing. His eyes widen before Molly presses against him, all lean angles, smelling of incense, his eyes big pools of desire.
“Just a taste,” he murmurs.
Their mouths crash together, Molly’s tongue licking into his mouth as if trying to map the contours of it.
Fjord groans, his belly twisting with desire, his fingers threading through Molly’s hair. Molly’s tongue lays siege to his mouth, and he tastes like the ale they’ve been drinking.
Molly chuckles against his lips. He presses closer, hips rocking into Fjord’s. The firm line of a stiffening cock makes itself known against Fjord’s thigh.
"Which room?" Molly asks as he ruts against Fjord, a mimicry of what they'll be doing in moments, the slow drag of pressure sending a shiver up Fjord's spine.
He groans, cock throbbing, fingers scraping Molly's skull. "Uh, five I think?" It's hard to remember what the innkeep told him through the blood rushing in his ears.
"Got it." Molly nips his bottom lip and spins away, humming to himself as he twirls a keyring on one finger.
Fjord blinks and checks his pocket -- empty. He fumbles for his money pouch, but it jingles when he gives it a shake.
"Don't want your money," Molly says, singsong, as he counts doors and finds the right one. He jiggles the key into the lock and glances back at Fjord. "Coming?"
He's so in over his head.
Fjord catches up just as Molly pushes the door open and slips inside, leaving it ajar. Fjord chases him into the dark interior, only a few streams of light peeking through thin curtains, not that darkness is much of an issue.
"Are you a trickster?" Fjord asks as he shuts the door behind him.
"Sometimes." Molly's taking off his coat, draping it over a nearby chair. Two swords clatter next to it, and in the darkness, he's long lines of gray angles, his jewelry catching the streams of light. "Not this time. I only trick the ones who deserve it, and you are definitely not on the list."
Fjord shifts. "What counts in your book?"
"Oh. Murder. Ill-nature. Kidnapping. Torture. The usual." Molly comes closer, hand landing on Fjord's leather breastplate. "You're not a murderer, right?" He flicks one of the buckles, snapping it open.
"I've killed before," Fjord says.
"We've all killed before." Molly laughs and flick goes the other buckle.
Fjord catches catches the two halves of the breastplate and tosses them aside with a clatter. His heart's beating stupidly fast, and he doesn't know why he's not running from the room save that he's had a taste, and he wants more.
Molly's hand returns to his chest, sliding up and over his collarbone, and his hands are warm against Fjord's chilled skin. He purrs, eyes bright and reflective in Fjord's darkvision.
"A man of the sea," Molly murmurs and leans in, kissing him again, mouth hot and wet and hungry, pressing Fjord backward until he hits the door with a dull thud.
He clutches at Molly's sides, yanking him closer, and a knee nudges between his thighs. Fjord shivers, rocking down against it, his cock leaking and soaking the inside of his trousers. He only has the one pair. He can't afford to mess these.
A hand slides down, over his belly, over his belt, and cups the swelled length of him. Fjord groans, bucking into the deft squeeze, his cock throbbing even harder. Molly laughs over his lips, nipping them playfully.
"Not much alone time on a ship," he says before he starts tugging at Fjord's belt and laces, undoing them with the same ease he must have used to get at the key in Fjord's pocket without him knowing. "You feel ready to pop."
Fjord's fingers dig into to Molly's sides, not that the tiefling seems to mind. "I... might not have as much stamina as I ought to," he admits.
Though it's not entirely true. There's a kind of code, where if the sailor in the bunk next to you is handling his business, you ignore it and later, he extends you that same courtesy. Unless they're the type of sailor that wants you to join in, in which case, all aboard. Fjord’s made the mistake of that mess with Sabian and afterward, well, he’d learned his lesson.
He handles his business on his own, thank you very much.
"Maybe not. But I know you should be good for more than one." Molly tugs on his shirt. "Off."
Fjord obeys, probably betraying his eagerness, flinging his shirt off into the dark. Molly sinks down in front of him, and Fjord sucks in a breath as he's pulled out of his trousers, cooler air wisping over his cock. Fingers wrap around him in a firm stroke, and Fjord moves into it, his hands fisting at his sides without anywhere else to put them.
"Anyone ever tell you that you have a beautiful cock?" Molly asks, his lips curved into a salacious grin, barely visible.
"It doesn't come to mind," Fjord says.
"Pity."
Molly licks his lips, and Fjord's heart skips a beat. Is he gonna--
Gods.
Fjord groans, long and low, hands beating a thump against the door behind him as his dick slides into Molly's mouth, lips and tongue creating a deliciously hot suction. Molly hums around his length, and the vibrations make Fjord throb. He bucks forward, and Molly takes it, just takes him deeper, swallowing around him, tongue stroking the underside.
Fjord finds his fingers tangled in dark hair, bumping up against horns, before he realizes what he's doing. If Molly minds, he doesn't say. He just grips Fjord's hips and directs his thrusts, sucking him off like Fjord is the best treat he's had today.
The heat twists and winds, buzzing at the base of his spine and flooding outward. Fjord's knees tremble, his cock throbbing, his teeth gritting. His head knocks back against the door as Molly flicks the tip of his tongue against his slit and then sucks on the head.
Fjord groans, long and low, tangling his fingers in Molly's hair, as the coil tightens into a knot in the pit of his belly. "Molly, I'm gonna -- you might want to--" He groans again, words catching in his throat.
Molly's answer is to take him down again, cradle his balls in long fingers, pull Fjord deeper into his mouth with a firm grip on Fjord's ass. He hums, and that's it. Fjord bucks into Molly, fingers scraping Molly's scalp, and he comes down Molly's throat in several heavy spurts.
Fjord sags against the door, dragging in heavy breaths, tingles dancing across his skin. He looks down just in time to catch Molly sliding off his dick, licking his lips with a curve of satisfaction. Fjord's still half-hard, despite coming, and he twitches with renewed interest.
Molly kisses him, tasting like ale and the salty musk of come, his tongue pushing into Fjord's mouth. He grabs hold of Fjord's ass and yanks him closer.
"It's my turn, right?" Molly asks, circling his hips, the rasp of his trousers against Fjord's bare cock unexpectedly erotic.
Fjord licks his lips. "Yeah. Of course. You want me to return the favor or..?"
"Actually I was thinking of something else." Molly noses into Fjord's throat, dragging his fangs along his skin. "Mind if I have this ass?"
"I'll mind if you don't," Fjord says.
Molly snorts a laugh and gives a tug to Fjord's trousers. "Then these have to come off." He pulls back and slips out of his shirt, drooping it over the same chair that holds his coat and sword. "And the bed might be better. But if you prefer the floor or even this door, far be it from me to stop you."
"The bed," Fjord says as he toes off his boots and kicks them aside. His trousers follow, pouches tucked into the pockets, both tossed over his boots.
"I am a fan of comfort."
Fjord turns back toward the tiefling and immediately licks his lips, want twisting through his belly. Molly has taken himself out of his trousers, and he’s stroking the length of his dick. It’s too dark to make out any details, but Fjord wonders if it’s as tattooed as the rest of Molly. He's holding something in his other hand, a vial perhaps. Oil.
Fjord gets on the bed and tells himself he doesn’t dive there eagerly. Even though he probably does, given the way Molly chuckles at him and follows him over. He’s on his hands and knees, climbing further up the bed, when hot hands grab his hips and haul him back.
Molly’s still standing, mostly dressed, and he grinds his dick against Fjord’s ass, the rasp of his trousers stupidly erotic. Fjord paws at the mattress, forehead pushing into the blanket. His cock pulses and fills with blood, rising quicker than it ever has.
“There are so many things I want to do to you,” Molly groans, his fingers leaving pinpricks in Fjord’s skin. “If only I had the time.”
“Then stop wasting it.” Fjord grits his teeth to stop the embarrassing whine from leaking through.
Molly chuckles. “You have a point.” The herbal scent of oil fills the chamber before something cool drizzles between Fjord’s cheeks, and the hot brush of a finger follows them.
It rubs over his hole, spreading the oil around, and Fjord cants his hips eagerly.
“How much you need?” Molly asks, the pad of his finger rubbing over him, massaging the oil into his flesh. Fjord’s toes curl with anticipation.
“I’m good,” Fjord says, and hopes he doesn’t sound like he’s begging, even though he is, pushing his ass back at Molly, curling his fingers into the blanket, desperate for something more substantial.
“You sure?” Molly asks as the noise of oil spreading over a cock fills the room, and Fjord’s insides tighten with want, because Molly doesn’t have to be concerned about Fjord’s comfort, they barely know each other. But he is concerned, he’s asking, and gods.
He peers over his shoulder, and Molly’s eyes practically glow back at him, blood-red in a flash of torchlight through the window. His hair is wild, his jewelry glistens, and he’s still half-dressed.
“Fuck me,” Fjord says, hoarse, and Molly grins.
“With pleasure.” He grabs Fjord’s hips and guides himself where he needs to be.
Fjord groans, toes curling, blanket tearing, as the blunt pressure of Molly’s cock becomes a thick, slick burn that’s just this edge of perfect. His body gives, fighting the penetration at first, until Fjord exhales and relaxes, taking Molly to the hilt in one long, thick push.
“Oh, you are delightful,” Molly purrs, his fingers flexing on Fjord’s hips, his cock a hot pulse within Fjord. “I knew you would be.” He presses deep, circles his hips, stirring his cock inside Fjord.
A hot flash of pleasure jolts through Fjord’s body. Heat pours into his veins, and he shudders, pushing back against Molly, squeezing around the tiefling’s cock. He presses his forehead to the mattress, goosebumps prickling over his skin in the wake of a flush of heat.
Sometimes, it’s so damn good to be back on dry land.
“Ready for me to move?” Molly asks, his palm skating up Fjord’s spine and down again.
“Been ready,” Fjord gasps out and spreads his knees a bit further, sinking on the bed and pushing back against Molly.
“Good.”
Molly grips him, hard enough to bruise. He pulls back, and then thrusts in, faster, sharper.
Fjord moans, back arching, tearing at the mattress. Molly sets up a rapid, steady pace, the bed creaking and groaning beneath them. Molly pants, muttering something in a guttural language, but his cock throbs, and Fjord’s hanging heavy now, pre-come beading at the tip of his cock.
He shifts his weight, tries to reach down to wrap fingers around himself, but Molly abruptly pulls out.
“I think I want a better view,” he says and before Fjord can blink, he’s pushed and turned onto his back, Molly falling over him, between his thighs, cock rutting up against Fjord’s.
Fjord groans and curls a leg around Molly, his other knee gripped tightly in lavender fingers. He fists the blanket above his head as Molly’s lips crash over his, a sloppy kiss of heat and want. Molly grabs his hips, and Fjord cants upward, and then Molly’s sliding back into him, his cock raking across that bundle of nerves inside.
Fjord’s back arches. He shoves both hands into the mattress, trying to gain some leverage, but Molly has it all and fuck if that isn’t arousing. Molly’s laughing against his lips, his kisses biting and fierce and wandering, teeth scraping over Fjord’s throat as he pumps his hips, faster and deeper, shoving Fjord into the bed.
Pleasure twists and tangles inside of him, and Fjord clenches, riding the hard edge of orgasm. He’s so close he can taste it, his whole body throbbing, and Molly’s mouth hot and sharp on his throat.
“Ahhh, fuck!” Molly hisses, and he abruptly pulls out to rut against Fjord, his fingers curling around their cocks and stroking them in tandem.
Fjord joins him, frantically seeking his own peak. He growls as he comes, splattering their combined grip with his spill, his entire body taut with pleasure. He tosses his head back and Molly’s teeth sink into his throat, making him jerk with another electric flash of ecstasy, before the hot splashes of Molly’s come paints his fingers as well.
They kiss again, Fjord’s heart pounding a fierce beat, his breath coming in sharp gasps that gradually return to normal. His body is painted in sweat, and the smell of incense seems to be even stronger post-orgasm.
Molly grins against his mouth. “I hope you don’t have any other plans for this evening,” he says as he slides his hand around Fjord’s leg, up his thigh, back toward his hips. His tongue flicks, snake-quick, over Fjord’s bottom lip.
He should probably get some decent sleep. Captain probably wants to sail out as soon as possible, but…
Fjord cups the back of Molly’s neck and keeps him in place, darkening the kiss into something with far more heat.
Molly chuckles and grinds against him, into the slippery mess between their bodies. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”
Who needs sleep anyway?
~
Fjord wakes when a slat of sunlight streams through the thin curtains and lands across his eyes. He groans and rolls over, pulling the blanket over his head. His body throbs a sharp ache, reminding him of his nightly activities.
He opens his eyes.
The bed is unsurprisingly empty. The chair where Molly had tossed his things is empty. All that remains is a lingering scent of incense.
Fjord sighs and thumps back onto the pillow. The bed reeks of come and sweat and other things. His muscles ache, but there’s a langor to them also. He bets if he looks in the mirror, he’ll have marks all over his neck and shoulders.
Gods what a night.
Fjord forces himself to sit up, the blanket pooling around his waist. He drags his palms down his face and breathes in and out. He needs a bath. He needs to get dressed. He should probably make sure the ship is still in port, and they didn’t leave without him, not that he thinks Vandren will do such a thing, but he won’t put it past Sabian to lie either.
Asshole.
Fjord dresses and hisses when there’s a mild twinge in his lower back. A decent walk should work it out, but if that’s one of the souvenir he takes with him, it’s one well-earned.
Wait, no.
There’s a bottle of oil on the bedside table, corked and half-empty. There’s a purple ribbon tied around the neck of it. He doesn’t know if Molly left it on purpose or not, but Fjord pockets it anyway.
A physical souvenir. Even better.
He gathers his belongings and is out the door, only to immediately collide with Sabian in the hallway.
“Watch where you’re fucking going,” Sabian snarls, only to realize who he is a blink later. “Gods, Fjord. What the fuck got a hold of you?”
“None of your business,” Fjord says. He resists the urge to pull his shirt up around his marks, because he doesn’t like the way Sabian stares at them.
“Yeah? How much ya pay for her?” Sabian leers, and Fjord scowls at him, pushing past to beeline for the stairs.
“Did you at least get her name?” Sabian calls after him.
Fjord may or may not stomp downstairs, where the smell of breakfast meats and fried potatoes is nearly enough to chase away the simmering irritation. It’s a quieter crowd this morning, a few patrons scattered around the establishment, but none of them are the purple tiefling from last night.
Fjord tries not to be disappointed.
“Um, hello?”
Fjord turns and startles at the huge, pale woman approaching him, and it takes him a moment to recognize her as the one Molly had spoken to last night.
“You’re not here to kill me, are you?” he asks, eyeing the huge sword on her back.
She smiles and chuckles quietly. “No.” She pauses, fidgets, then says, “I came to give this to you actually.”
She pulls something out of a pouch and holds it out to him. A folded piece of paper? Fjord accepts, unfolding the parchment to peer at it.
In a neat, feminine script there’s a name -- Mollymauk Tealeaf -- and a phrase “The Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities”. Below both of those is a list and as Fjord stares at it, he realizes it’s a series of cities and towns.
“Where we’ll be, if you happen to be in the area,” the woman says. “Molly would have given this to you himself, but he’s… uh…” She trails off and then falls silent.
Fjord carefully folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket. “Thanks, uh--”
“Yasha.”
“Yasha, right. Thanks.” He tips his head at her and pats his pocket. “I’ll make good use of this, if I can.”
“Good.” She stares at him for a moment longer. “So, uh, goodbye.” She turns and walks away, what little crowd there is parting to make room for her.
Behind him, Sabian whistles. “I’d let her throw me around, too.”
Fjord tosses him a glare. “Shut up.” He tries to scowl, but it’s hard. He keeps wanting to grin. He has no idea if they’ll be in port, if they’ll be anywhere around any of these locations, but if the opportunity arises, he’s definitely going to be there.
Mollymauk Tealeaf.
What an interesting name.
*
a/n: Will this be continued?
Quite possibly. ;)
Title: Strange What Desire
Universe: Critical Role, Alternate Canon Campaign Two
Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Fjord, Yasha, Sabian
Rated: M
Description: On an evening ashore while docked at port, Fjord stumbles into the company of a mysterious colorful tiefling who’s also looking for a good time.
As much as Fjord loves the ocean, there’s a lot to be said for the stability of dry land. For the creature comforts, for the readily available supplies, for the fresh air, and for space that isn’t crammed with unwashed sailors, for the foods and the water and the ale, and more than that, for the company.
Unfamiliar faces. Pretty faces. Friendly faces.
Their first night docked in Port Zoon, Fjord stays on the ship, not because he wants to, but because it’s his duty. He helps tend to the rigging and the minor repairs and the restocking -- all under Baldeck’s stern glare. Sabian somehow weasels out of the labor and skips off the gangplank with the rest of first shift, and Fjord just knows the little asshole isn’t going to come back until right before they set sail, conveniently missing all of the work.
Fjord’s more than a little perturbed by the time he sets foot on the dock the next evening, as the sun’s drooping on the horizon, and the reek of salt and rot and unwashed bodies lingers in the air.
Port towns are better than inland towns when it comes to acceptance, but Fjord’s still a half-orc, and he knows what he looks like. He hunches his shoulders and slinks into town, debating for half a second before turning toward a more merchant district. If he knows Sabian as well as he thinks he does, the jerk will be holding court in the seediest bar possible.
It’ll cost more silver, but Fjord will stay elsewhere.
He wants a drink, a bath, a meal that’s not made of salted fish and hard tack, and a bed that doesn’t shift and sway whilst hanging above a halfling and beneath a portly dwarf whose idea of washing is swimming in the ocean once a year.
He finds a bathhouse first, and the water is a dull gray but absolutely worthwhile. It’s perfumed to cover up the smell of the dozens of others taking advantage, but it’s warm and deep, and Fjord nearly falls asleep while he soaks.
“Sir, we’re closing soon,” one of the attendants politely reminds him, so Fjord leaves a few extra silver for the trouble and drags himself out of the bath. He feels like a whole new person, like he left layers upon layers of salt-sweat and tar-grime behind.
Fjord ventures back into the streets as the sky glows the dark blue of past sunset but not full night. Laughter floats on the air, the scent of cooked meats accompanying it. He follows his nose a few buildings down to an inn and tavern. A sign sways in the wind, announcing it as the The Seashore’s Shanty. Music spills from behind an aging wood door.
Perfect.
Fjord pushes inside and is immediately swallowed by warmth and a dull roar of noise, not offensive, but welcoming. No one gives him more than a second-glance, and there’s a decent spread of races across the board.
He works his way to the bar, slides in between a human done up in leathers, and a half-elf showing miles of freckled skin. He signals the barkeep and slides into an easy accent, reflective of Vandren, asking for dinner and an ale. The smiling man behind the counter promises both, and Fjord finds an empty table in the corner to kick back.
Fjord watches the crowd.
There’s a colorful, rowdy group in the corner. Another table houses a mixed group of males who look like they just got off shift in a mine. A few loners drink their cares away at the bar. A staircase leads upward to a second story holding rooms. Fjord has one of the keys in his pocket.
Food and drink arrives. He eats too quickly, scarfing down the stew and bread without any manners. It’s the best food he’s had in weeks. He swallows it down with his ale and signals for another, a happy warmth and buzz building in his gut.
It’s not perfect, but it’s as good as it gets.
“Well, aren’t you a handsome stranger.”
Fjord blinks and half-turns to see the most colorful individual he’d ever met striding his direction, a grin on his lips, and tail swishing devilishly behind him. He’s got a mug of ale in each hand, and one he plunks down on the table in front of Fjord before he leans in, the scent of incense and something else, something sharp, wafting out from him.
Fjord lifts his eyebrows. “Uh, hi,” he says. “Can I help you?”
“Most definitely,” the tiefling purrs and nudges the mug of ale Fjord’s direction pointedly. “A gift, my green friend, for someone I’d certainly like to get to know. Carnally or otherwise.”
Fjord’s face heats. It floods all the way to the tip of his ears. “That’s, uh, mighty forward of you,” he says, and he gropes for the ale, swallowing half down in a quick glug because he thinks he might be in over his head.
“I am a forward person.” The tiefling leans in closer, jewelry jangling from his horns, his lavender skin a contrast to the blood-red of his eyes. “The name’s Molly. What can I call you?”
Fjord licks his lips and lowers the ale. “Fjord.”
“Easy to say, I like it.” Molly grins, and Fjord feels a bit like a fish out of water, or one barely under the surface, within reach of the talons of a seahawk. “You look like you could use some company, Fjord. Mind if I join you?”
"It'd be rude of me to say no." Fjord gestures to the empty chair and slides his own a little aside, inviting Molly into his space. "Thanks for the drink."
"Least I can do." Molly leans in closer and his breath puffs wet and warm over Fjord's skin. "Mmm. You smell like the sea. Sailor?"
Fjord licks his lips, heart beating faster. "That obvious?"
Molly chuckles and leans back, taking a long drink of his ale, throat bobbing as he does so. "Lucky guess." He smacks his lips, tongue flicking out quick to catch a stray drop of ale.
"And you are...?" Fjord asks, taking in the garish coat, the lazy slouch, the trinkets dangling from Molly's horns and the splash of color on the side of his face -- is that a peacock?
"Not from around here." Molly twists a hand, rings catching the light with a sparkle. "I'm from a little bit of everywhere. I travel, too. Though I'm not a sailor." He crinkles his brow, lips forming a moue. "I can't say I'm not interested. Is it as exciting as they say?"
"Not even close." Fjord's eyes dip to the open collar of Molly's shirt, loosened ties giving way to miles of lavender skin, peeks of another tattoo, but more than that, dozens and dozens of scars, long and thin. "Seems like you got more than enough excitement on your own."
Molly laughs and drags his fingertips over his collarbone as if measuring the scars. "I might be a little dangerous." He brushes a stray lock of hair from his face. "Are you opposed to danger, Fjord?"
He gulps down his ale and sets the empty tankard on the table. "I've been known to hold my own."
A hand lands on his knee. Fjord looks down at it. Lavender, talon-tipped, a cheap bauble sparkling from one finger.
He looks up, and Molly's leaned in, that smoky scent of incense cloaking him. "What about company?" Molly asks. "Tonight?"
The tips of Fjord's ears burn. "I, uh, don't have that much coin." He rubs the back of his neck, pretending his cock hasn't twitched and half-thickened in his trousers. "If that's what you're implyin'."
There's a moment where Molly's eyes widen, and Fjord half-expects to get slapped for leading him on. And then Molly's lips curve into the widest grin Fjord's ever seen, his pointed canines peeking through his lips. He squeezes Fjord's knee and laughs.
"Sweetheart, you're so pretty I feel like I ought to be paying you," Molly says and his tail flicks into view, jewelry jingling cheerfully from the tip. "But, no. A night with me isn't gonna cost a thing." His hand slides up, thumb applying a light pressure.
Fjord's heart thuds faster, pumping heat through his entire body. "I have a room upstairs."
"Perfect." Molly leans back and takes his hand with him, and Fjord's dick throbs angrily.
Molly snatches up his tankard and finishes off his ale, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. The tankard thunks to the table. "Ready to go?"
Fjord licks his lips. “Yeah.” He stands, dusting off his hands, glancing quickly around the tavern interior. No one’s paying them a bit of mind.
Molly hops up, coat swirling around his legs and his long, leather boots. Gods, but Fjord wants to peel them off. How does he even get them on?
Two swords hang at his sides. Fjord tries to get a better look at them, but the sway of Molly’s walk, the shift of his coat, the twitch of his tail -- those are too distracting. He follows the tiefling through a crowd getting increasingly boisterous, and squeezes past two large humans making threatening eyes at each other.
They pop free on the other side of the melee near the stairs. Molly pauses to tip his head at a woman standing braced up against the wall, muscular arms folded over her chest.
“I’ll be back, dearling,” Molly says as he pats her on the shoulder. “Don’t wait up.”
Her dual-colored eyes flick to Fjord then back to Molly. “You sure?” she asks, and her voice is soft, but steely, like the whisper of a blade pulled from its sheath. Maybe even that massive greatsword peeking up over her shoulder.
“Yep. Fjord and I are gonna have a great time.” Molly tosses a wink over his shoulder. “Aren’t we?”
“Sure are.” Fjord side-eyes the woman, making note of the aura of danger cloaking her like a second skin. “Ma’am.” He tips his head.
Molly snorts.
The woman’s lips twitch toward something like a smile. “Have fun.”
A hand latches on to Fjord’s shirt and tugs him toward the stairs. Fjord stumbles after Molly, his face flushing with heat.
“Impatient?” he asks, with a little laugh.
“To get you naked? Definitely.” Molly tosses another wink over his shoulder, and then lets it linger on Fjord’s now bare collarbone. “I want to see what’s hiding under all that.”
Gods.
Molly tows him up the stairs, and then Fjord’s back hits the wall when they reach the landing. His eyes widen before Molly presses against him, all lean angles, smelling of incense, his eyes big pools of desire.
“Just a taste,” he murmurs.
Their mouths crash together, Molly’s tongue licking into his mouth as if trying to map the contours of it.
Fjord groans, his belly twisting with desire, his fingers threading through Molly’s hair. Molly’s tongue lays siege to his mouth, and he tastes like the ale they’ve been drinking.
Molly chuckles against his lips. He presses closer, hips rocking into Fjord’s. The firm line of a stiffening cock makes itself known against Fjord’s thigh.
"Which room?" Molly asks as he ruts against Fjord, a mimicry of what they'll be doing in moments, the slow drag of pressure sending a shiver up Fjord's spine.
He groans, cock throbbing, fingers scraping Molly's skull. "Uh, five I think?" It's hard to remember what the innkeep told him through the blood rushing in his ears.
"Got it." Molly nips his bottom lip and spins away, humming to himself as he twirls a keyring on one finger.
Fjord blinks and checks his pocket -- empty. He fumbles for his money pouch, but it jingles when he gives it a shake.
"Don't want your money," Molly says, singsong, as he counts doors and finds the right one. He jiggles the key into the lock and glances back at Fjord. "Coming?"
He's so in over his head.
Fjord catches up just as Molly pushes the door open and slips inside, leaving it ajar. Fjord chases him into the dark interior, only a few streams of light peeking through thin curtains, not that darkness is much of an issue.
"Are you a trickster?" Fjord asks as he shuts the door behind him.
"Sometimes." Molly's taking off his coat, draping it over a nearby chair. Two swords clatter next to it, and in the darkness, he's long lines of gray angles, his jewelry catching the streams of light. "Not this time. I only trick the ones who deserve it, and you are definitely not on the list."
Fjord shifts. "What counts in your book?"
"Oh. Murder. Ill-nature. Kidnapping. Torture. The usual." Molly comes closer, hand landing on Fjord's leather breastplate. "You're not a murderer, right?" He flicks one of the buckles, snapping it open.
"I've killed before," Fjord says.
"We've all killed before." Molly laughs and flick goes the other buckle.
Fjord catches catches the two halves of the breastplate and tosses them aside with a clatter. His heart's beating stupidly fast, and he doesn't know why he's not running from the room save that he's had a taste, and he wants more.
Molly's hand returns to his chest, sliding up and over his collarbone, and his hands are warm against Fjord's chilled skin. He purrs, eyes bright and reflective in Fjord's darkvision.
"A man of the sea," Molly murmurs and leans in, kissing him again, mouth hot and wet and hungry, pressing Fjord backward until he hits the door with a dull thud.
He clutches at Molly's sides, yanking him closer, and a knee nudges between his thighs. Fjord shivers, rocking down against it, his cock leaking and soaking the inside of his trousers. He only has the one pair. He can't afford to mess these.
A hand slides down, over his belly, over his belt, and cups the swelled length of him. Fjord groans, bucking into the deft squeeze, his cock throbbing even harder. Molly laughs over his lips, nipping them playfully.
"Not much alone time on a ship," he says before he starts tugging at Fjord's belt and laces, undoing them with the same ease he must have used to get at the key in Fjord's pocket without him knowing. "You feel ready to pop."
Fjord's fingers dig into to Molly's sides, not that the tiefling seems to mind. "I... might not have as much stamina as I ought to," he admits.
Though it's not entirely true. There's a kind of code, where if the sailor in the bunk next to you is handling his business, you ignore it and later, he extends you that same courtesy. Unless they're the type of sailor that wants you to join in, in which case, all aboard. Fjord’s made the mistake of that mess with Sabian and afterward, well, he’d learned his lesson.
He handles his business on his own, thank you very much.
"Maybe not. But I know you should be good for more than one." Molly tugs on his shirt. "Off."
Fjord obeys, probably betraying his eagerness, flinging his shirt off into the dark. Molly sinks down in front of him, and Fjord sucks in a breath as he's pulled out of his trousers, cooler air wisping over his cock. Fingers wrap around him in a firm stroke, and Fjord moves into it, his hands fisting at his sides without anywhere else to put them.
"Anyone ever tell you that you have a beautiful cock?" Molly asks, his lips curved into a salacious grin, barely visible.
"It doesn't come to mind," Fjord says.
"Pity."
Molly licks his lips, and Fjord's heart skips a beat. Is he gonna--
Gods.
Fjord groans, long and low, hands beating a thump against the door behind him as his dick slides into Molly's mouth, lips and tongue creating a deliciously hot suction. Molly hums around his length, and the vibrations make Fjord throb. He bucks forward, and Molly takes it, just takes him deeper, swallowing around him, tongue stroking the underside.
Fjord finds his fingers tangled in dark hair, bumping up against horns, before he realizes what he's doing. If Molly minds, he doesn't say. He just grips Fjord's hips and directs his thrusts, sucking him off like Fjord is the best treat he's had today.
The heat twists and winds, buzzing at the base of his spine and flooding outward. Fjord's knees tremble, his cock throbbing, his teeth gritting. His head knocks back against the door as Molly flicks the tip of his tongue against his slit and then sucks on the head.
Fjord groans, long and low, tangling his fingers in Molly's hair, as the coil tightens into a knot in the pit of his belly. "Molly, I'm gonna -- you might want to--" He groans again, words catching in his throat.
Molly's answer is to take him down again, cradle his balls in long fingers, pull Fjord deeper into his mouth with a firm grip on Fjord's ass. He hums, and that's it. Fjord bucks into Molly, fingers scraping Molly's scalp, and he comes down Molly's throat in several heavy spurts.
Fjord sags against the door, dragging in heavy breaths, tingles dancing across his skin. He looks down just in time to catch Molly sliding off his dick, licking his lips with a curve of satisfaction. Fjord's still half-hard, despite coming, and he twitches with renewed interest.
Molly kisses him, tasting like ale and the salty musk of come, his tongue pushing into Fjord's mouth. He grabs hold of Fjord's ass and yanks him closer.
"It's my turn, right?" Molly asks, circling his hips, the rasp of his trousers against Fjord's bare cock unexpectedly erotic.
Fjord licks his lips. "Yeah. Of course. You want me to return the favor or..?"
"Actually I was thinking of something else." Molly noses into Fjord's throat, dragging his fangs along his skin. "Mind if I have this ass?"
"I'll mind if you don't," Fjord says.
Molly snorts a laugh and gives a tug to Fjord's trousers. "Then these have to come off." He pulls back and slips out of his shirt, drooping it over the same chair that holds his coat and sword. "And the bed might be better. But if you prefer the floor or even this door, far be it from me to stop you."
"The bed," Fjord says as he toes off his boots and kicks them aside. His trousers follow, pouches tucked into the pockets, both tossed over his boots.
"I am a fan of comfort."
Fjord turns back toward the tiefling and immediately licks his lips, want twisting through his belly. Molly has taken himself out of his trousers, and he’s stroking the length of his dick. It’s too dark to make out any details, but Fjord wonders if it’s as tattooed as the rest of Molly. He's holding something in his other hand, a vial perhaps. Oil.
Fjord gets on the bed and tells himself he doesn’t dive there eagerly. Even though he probably does, given the way Molly chuckles at him and follows him over. He’s on his hands and knees, climbing further up the bed, when hot hands grab his hips and haul him back.
Molly’s still standing, mostly dressed, and he grinds his dick against Fjord’s ass, the rasp of his trousers stupidly erotic. Fjord paws at the mattress, forehead pushing into the blanket. His cock pulses and fills with blood, rising quicker than it ever has.
“There are so many things I want to do to you,” Molly groans, his fingers leaving pinpricks in Fjord’s skin. “If only I had the time.”
“Then stop wasting it.” Fjord grits his teeth to stop the embarrassing whine from leaking through.
Molly chuckles. “You have a point.” The herbal scent of oil fills the chamber before something cool drizzles between Fjord’s cheeks, and the hot brush of a finger follows them.
It rubs over his hole, spreading the oil around, and Fjord cants his hips eagerly.
“How much you need?” Molly asks, the pad of his finger rubbing over him, massaging the oil into his flesh. Fjord’s toes curl with anticipation.
“I’m good,” Fjord says, and hopes he doesn’t sound like he’s begging, even though he is, pushing his ass back at Molly, curling his fingers into the blanket, desperate for something more substantial.
“You sure?” Molly asks as the noise of oil spreading over a cock fills the room, and Fjord’s insides tighten with want, because Molly doesn’t have to be concerned about Fjord’s comfort, they barely know each other. But he is concerned, he’s asking, and gods.
He peers over his shoulder, and Molly’s eyes practically glow back at him, blood-red in a flash of torchlight through the window. His hair is wild, his jewelry glistens, and he’s still half-dressed.
“Fuck me,” Fjord says, hoarse, and Molly grins.
“With pleasure.” He grabs Fjord’s hips and guides himself where he needs to be.
Fjord groans, toes curling, blanket tearing, as the blunt pressure of Molly’s cock becomes a thick, slick burn that’s just this edge of perfect. His body gives, fighting the penetration at first, until Fjord exhales and relaxes, taking Molly to the hilt in one long, thick push.
“Oh, you are delightful,” Molly purrs, his fingers flexing on Fjord’s hips, his cock a hot pulse within Fjord. “I knew you would be.” He presses deep, circles his hips, stirring his cock inside Fjord.
A hot flash of pleasure jolts through Fjord’s body. Heat pours into his veins, and he shudders, pushing back against Molly, squeezing around the tiefling’s cock. He presses his forehead to the mattress, goosebumps prickling over his skin in the wake of a flush of heat.
Sometimes, it’s so damn good to be back on dry land.
“Ready for me to move?” Molly asks, his palm skating up Fjord’s spine and down again.
“Been ready,” Fjord gasps out and spreads his knees a bit further, sinking on the bed and pushing back against Molly.
“Good.”
Molly grips him, hard enough to bruise. He pulls back, and then thrusts in, faster, sharper.
Fjord moans, back arching, tearing at the mattress. Molly sets up a rapid, steady pace, the bed creaking and groaning beneath them. Molly pants, muttering something in a guttural language, but his cock throbs, and Fjord’s hanging heavy now, pre-come beading at the tip of his cock.
He shifts his weight, tries to reach down to wrap fingers around himself, but Molly abruptly pulls out.
“I think I want a better view,” he says and before Fjord can blink, he’s pushed and turned onto his back, Molly falling over him, between his thighs, cock rutting up against Fjord’s.
Fjord groans and curls a leg around Molly, his other knee gripped tightly in lavender fingers. He fists the blanket above his head as Molly’s lips crash over his, a sloppy kiss of heat and want. Molly grabs his hips, and Fjord cants upward, and then Molly’s sliding back into him, his cock raking across that bundle of nerves inside.
Fjord’s back arches. He shoves both hands into the mattress, trying to gain some leverage, but Molly has it all and fuck if that isn’t arousing. Molly’s laughing against his lips, his kisses biting and fierce and wandering, teeth scraping over Fjord’s throat as he pumps his hips, faster and deeper, shoving Fjord into the bed.
Pleasure twists and tangles inside of him, and Fjord clenches, riding the hard edge of orgasm. He’s so close he can taste it, his whole body throbbing, and Molly’s mouth hot and sharp on his throat.
“Ahhh, fuck!” Molly hisses, and he abruptly pulls out to rut against Fjord, his fingers curling around their cocks and stroking them in tandem.
Fjord joins him, frantically seeking his own peak. He growls as he comes, splattering their combined grip with his spill, his entire body taut with pleasure. He tosses his head back and Molly’s teeth sink into his throat, making him jerk with another electric flash of ecstasy, before the hot splashes of Molly’s come paints his fingers as well.
They kiss again, Fjord’s heart pounding a fierce beat, his breath coming in sharp gasps that gradually return to normal. His body is painted in sweat, and the smell of incense seems to be even stronger post-orgasm.
Molly grins against his mouth. “I hope you don’t have any other plans for this evening,” he says as he slides his hand around Fjord’s leg, up his thigh, back toward his hips. His tongue flicks, snake-quick, over Fjord’s bottom lip.
He should probably get some decent sleep. Captain probably wants to sail out as soon as possible, but…
Fjord cups the back of Molly’s neck and keeps him in place, darkening the kiss into something with far more heat.
Molly chuckles and grinds against him, into the slippery mess between their bodies. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”
Who needs sleep anyway?
Fjord wakes when a slat of sunlight streams through the thin curtains and lands across his eyes. He groans and rolls over, pulling the blanket over his head. His body throbs a sharp ache, reminding him of his nightly activities.
He opens his eyes.
The bed is unsurprisingly empty. The chair where Molly had tossed his things is empty. All that remains is a lingering scent of incense.
Fjord sighs and thumps back onto the pillow. The bed reeks of come and sweat and other things. His muscles ache, but there’s a langor to them also. He bets if he looks in the mirror, he’ll have marks all over his neck and shoulders.
Gods what a night.
Fjord forces himself to sit up, the blanket pooling around his waist. He drags his palms down his face and breathes in and out. He needs a bath. He needs to get dressed. He should probably make sure the ship is still in port, and they didn’t leave without him, not that he thinks Vandren will do such a thing, but he won’t put it past Sabian to lie either.
Asshole.
Fjord dresses and hisses when there’s a mild twinge in his lower back. A decent walk should work it out, but if that’s one of the souvenir he takes with him, it’s one well-earned.
Wait, no.
There’s a bottle of oil on the bedside table, corked and half-empty. There’s a purple ribbon tied around the neck of it. He doesn’t know if Molly left it on purpose or not, but Fjord pockets it anyway.
A physical souvenir. Even better.
He gathers his belongings and is out the door, only to immediately collide with Sabian in the hallway.
“Watch where you’re fucking going,” Sabian snarls, only to realize who he is a blink later. “Gods, Fjord. What the fuck got a hold of you?”
“None of your business,” Fjord says. He resists the urge to pull his shirt up around his marks, because he doesn’t like the way Sabian stares at them.
“Yeah? How much ya pay for her?” Sabian leers, and Fjord scowls at him, pushing past to beeline for the stairs.
“Did you at least get her name?” Sabian calls after him.
Fjord may or may not stomp downstairs, where the smell of breakfast meats and fried potatoes is nearly enough to chase away the simmering irritation. It’s a quieter crowd this morning, a few patrons scattered around the establishment, but none of them are the purple tiefling from last night.
Fjord tries not to be disappointed.
“Um, hello?”
Fjord turns and startles at the huge, pale woman approaching him, and it takes him a moment to recognize her as the one Molly had spoken to last night.
“You’re not here to kill me, are you?” he asks, eyeing the huge sword on her back.
She smiles and chuckles quietly. “No.” She pauses, fidgets, then says, “I came to give this to you actually.”
She pulls something out of a pouch and holds it out to him. A folded piece of paper? Fjord accepts, unfolding the parchment to peer at it.
In a neat, feminine script there’s a name -- Mollymauk Tealeaf -- and a phrase “The Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities”. Below both of those is a list and as Fjord stares at it, he realizes it’s a series of cities and towns.
“Where we’ll be, if you happen to be in the area,” the woman says. “Molly would have given this to you himself, but he’s… uh…” She trails off and then falls silent.
Fjord carefully folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket. “Thanks, uh--”
“Yasha.”
“Yasha, right. Thanks.” He tips his head at her and pats his pocket. “I’ll make good use of this, if I can.”
“Good.” She stares at him for a moment longer. “So, uh, goodbye.” She turns and walks away, what little crowd there is parting to make room for her.
Behind him, Sabian whistles. “I’d let her throw me around, too.”
Fjord tosses him a glare. “Shut up.” He tries to scowl, but it’s hard. He keeps wanting to grin. He has no idea if they’ll be in port, if they’ll be anywhere around any of these locations, but if the opportunity arises, he’s definitely going to be there.
Mollymauk Tealeaf.
What an interesting name.
a/n: Will this be continued?
Quite possibly. ;)
