[CR] Well in Hand
Mar. 19th, 2020 06:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Well in Hand
Universe: Critical Role, Campaign Two
Characters: Caduceus Clay, mentions of The Mighty Nein
Rated: M
Enticements: Masturbation, Self-pleasure, Fantasizing
Description: Private time and self-indulgence are rarely available, so Caducue has learned not to squander an opportunity when it arises.
Rarely do they have time for self-indulgence.
Caduceus is fond of the Mighty Nein. He is glad to have joined them, to be by their side, to append his quest to theirs. But they are always rushing from one important event to another. Down-time is a rarity for them.
He has learned not to squander opportunity when it arises.
“Essek is willing to teleport us tomorrow afternoon but no sooner,” Caleb tells them when they gather in the dining room, all of them draped over various chairs, exhaustion clinging to their faces and their limbs. “Take tonight to rest.”
“About fucking time,” Beau says, from the floor, where she’s laid out, limbs asprawl, her clothing stained and tattered. Her abdominal muscles ripple in a show of strength.
Caduceus pointedly looks away.
Ah.
It has been that long, hasn’t it?
He barely listens as the others debate their next course of action. He excuses himself to the kitchen, cleans up after their meal, lets himself think without thinking, while his body fairly hums and the idea of rest gnaws at the base of his neck.
“Caduceus?”
Jester’s gentle voice startles him, and when she touches his arm, warmth floods in the wake of her fingers. Caduceus’ nearest ear swivels toward her, and he half-turns to grant Jester a smile.
“Did I miss anything important?” he asks as he stacks the last clean dish into the rack and snags a towel to dry his hands.
Jester tilts her head, her eyes sparkling, her lips curved in a smile that makes something wanton and hungry twist in Caduceus’ belly.
Oh, my.
“No. We’re all gonna go do our own stuff now,” Jester says, and she eyes the clean dishes, her tail swish-swishing behind her in a hypnotic matter. “I was going to help you, but I think you’ve got it in hand.”
Caduceus chuckles “Oh, yes. It’s okay, Ms. Jester. You know I don’t mind.”
“I know. But still.” She squeezes his arm, and Caduceus thinks the impression of her touch will linger. She’s the strongest of them, and sometimes, he’s the weakest, and it doesn’t hurt, not like pain hurts.
It’s a memory. A sense memory. Caduceus will run his fingers over it later and remember with startling clarity, the weight of her hand, the strength of her grip, and the way she smells when she stands so close to him.
“You’ll tell me when you need help, right?” Jester asks, earnest and sincere, and maybe, a touch something else, too. A need to be needed, which Caduceus can understand.
He lays his fingers over hers, still a little dishsoap damp, and he gives her a smile. “I will. But I think we both need some rest for now. It’s been a long day.”
She wrinkles her nose in the way he finds unbearably cute. “It’s been a long week.”
“Month even,” Caduceus says, and Jester laughs, like he knew she would, and the sound of it sends a shimmer of delight down his spine.
“It’s been hard,” Jester agrees, and she withdraws from him. Caduceus mourns her loss, but doesn’t let it show on his face.
She reaches her arms above her head, gives a little stretching bounce. “I think I’ll soak in our jacuzzi before I go to sleep.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
Jester winks at him. “You could always join me,” she says, and she taps her chin with one finger, her eyes widening with sudden thought. “Ooo. I wonder if I could convince Fjord to join me.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Caduceus says, as the very idea unspools at the back of his mind, pretty pictures of emerald and sapphire skin entwined, dotted with droplets of water, steam cloaking their bare flesh, allowing the occasional glimpse of an erotic tableau.
“Oh, but I asked you first! That wouldn’t be right.” Jester bounces in place, visibly torn, and Caduceus chuckles.
“You should ask Mr. Fjord,” he says and skirts around her, closer to the door and by proxy, closer to the room he’s claimed for his own. “I think I’m going to head upstairs myself.”
“Are you sure?” She’s genuine in her invitation, Caduceus knows, but he can read the yearning in her voice, the hope Fjord will join her for some harmless flirtation, or possibly, fruitful flirtation.
Caduceus smiles at her smile, at the twitching swish of her tail, like a cat who’s finally interested in playing, even though their human isn’t. “I am. Good night, Ms. Jester.”
“Night, Caduceus!”
Her cheerful voice follows him out, and Caduceus lets it echo in the back of his head, rolling around in his ears, reverberating through his body and his bones.
‘People’s voices aren’t interesting,’ Caduceus remembers telling Clarabelle once, and she’d given him a look and patted his head and said, ‘You’ll understand when you meet actual people, brother.’
He hates that it turns out she’s right.
Caduceus goes upstairs, his thoughts bouncing off each other in sharp succession. He thinks of things he shouldn’t -- Beau would not appreciate these filthy thoughts, he’s sure. He thinks of things he’s sure no one would mind -- Jester would probably pose if she thought Caduceus would like it.
He is insightful in many things, but he has yet to get his compass on Fjord and Caleb. He thinks they might swivel in a welcoming way. He certainly hopes. Mr. Caleb, he knows, is not in a position to think of anything beyond friendship and family, but if his heart ever opens further, Caduceus wonders who he might let inside.
Mr. Fjord speaks sometimes of this Sabian in a soft, aching tone. There’s betrayal. There’s anger. But there’s deeper emotion, too. Perhaps Fjord’s compass swings in all directions as well. One which might be amenable to a firbolg overture.
Perhaps neither of them will mind if Caduceus indulges.
Caduceus doesn’t fault others for only swinging one way. His compass, he supposes, has always spun and spun without ever pointing north or south or east or west. Sometimes, it hovers on a direction, as if tasting the air or sampling the offerings, before it spins and spins again.
People are people, lovely in their own rights, and Caduceus doesn’t spend much time thinking about what he might do with them in a bed. Every once in a while, though, he does get an itch. A little fire in his belly. A quickening pulse and a cavalcade of dirty thoughts which require privacy to attend.
Privacy which has been in short supply as of late.
Caduceus closes the door behind himself, considers locking it, and then does so. Only because Jester might burst in on him without announcing herself, or Nott might come to visit for an undetermined purpose, or tonight might be the evening Fjord comes to him with more questions about the Wildmother. While Caduceus is hardly shy, there are some things he doesn’t wish to share with the Mighty Nein.
Above him, the lights twinkle in the tree. Wind rustles through the leaves, making a quiet song. Caduceus strips out of his armor slowly, humming to himself as he soaks in the peace and quiet. His blood fairly sizzles, but he’s in no hurry.
He sets his armor aside in a careful pile, to be cleaned and polished now that they have down time. His shield and staff are placed in a nook at the base of the tree, the crystal giving off a faint glow.
A low curl of excitement starts in his belly, anticipation flushing goosepimples across his skin. Caduceus hums as his heartbeat quickens, and blood flows southward. He disrobes slowly, as if he has all the time in the world, carefully folding his clothes or hanging them as needed.
It’s a form of worship, he thinks, as he drags his palms down his bare chest, across the silkiness of his skin, a slow tingle rising in his wake. There’s no shame in self-pleasure, despite what the rest of the world might think. Caduceus quite enjoys it. After all, who knows his body better than himself?
He looses his hair, lets it tumble freely over his shoulders, dragging his fingers through the long strands. He groans as he scrapes his nails over his scalp, tingles spreading across his skin. A light breeze teases him, and Caduceus shivers. It’s like a caress from the Wildmother.
He hardens slowly, and Caduceus drags his fingers down the thickening flesh, to tantalize, to tease, to taste. His hands are soft, like he imagines Jester’s must be, but a curving grip adds the gentle roughness of a callous, like Fjord or Yasha.
Caduceus half-shutters his eyes, breathing stuttered, heat flushing his skin. His knees wobble and he sinks down into the pallet of woven reed and blanket he’s made for a bed. He drags his palms down his chest, briefly caressing the peaked nubs of his nipples.
A quiet groan escapes him.
He tweaks his nipples with a pinch this time, and his cock jerks from the surge of pleasure.
Caduceus licks his lips and settles on his knees, legs folded beneath him. It would feel better with a partner, he thinks, but this will have to do. His own hands are skilled enough, and isolation has left him with a vivid imagination.
>>Jester would tease him. She’d grin up at him, touch him everywhere, and he’d never know what to expect because she’d be impossible to predict. Caduceus would be helpless under her hands, and happy to surrender to her talents. She’d teach him things he’s never heard of.
Then again, Caduceus could write a book on the things he doesn’t know.
He’d love the opportunity to find out.
“I’ll teach you,” Jester whispers in his fantasy, and she giggles, her hands soft and warm around his cock, her tail lashing playfully, her eyes bright and beautiful. “I’m really good at it. Promise, Caduceus.”
He loves the way she says his name. Her accent is adorable.
Caduceus groans and fists his cock, squeezing out a pearl of precome, while his thighs quake and heat flushes his skin.
“You are too tense, Mr. Clay,” he imagines, and it’s Caleb now, looking at him with those solemn eyes, that subtle curve of mischief he rarely shows. He perches over Caduceus with command in the jut of his jaw, hair loose around his face.
He’ll kiss Caduceus, never too fierce, never too sharp, but always hot and full of passion, his stubble a rasp over Caduceus’ skin. He’ll murmur in a language Caduceus doesn’t understand, and his hands will be the warmest Caduceus has ever felt, stroking him, thumbing the tip of his cock, perhaps dipping lower to caress his perineum.
Caduceus breathes a moan, sucks his lower lip into his mouth to muffle his cries, his heart thudding in his chest. The wind whispers over his bare skin, but it’s not nearly chill enough to whisk away the heat building and building.
He sinks down onto the pallet, his back squirming into the soft blankets and making his skin tingle. He looks up at the twinkling lights, his legs spreading to make room for his hands, knees drawing up, wind teasing him, wisping over the sweat beading on his skin and the heat gathered at his groin.
He thinks of sword-calloused fingers wrapping around his cock, stroking him firm, root to tip, the broad thumb sweeping over the head of his dick, gathering pearls of precome. There’s a lovely blush on Fjord’s face, his skin darkening with it, and he’s asking, “Like this?”
And Caduceus exhales shakily, rolling his hips into his fist. “A little tighter, Mr. Fjord,” he murmurs, and breathes a moan as Fjord squeezes and rolls the head of his dick.
Caduceus throbs, heels digging into his pallet, his eyes half-shuttering.
“Better?” Fjord asks, and his accent rolls into Caduceus’ ears, rings in his imagination, and a shiver races down his spine.
Caduceus hums agreement, and Fjord lights up with approval, smiling at him, and he says, “You’re so beautiful,” and Caduceus swallows a whine, a bit ashamed of himself for how desperately he wants to hear that.
“You’re so smart, Caduceus,” Jester says, and she’s behind him. He’s pillowed on the soft curves of her body, the scent of mischief and pastries surrounding him, sweet and sultry.
He brushes a free hand over his arm, where she’d touched him earlier, and he swears he remembers the pressure of her fingers, the strength of her grip.
Caduceus shivers.
“Ja,” Caleb murmurs, his lips warm and tender against Caduceus’ throat, smelling of sulphur and ink and danger, his hands dragging down Caduceus’ belly. “Our beautiful and clever, Mr. Clay.”
Caduceus whimpers, his fist working faster on his cock, his other hand drifting lower, gliding over his perineum and pressing a single digit against his hole. He shivers, flushing hot all over, and in his mind’s eye, Caleb takes over for Fjord, so Fjord can circle his hole with gentle, oil-slick fingers.
“Open up for me, Deuces,” Fjord murmurs, his eyes bright and honest, and Caduceus shatters.
He curls into himself, semen spilling from him, soaking his fingers as he twists onto his side, burying his face in the blanket, muffling his cries of pleasure. His entire body quakes, dick throbbing, spill streaking across the blanket and ground.
Gods.
A languorous heat spreads through his body. Caduceus’ eyes slip closed as he surrenders to the sensation, lets his body hum with it.
His hand is filthy, and he absently gropes for a rag to wipe his fingers clean before he sprawls out on his back, arms and legs akimbo, for maximum exposure to the wind. He can sense the lantern light bathing his bare skin. He tingles, and there’s a whisper of approval and affection from the Wildmother.
Self-stimulation is quite natural, though Caduceus is sure it would have evoked giggles from the rest of the Mighty Nein.
He closes his eyes and soaks up the satisfaction. He lingers on the fantasy, clinging to the warmth of their pretend embraces and their pretend praise. He lets himself savor it for as long as he can, until the the wind whisks away the heat into a chill, and the sweat and semen turn sticky and unpleasant.
Caduceus rises, and throws a thin robe over his shoulders. He ties the sash around his waist and goes downstairs for a long soak. He might as well take advantage of every moment of relaxation he can get.
Melora only knows when they’ll get another.
***
Universe: Critical Role, Campaign Two
Characters: Caduceus Clay, mentions of The Mighty Nein
Rated: M
Enticements: Masturbation, Self-pleasure, Fantasizing
Description: Private time and self-indulgence are rarely available, so Caducue has learned not to squander an opportunity when it arises.
Rarely do they have time for self-indulgence.
Caduceus is fond of the Mighty Nein. He is glad to have joined them, to be by their side, to append his quest to theirs. But they are always rushing from one important event to another. Down-time is a rarity for them.
He has learned not to squander opportunity when it arises.
“Essek is willing to teleport us tomorrow afternoon but no sooner,” Caleb tells them when they gather in the dining room, all of them draped over various chairs, exhaustion clinging to their faces and their limbs. “Take tonight to rest.”
“About fucking time,” Beau says, from the floor, where she’s laid out, limbs asprawl, her clothing stained and tattered. Her abdominal muscles ripple in a show of strength.
Caduceus pointedly looks away.
Ah.
It has been that long, hasn’t it?
He barely listens as the others debate their next course of action. He excuses himself to the kitchen, cleans up after their meal, lets himself think without thinking, while his body fairly hums and the idea of rest gnaws at the base of his neck.
“Caduceus?”
Jester’s gentle voice startles him, and when she touches his arm, warmth floods in the wake of her fingers. Caduceus’ nearest ear swivels toward her, and he half-turns to grant Jester a smile.
“Did I miss anything important?” he asks as he stacks the last clean dish into the rack and snags a towel to dry his hands.
Jester tilts her head, her eyes sparkling, her lips curved in a smile that makes something wanton and hungry twist in Caduceus’ belly.
Oh, my.
“No. We’re all gonna go do our own stuff now,” Jester says, and she eyes the clean dishes, her tail swish-swishing behind her in a hypnotic matter. “I was going to help you, but I think you’ve got it in hand.”
Caduceus chuckles “Oh, yes. It’s okay, Ms. Jester. You know I don’t mind.”
“I know. But still.” She squeezes his arm, and Caduceus thinks the impression of her touch will linger. She’s the strongest of them, and sometimes, he’s the weakest, and it doesn’t hurt, not like pain hurts.
It’s a memory. A sense memory. Caduceus will run his fingers over it later and remember with startling clarity, the weight of her hand, the strength of her grip, and the way she smells when she stands so close to him.
“You’ll tell me when you need help, right?” Jester asks, earnest and sincere, and maybe, a touch something else, too. A need to be needed, which Caduceus can understand.
He lays his fingers over hers, still a little dishsoap damp, and he gives her a smile. “I will. But I think we both need some rest for now. It’s been a long day.”
She wrinkles her nose in the way he finds unbearably cute. “It’s been a long week.”
“Month even,” Caduceus says, and Jester laughs, like he knew she would, and the sound of it sends a shimmer of delight down his spine.
“It’s been hard,” Jester agrees, and she withdraws from him. Caduceus mourns her loss, but doesn’t let it show on his face.
She reaches her arms above her head, gives a little stretching bounce. “I think I’ll soak in our jacuzzi before I go to sleep.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
Jester winks at him. “You could always join me,” she says, and she taps her chin with one finger, her eyes widening with sudden thought. “Ooo. I wonder if I could convince Fjord to join me.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Caduceus says, as the very idea unspools at the back of his mind, pretty pictures of emerald and sapphire skin entwined, dotted with droplets of water, steam cloaking their bare flesh, allowing the occasional glimpse of an erotic tableau.
“Oh, but I asked you first! That wouldn’t be right.” Jester bounces in place, visibly torn, and Caduceus chuckles.
“You should ask Mr. Fjord,” he says and skirts around her, closer to the door and by proxy, closer to the room he’s claimed for his own. “I think I’m going to head upstairs myself.”
“Are you sure?” She’s genuine in her invitation, Caduceus knows, but he can read the yearning in her voice, the hope Fjord will join her for some harmless flirtation, or possibly, fruitful flirtation.
Caduceus smiles at her smile, at the twitching swish of her tail, like a cat who’s finally interested in playing, even though their human isn’t. “I am. Good night, Ms. Jester.”
“Night, Caduceus!”
Her cheerful voice follows him out, and Caduceus lets it echo in the back of his head, rolling around in his ears, reverberating through his body and his bones.
‘People’s voices aren’t interesting,’ Caduceus remembers telling Clarabelle once, and she’d given him a look and patted his head and said, ‘You’ll understand when you meet actual people, brother.’
He hates that it turns out she’s right.
Caduceus goes upstairs, his thoughts bouncing off each other in sharp succession. He thinks of things he shouldn’t -- Beau would not appreciate these filthy thoughts, he’s sure. He thinks of things he’s sure no one would mind -- Jester would probably pose if she thought Caduceus would like it.
He is insightful in many things, but he has yet to get his compass on Fjord and Caleb. He thinks they might swivel in a welcoming way. He certainly hopes. Mr. Caleb, he knows, is not in a position to think of anything beyond friendship and family, but if his heart ever opens further, Caduceus wonders who he might let inside.
Mr. Fjord speaks sometimes of this Sabian in a soft, aching tone. There’s betrayal. There’s anger. But there’s deeper emotion, too. Perhaps Fjord’s compass swings in all directions as well. One which might be amenable to a firbolg overture.
Perhaps neither of them will mind if Caduceus indulges.
Caduceus doesn’t fault others for only swinging one way. His compass, he supposes, has always spun and spun without ever pointing north or south or east or west. Sometimes, it hovers on a direction, as if tasting the air or sampling the offerings, before it spins and spins again.
People are people, lovely in their own rights, and Caduceus doesn’t spend much time thinking about what he might do with them in a bed. Every once in a while, though, he does get an itch. A little fire in his belly. A quickening pulse and a cavalcade of dirty thoughts which require privacy to attend.
Privacy which has been in short supply as of late.
Caduceus closes the door behind himself, considers locking it, and then does so. Only because Jester might burst in on him without announcing herself, or Nott might come to visit for an undetermined purpose, or tonight might be the evening Fjord comes to him with more questions about the Wildmother. While Caduceus is hardly shy, there are some things he doesn’t wish to share with the Mighty Nein.
Above him, the lights twinkle in the tree. Wind rustles through the leaves, making a quiet song. Caduceus strips out of his armor slowly, humming to himself as he soaks in the peace and quiet. His blood fairly sizzles, but he’s in no hurry.
He sets his armor aside in a careful pile, to be cleaned and polished now that they have down time. His shield and staff are placed in a nook at the base of the tree, the crystal giving off a faint glow.
A low curl of excitement starts in his belly, anticipation flushing goosepimples across his skin. Caduceus hums as his heartbeat quickens, and blood flows southward. He disrobes slowly, as if he has all the time in the world, carefully folding his clothes or hanging them as needed.
It’s a form of worship, he thinks, as he drags his palms down his bare chest, across the silkiness of his skin, a slow tingle rising in his wake. There’s no shame in self-pleasure, despite what the rest of the world might think. Caduceus quite enjoys it. After all, who knows his body better than himself?
He looses his hair, lets it tumble freely over his shoulders, dragging his fingers through the long strands. He groans as he scrapes his nails over his scalp, tingles spreading across his skin. A light breeze teases him, and Caduceus shivers. It’s like a caress from the Wildmother.
He hardens slowly, and Caduceus drags his fingers down the thickening flesh, to tantalize, to tease, to taste. His hands are soft, like he imagines Jester’s must be, but a curving grip adds the gentle roughness of a callous, like Fjord or Yasha.
Caduceus half-shutters his eyes, breathing stuttered, heat flushing his skin. His knees wobble and he sinks down into the pallet of woven reed and blanket he’s made for a bed. He drags his palms down his chest, briefly caressing the peaked nubs of his nipples.
A quiet groan escapes him.
He tweaks his nipples with a pinch this time, and his cock jerks from the surge of pleasure.
Caduceus licks his lips and settles on his knees, legs folded beneath him. It would feel better with a partner, he thinks, but this will have to do. His own hands are skilled enough, and isolation has left him with a vivid imagination.
>>Jester would tease him. She’d grin up at him, touch him everywhere, and he’d never know what to expect because she’d be impossible to predict. Caduceus would be helpless under her hands, and happy to surrender to her talents. She’d teach him things he’s never heard of.
Then again, Caduceus could write a book on the things he doesn’t know.
He’d love the opportunity to find out.
“I’ll teach you,” Jester whispers in his fantasy, and she giggles, her hands soft and warm around his cock, her tail lashing playfully, her eyes bright and beautiful. “I’m really good at it. Promise, Caduceus.”
He loves the way she says his name. Her accent is adorable.
Caduceus groans and fists his cock, squeezing out a pearl of precome, while his thighs quake and heat flushes his skin.
“You are too tense, Mr. Clay,” he imagines, and it’s Caleb now, looking at him with those solemn eyes, that subtle curve of mischief he rarely shows. He perches over Caduceus with command in the jut of his jaw, hair loose around his face.
He’ll kiss Caduceus, never too fierce, never too sharp, but always hot and full of passion, his stubble a rasp over Caduceus’ skin. He’ll murmur in a language Caduceus doesn’t understand, and his hands will be the warmest Caduceus has ever felt, stroking him, thumbing the tip of his cock, perhaps dipping lower to caress his perineum.
Caduceus breathes a moan, sucks his lower lip into his mouth to muffle his cries, his heart thudding in his chest. The wind whispers over his bare skin, but it’s not nearly chill enough to whisk away the heat building and building.
He sinks down onto the pallet, his back squirming into the soft blankets and making his skin tingle. He looks up at the twinkling lights, his legs spreading to make room for his hands, knees drawing up, wind teasing him, wisping over the sweat beading on his skin and the heat gathered at his groin.
He thinks of sword-calloused fingers wrapping around his cock, stroking him firm, root to tip, the broad thumb sweeping over the head of his dick, gathering pearls of precome. There’s a lovely blush on Fjord’s face, his skin darkening with it, and he’s asking, “Like this?”
And Caduceus exhales shakily, rolling his hips into his fist. “A little tighter, Mr. Fjord,” he murmurs, and breathes a moan as Fjord squeezes and rolls the head of his dick.
Caduceus throbs, heels digging into his pallet, his eyes half-shuttering.
“Better?” Fjord asks, and his accent rolls into Caduceus’ ears, rings in his imagination, and a shiver races down his spine.
Caduceus hums agreement, and Fjord lights up with approval, smiling at him, and he says, “You’re so beautiful,” and Caduceus swallows a whine, a bit ashamed of himself for how desperately he wants to hear that.
“You’re so smart, Caduceus,” Jester says, and she’s behind him. He’s pillowed on the soft curves of her body, the scent of mischief and pastries surrounding him, sweet and sultry.
He brushes a free hand over his arm, where she’d touched him earlier, and he swears he remembers the pressure of her fingers, the strength of her grip.
Caduceus shivers.
“Ja,” Caleb murmurs, his lips warm and tender against Caduceus’ throat, smelling of sulphur and ink and danger, his hands dragging down Caduceus’ belly. “Our beautiful and clever, Mr. Clay.”
Caduceus whimpers, his fist working faster on his cock, his other hand drifting lower, gliding over his perineum and pressing a single digit against his hole. He shivers, flushing hot all over, and in his mind’s eye, Caleb takes over for Fjord, so Fjord can circle his hole with gentle, oil-slick fingers.
“Open up for me, Deuces,” Fjord murmurs, his eyes bright and honest, and Caduceus shatters.
He curls into himself, semen spilling from him, soaking his fingers as he twists onto his side, burying his face in the blanket, muffling his cries of pleasure. His entire body quakes, dick throbbing, spill streaking across the blanket and ground.
Gods.
A languorous heat spreads through his body. Caduceus’ eyes slip closed as he surrenders to the sensation, lets his body hum with it.
His hand is filthy, and he absently gropes for a rag to wipe his fingers clean before he sprawls out on his back, arms and legs akimbo, for maximum exposure to the wind. He can sense the lantern light bathing his bare skin. He tingles, and there’s a whisper of approval and affection from the Wildmother.
Self-stimulation is quite natural, though Caduceus is sure it would have evoked giggles from the rest of the Mighty Nein.
He closes his eyes and soaks up the satisfaction. He lingers on the fantasy, clinging to the warmth of their pretend embraces and their pretend praise. He lets himself savor it for as long as he can, until the the wind whisks away the heat into a chill, and the sweat and semen turn sticky and unpleasant.
Caduceus rises, and throws a thin robe over his shoulders. He ties the sash around his waist and goes downstairs for a long soak. He might as well take advantage of every moment of relaxation he can get.
Melora only knows when they’ll get another.
