Dancing on Glass [NSFW, closed] CW: Alcohol, mental health, military traum

Welcome to _Dancing on Glass_, a Firebolt (Helaena Cresswell/Boletus Zales) modern Faerûn (no magic) AU Helaena is currently twenty years old and an undergrad student struggling with depression, burnout and low self esteem. She engages in various unhealthy coping mechanisms to deal with this. Boletus is twenty-two, and an enlisted soldier in the Cormyrian army, stationed on a base near the mouth of the Chionthar. He, similarly, has more issues than the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette. Content warnings include excessive alcohol consumption, using casual sex as a way to achieve validation, various mental health issues, and Bo’s whole deal (PTSD/anxiety/tiefling angst/moral crises/etc) Keep in mind this is a Laena with no Ros who rarely cooks and is very sad. This unhappy state of affairs is thankfully temporary.

She’s counting the minutes all the way through her morning lecture. It should interest her. She’d been excited, reading through the class catalogue, to learn about the socio-political situation of the Moonsea region, historically unsettled and politically tempestuous. She barely absorbs a full sentence, the notebook in front of her open to a blank, pristine page as she mindlessly taps her pen against the paper until it tears, staring down at it until the lines printed onto the pages blur together. 28 more minutes. 28 divided by 4 is 7, 7 is a prime number, 7, 14, 21, 28, 35, 42, 49, 56, 63, 70, 77, 84, 91, 98, 105, 112… She’s so fucking tired. So fucking done, with this lecture, with political science, with the Eltan University, with her whole fucking life. She should care. She really should. She just doesn’t, anymore. All she wants is to not think. To feel like she’s good for _something_, at least for an hour, a minute, a second. Like she’s not a complete and utter failure at the only thing she was supposed to be good at. So she’ll put on a dress that would make her father faint, paint on a mask of makeup until none of her flaws are visible, accept a few too many drinks from strangers, and dance alone until she catches the eye of her next mistake. At least there she feels something that isn't exhausted apathy.

The bar is loud and crowded as a rather tall and large tiefling man is being pushed back and forth between the bodies of his rowdy comrades. Well, right now they aren’t comrades. They are all on leave, after all. They’re just civilians, no different than anyone else in this room. Boletus finds it hard to think of himself this way. A drink in hand instead of a rifle. A slightly too-tight button up instead of his uniform. The sounds of idle chatter instead of bullets and screams. Well, his friends don’t seem to be having any trouble having fun. Why is it so different for him?

“Hooooly shit, dude,” slurs an equally tall and large human man. His arm is wrapped about the tiefling, drunken breath screaming into his ear. “The Gate is full of so many fuckin’ hot chicks! Not all uptight ‘n shit like Cormyrians…” As he sways, a little but of his rum and coke spills onto the floor.

“Sellian, please. You don’t need to yell,” he says, tone turning into that of a chaperone. “And how are you already this drunk?" He sighs, accepting that he really should have expected this sort of behavior in this sort of setting. "Never mind that. Just be more careful. You almost got that on my shirt… well, your shirt.”

“Fuuuck, sorry bro,” the human man apologizes. He smirks as his finger finds its way to Boletus’s chest, fiddling with the buttons of the shirt he let his very best friend borrow. “Holy fuck, Bo. Your tits are way too huge for this,” he teases, slipping his finger into the gap forming in between the buttons. “Gotta unbutton that shit, man… pfffft.”

A deep orange blush forms on his cheeks from Sellian’s touch as a large, equally orange hand pushes the other man’s away in protest. “S-Sellian! S-stop that! And no, I can’t unbutton it any more than this! I’m not trying to look like… well, you know. Ugh, it’s not my fault I’m-“

“Tiddylicious? I know, I know. The problem with breasting boobily they don’t warn you about!” He gives Bo’s chest a very friendly tit honk that only a straight male friend could do, complete with a sound effect. “Honk honkkkkk!”

He pushes Sellian’s entire body away this time, though the fond smile on his face indicates he’s only amused and not at all offended. “Clearly, I need to drink more, don’t I…”

Another darker-skinned human pats Boletus on the back with a big smirk. “Psst. Hey, sorry to interrupt whatever gay shit ya’ll were up to, but look over there.” As subtly as he can (which isn’t very subtle, because he’s also wasted) he nods his head toward a human woman in a tight dress and a full face of makeup at the bar. “That chick is totally looking at me, Bo. Think I should go for it?”

All Boletus can do is roll his eyes. “I mean, you can do what you want as long as you’re polite about it, I suppose…” The whiskey in his hands remains untouched, the large ice cube in it beginning to melt as Boletus’s fire hot hands warm the drink. He’s been too nervous to even let himself sip on the alcohol. The bar is crowded. Full of drunken civilians. There are too many things that could go wrong. One of them should stay sober, just in case. The only reason he’s even holding the damn drink is because Philo insisted on getting him to loosen up, but Philo has already ran off to who knows where with who knows who. The rest of his friends are too preoccupied to notice how painfully sober the sole tiefling of the group is. He stares into the brown liquid, getting lost in the way the ice cube starts to get smaller and smaller.

She usually goes to the same bar. It’s a bit rarer that a full corner’s taken up by a truckload of Cormyte soldiers on leave, obvious even if one wasn’t still wearing his cap. Soldiers are easy. Soldiers don’t stick around. Cormyte soldiers like Baldurian girls who are pretty, and easy, and fawn over their uniforms and muscles, and don’t expect them to stay the night. Perfect. She plays with the straw of the sole drink she’ll pay for herself tonight (a dark n stormy) as she assesses her options. One’s already entirely too drunk, judging by his too-loud voice and the way he’s hanging off his buddy, and another’s absolutely interested by the way his eyes keep straying towards the bar. But her own eyes linger on the third option. A tall, handsome tiefling that seems more concerned with looking after his friends than getting drunk or laid himself. But no, beggars can’t be choosers. He looks the sort to have a girl back home, anyway. Or a boy. It’s the 21st century, after all. She tosses her long, curly ponytail over her shoulder and shoots a sultry smirk that could reasonably (with the added bravado of a drink or two) be aimed at either of them. Is it for the sweet one? Maybe. But she won’t say no to whomever takes the bait.

Sellian gives the brunette man a swift smack on the head. “You dumb ugly fuck, she’s not looking at you!” he shouts. “She’s looking at our resident piece of tief beef.” He’s actually not entirely sure at all which of them she’s looking at, but out of the entire group, Boletus is the only one who hasn’t been indulging in everything the Gate has to offer. No booze, no women (or men, Boletus is so painfully bi), no nothing. Nada. Sellian gives Boletus a friendly smack on the ass, taking care to avoid the tail he knows is quite sensitive at the base. Information gathered totally on accident, of course. “Bo, fucking down that watered down whiskey and go talk to her! If anyone out of any of us needs to get laid, it’s *you.*”

“Fuck! Hey! You don’t know that!” he protests, holding the back of his head to soothe the physical and metaphorical pain of that smack. But he can’t disagree with Sellian. Looking into Bo’s eyes, he sees his discomfort, his nervousness, and is filled with a desire to back down and let him have this. “Y’all two fuckin’ owe me,” he growls. “Because I could have totally had her in the bathroom by now. Guess I’m just a real generous guy! Now go on.” Ass-smacking privileges are reserved for Sellian, which Jovany learned the hard way. He opts for a very friend-appropriate smack on his back of encouragement instead. “If you fuck this up," he warns, green eyes incredibly serious, "I’m swooping in.”

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Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

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His mouth is open and prepared to argue, because he is just so out of his element right now, but the two men are already pushing him towards the bar where the woman in question is sitting “H-hey!” Sellian and Jovany quickly stumble away, and Bo is left alone. Now is when he decides to down his entire glass of whiskey, which was likely not the best way to drink it, because the slightly-smaller-but-still-big ice cube gets stuck in his throat, and he has to spit it back out into the glass in the most unsexy way possible.

Today appears to be her lucky day, because tall handsome tiefling is coming over, after some egging on by his buddies, of course. Awww, he’s nervous. How cute. She spins in the bar stool to face him, leaning forward enough her breasts strain against the halter top of her dress. “Hello, handsome. Is there anything I can help you with?” Chauntea on a cracker, his biceps are about to burst right through that poor shirt. What on Toril do they feed them in that army?

He looks around, making absolutely sure this amazingly stunning woman is talking to *him*. His gaze briefly falls upon his very drunk friends standing towards the back. They are both grinning and using both of their hands to give him thumbs-up gestures. Goddammit. "H-help?" he chokes out. His throat was still slightly irritated from the ice cube invasion earlier. "I... help. Help with... what...? Me? No, no... no help needed at all." His tail is stiff behind him, save for the very tip that rattles as if it belonged to a snake. Then, it starts to wag slightly as he stares at the woman's ample chest spilling out of the small viewing window cut into the top of her dress. Shit, where are you looking?! Boletus forces his gaze upwards, but looking into her eyes isn't doing anything to quell the intense beating of his heart. To him, this is not at all different than staring into the barrel of a gun pointed right at him.

Broad shoulders, nice hair, kind eyes, muscled like a maiden’s dream, a voice she’d like to bottle up and put in her purse? Did she strike gold or what? She grins at his words, his awkwardness refreshing after far too many men trying far too hard to be smooth. So no help needed, is it? Strange his eyes can’t seem to keep from straying down to her tits, then. But then his eyes, warm, gentle yellow, meet hers, and he looks utterly *terrified*. It’s adorable. She decides to take pity on him, and reaches out her hand for a simple handshake. “I’m Helaena.” But you can call me anything you’d like. “It’s nice to meet you. You’re a soldier, right? On leave?”

"H-Helaena," he repeats, the swishing of his tail thumping gently on barstool located behind him. He's silent for a few moments as he briefly forgets his own name. "... Boletus. Yes, strange name, I know. M-most people just call me Bo." He lifts his glass to his lips, desperately searching for anything that will calm him down. He facepalms himself mentally when he recalls he already finished his drink. His face seems so hot, he feels that steam is coming off of it. She totally saw me do that. Oh, no... "I..." he begins, placing his glass onto the countertop. "I... right... soldier, me." Before, he wished to remain sober because he wanted to feel safe. Now, being sober is nothing but a nuisance to him. His eyes bounce between Helaena's beautiful eyes, the bartender, her beautiful tits, the exit, his friends, the bathroom, and finally land right back... on her beautiful tits. His tail wags even faster, not so different than a little puppy dog. He shuts his eyes when he realizes where his is looking yet again. "L-leave! Yes. That's me. On leave. Yes, you are c-correct, m'am."

Ma'am? Oh good gods, this man is precious. She wants to eat him with a spoon. "Boletus, would you like another drink?" Her own is just slowly melting ice cubes by now. "And for the record, Boletus isn't that strange of a name. Even if I would like to know how you came to be named after a mushroom." ... Great, tell him just how much of a fucking nerd you are, Laena, great plan. No one wants a girl with a brain. A girl with independent thoughts. They just want something pretty to fuck, perhaps the thrill of the chase. She tries so damn hard to be what someone would want. Because no one would want her. "Sorry, you don't have to tell me that," she demurs with an awkward little chuckle. "You're, um, whiskey on the rocks?"

“Oh! It’s actually a hilarious story!” he begins to say, so fucking nervous that he has ignored Helaena’s offer to drink and is now in a vague panicked state. A deluge of words spill out of him. “I was given up for adoption as a child. No name. My foster parents… their last name is Edulis, which means ‘edible’ apparently. I guess they thought it would by clever to name me Boletus. Boletus Edulis: the scientific name for a porcini mushroom. Well, some call them penny buns. I assume you’re familiar with them? They’re very delicious! But truly, it’s an objectively strange name. You don’t need to flatter me or console me about it or anything. Most people call me Bo anyways, which is a much more normal name. It’s usually short for Beauregard, Beaufort, or even Robert.” Boletus did not pause or take a breath during this entire rant, and it catches up with him in the form of sudden lightheadedness. He takes a very deep breath to remedy this. Oh my god. This is a disaster. This is why I don’t do things like this. She’s way too beautiful and sophisticated for a bumbling fool like me. His tail continues to whack itself against the wooden paneling of the bar. “M-maybe. A drink… is appropriate here. Um, my treat? For making you sit through that?”

She listens intently to his explanation, and hides a too-broad smile behind her hand. It is funny, at least to her. Porcini mushrooms? A charming explanation for a charming name for a charming man. Awkward, yes, so awkward he seemed about to combust, poor thing, but sweet. Good gods, is his tail actually wagging? Adorable. His obvious nerves, the way his eyes keep flickering her face and all the skin and curves her dress puts on display, as if he's very interested in looking but trying to be respectful... it makes her feel powerful. Attractive. Desirable. In a different way than her usual choices. Maybe there's something to be said for the sweet ones. "I am quite fond of mushrooms, Boletus. Especially sautéed in butter with a bit of thyme or sage. But while I'd love another drink, I think I'd prefer there were no mushrooms in it. Underdark liquors might be a little too adventurous for me tonight," she jokes weakly. "I'd like a dark n stormy though. If you're offering."

"Right, right. Coming right up." He hails the bartender with a confidence that he has not displayed at all during this very short and somewhat disastrous interaction with a stunningly beautiful woman. Soon enough, he slides over a dark 'n stormy to Helaena with a nervous smile. "U-um, you can order as many as you'd like..." he stammers after taking a sip of his fresh glass of whiskey. Wait. Wait. That makes you sound like a creep just trying to get her drunk! "I mean, er... hey, if that drink somehow has mushrooms in it, let me know. I'll have some words with that bartender... ha... haha..." Boletus decides to stop himself from saying something even more embarrassing by doing something embarrassing instead, which is downing his glass of whiskey and spilling a bit of it on his shirt, the shock of the cold liquid on his naturally warmer-than-a-human skin causing him to cough as the strong alcohol slides down his throat. COUGH COUGH COUGH. "Guh... I'm fine. I'm fine," he reassures Helaena... the bartender... and whoever else might be happening to be looking at him.

Her eyes linger on his hands as he hails the bartender and orders them another round. Big hands, broad and callused, darkened nails trimmed down. Careful, and deliberate, when his nerves don't get the better of him. Skilled? She hopes she'll get a chance to find out. She can order as many as she'd like? Goodness, promises promises. She sips from her drink, finding it a tad watered down, but certainly free of any mushrooms. "No, it seems fine to me. Entirely mushroom free. Thank you." She flashes him another smile, showing off full lips painted a dark shade of rose. Her eyes widen in concern as he chokes on his drink, and good gods, this man really isn't coping well under pressure, isn't he? She hopes he does better with artillery fire than tits in his direct eyeline. "Bo?" She reaches out to touch his arm, and wow that's a lot of biceps under that poor shirt, okay. "Are you alright? Would you like some water?"

He jumps at the touch, immediately grabbing Helaena's wrist and squeezing. It only takes him half a second to realize what he's doing, and he lets go soon after. The look in his eyes is a mix of fear and regret. "S-sorry. I am SO sorry, miss Helaena. Is your wrist ok?" He curses his nerves under his breath. Nothing is going right. The fact that she hasn't walked away yet astonishes him. I can salvage this. I have to. She's too beautiful for me to give her a bad time. He holds the delicate joint in his hand and kisses it, letting his lips linger for a moment. It's an apologetic gesture, of course, but it's also his best attempt at flirting. His eyes look up into her while his head is still lowered. Without meaning to, he is already committing the scent of her perfume to his memory. A vanilla base with florals hints. It's hard to pinpoint exactly which flowers he is smelling, but overall, it's a surprisingly subtle scent. And is that a hint of citrus? The gold in his horns shimmers under the dim lightning of the bar. When he pulls away, his hand remains where it is: holding her wrist. "I hope you accept my apology for the way I grabbed you. This sort of place... is just not what I'm used to," he says, placing his other hand on top of Helaena's wrist, completely enveloping it in his grasp.

His grip on her wrist is strong, about as yielding as iron, firm but not harsh or cruel. Her eyes widen, but the little gasp she lets out is more intrigued than scared. Startled, for sure, but she's not truly afraid, not with a familiar bartender at the edge of her vision, a bar filled with people around them. Not when he apologizes immediately. Not when he looks more afraid than she is, and guilty too. She nods hastily at the bartender, making it clear she's fine, no need to intervene. "My wrist is fine, you didn't hurt me. And you don't have to call me miss, Boletus, just Helaena is fine. Or Laena. Most-" She squeaks as he kisses her wrist, his lips lingering just above the veins pumping blood ever-more-rapidly through her body. He withdraws, but he's still holding her wrist, his hand dwarfing hers. She's never been a slender or delicate girl. Sturdy or curvy was the polite term. (Internalized/discussed fatphobia:) ||Straight up fat, chubby, dumpy... the words for the same thing were endless. She's lost a bit of weight in the past few years, but still she struggles to fit in the same dresses as the pretty girls, with her wide hips and thick thighs. At least her tits are nice.|| She's not used to feeling small in someone's hands. "Um, yes, apology accepted. I'm sorry I startled you. " Please don't let go of my hand. Possibly ever. "Are you alright?"

His lips form a small, nervous smile. "I'm wonderful, Helaena," he says as convincingly as he can, taking his hands away and placing them on the counter. You are a beast touched by the Hells. You aren't meant for something like this. You have already hurt someone because that is all you are able to do. It's the kind of stray thought Sellian would have smacked him upside the head for having. The sight buzz he has from two glass of whiskey allows him to easily dismiss it. "I'm just so nervous being in front of someone so beautiful. Hopefully that's not me being too forthcoming? I have no idea how to go about this kind of thing," he admits, resting his chin in one of his hands while staring at all of the bottles of alcohol arranged neatly behind the bar. Boletus is obviously interested in her. He is tired of staying in his hotel while his fellow man goes out to indulge in life's pleasures. But more than that, he is tired of them admonishing him for not doing the same. A man is supposed to want this. They are supposed to want easy, casual sex, and he should be elated that a woman is so clearly interested in him in this way. If she wasn't, she would have left by now. Instead, he can feel her eyes fixating on his arms, his hands, his chest. His shirt feels way too tight all of a sudden. "Another drink?"

Someone so beautiful. She blushes into her glass, immediately mourning the loss of his hands touching her wrist. Of course she's noticed his nerves, put together this isn't exactly something he does often. Strangely enough, it makes her more confident. And even more keen to keep him, at least for the night. So often, she feels warning bells even at this stage. The saner parts of her mind reminding her this is a _bad idea_, that she'll regret it in the morning. Boletus doesn't make her feel cheap, or easy, or trashy. He makes her feel pretty. Desirable, even. Sexy. Perhaps most importantly, safe. That might be even more dangerous than the ones she doesn't trust further than she can throw them. "It's not quite my preferred setting either," she admits. "A bit... loud." Diplomatic words for massively overstimulating, but she's used to the crash after by now. "Another drink?" She looks down at her own, more than half full still. "Be my guest, but I'm fine right now," she demurs politely. "Unless... Would you like to take this elsewhere? Somewhere quieter, maybe?" She has a few options in mind. Baldur's Gate is her home turf, after all. If she subtly steers them in the direction of her flat or asks where he's staying, well, that's just more efficient.

Crap, I got ahead of myself. She's not even done with the first drink! No time to beat himself up mentally for yet another mistake in his laundry list of mistakes he's made during the entire encounter, because the pretty girl is still in front of him, and she's offering to go some quieter, and that means more private. He assumes, anyways. "S-somewhere quieter? Oh, that sounds nice. Did you have somewhere in mind? I'm not to familiar with the city outside of where I'm normally stationed, so..." He fiddles with the empty glass in his hands, deciding to order just one more. He needs to calm down, he thinks. This is how people calm down and loosen up, after all. "Anywhere but here is probably fine. Oh, but take your time... with the drink and all." Perhaps he's been looking at the way her full lips looks when they're pressed to the glass, and the way her throat moves as she swallows. It's the little details that Bo appreciates, after all.

"I'm local, so I have all sorts of ideas," she fires back without a thought. "Which, I mean, uh, there's lots of parks, and the riverfront is lovely, and there's a million cafes and so on," she babbles, realizing she should maybe not imply she's planning on ravishing him in the nearest alleyway. Not that that isn't an enticing prospect, but he seems the shy sort. Inviting him back to hers for a nightcap was more likely than not to backfire. She notices him ordering another drink, his third, and feels a brief second of worry he'll get too sloppy drunk to do anything but pass out before remembering he's roughly the size of a barn. It should take more than a few watered-down whiskeys to take him down, right? "Anywhere but here... Hmm... What about you tell me a little bit about what would be your preferred kind of setting? Quieter? More casual, less casual? Food, perhaps?" (Similar internalized fatphobia/food related) ||_Great, Lae, chubby girl asking to eat something. Just confirm all the stereotypes._||

His tail, which was hanging limply off the back of the barstool he’s been leaning on rather than straight up sitting on, lifts up and wags quickly at the prospect of food. “Oh, do you have a recommendation for a restaurant?” he asks, voice full of hope. “There are so many places to eat here, and I’ve only been able to sample a couple of places so far.” Boletus excitedly lists off a couple of places, most of which were just pubs. All that talking dries his throat out, so he sips on his whiskey. He’s unsure if it’s the alcohol calming his nerves, or how if he’s just relaxing because Helaena is just that much of a calming presence. It’s not like he hasn’t tried this whole “picking up women at the bar” thing before at the behest of his friends. But the kind of women that approached him were typically much more aggressive, and they didn’t take kindly for being rejected. [TW homophobia] ||*”What’s wrong, big guy? Oh, I see. You’d rather suck a cock, huh? Figures.”*|| “Um, casual or not? Well… you look so pretty. It’d be a shame to just go to some hole in the wall, right?” She is pretty, he thinks. He never thought much about the type of woman he liked. Being surrounded by men all the time, while also being interested in them, didn’t leave him much time to explore that thought. As much as he’d love to truly wine and dine her, especially knowing she’s likely agree to it, he realizes his shirt is a tad ill-fitting. “Well, maybe if the man taking you out looked as put together as you did, I’d enjoy a lovely sit down dinner date. Maybe… casual is best after all.” He sips on his drink, enjoying the slight burn of the whiskey. It’s something that keeps him grounded amongst the chatter and louder music.

As put together? Oh, he's sweet. She's dolled up, alright, but not the kind of dolled up that's fit for a nice restaurant. She'd be lucky not to be turned away at the door. "I don't know, I quite like what you're wearing. I couldn't care less if it's put together or not. But still, there's plenty of places to have a good meal that don't have white tablecloth or a dress code," she says with a laugh. His enthusiasm for food is incredibly endearing. She does love food, she was raised in a household of foodies and enthusiastic amateur cooks after all, but it's easy to forget. [TW: food issues/weight] ||It's easy to find it tainted, after years of reminders from her surroundings of what that dessert is doing to her thighs, or oh is she sure she shouldn't just have a salad?|| "There's a dozen good street food places between here and my flat, if you're interested," she elaborates. "Anything you can imagine, but meat-on-a-stick and stuff-in-bread are frequent contestants, as you might expect. I've always thought nothing tastes as good as a nice kebab on your way home after a night out." Another part of her after routine. Eating her feelings. Very healthy. Maybe she won't feel the need tonight. Maybe she won't have to scrub her skin raw until she can't feel the touch of someone who didn't want her for more than a couple hours. Maybe. Just because she likes him doesn't mean he's any different. Not really.

His tail wags in interest, matching the look of excitement on his face. He's bit tipsy now, and can't really hide his emotions. Not that he was doing a very good job of that earlier, as nervous as he was. "Maybe it's a little stereotypical of a big tiefling like me to be interested in meat-on-a-stick, but I can't help that. I absolutely love a kebab. I'm not picky at all." He really isn't picky. He's lived off of MREs on and off for a while, and he would be happy to tell you which ones taste the best. A chance to get out of the loud, crowded bar. A chance to walk next to a pretty girl. A chance to eat good food. This night is turning out way better than all of his other "forced to go to a bar and try to get laid" nights! He doesn't really pick up on the implication of Helaena mentioning that they're headed in the direction of her flat, if there is one at all. Boletus finished the last of whiskey enthusiastically. "Ahh! Perfect. Well, I'm ready when you are!"

She watches his enthusiasm for something as simple as street food with a slightly confused smile of her own. How is she supposed to deal with a man who isn't clearly looking for exactly one thing? Who seems happy just to... talk to her? Maybe share a meal just for the enjoyment of it? It's doing her head in, in truth. She gathers her purse, and doesn't protest when he pays for her drink, and then they're standing on the sidewalk, and standing next to him she's very aware of how damn tall he is. He's got to be at least six feet, right? More, maybe? "So, um. There's a food truck pod up the street, it's open late, and there's a really good kebab place there. But the best place to get a kebab, in my humble opinion, is this hole-in-the-wall on the edge of Brampton, but it's a bit more of a walk." Unless you went all the way to little Calimshan, of course, but she's not willing to hike out to the Outer City in fuck-me heels, especially knowing she'd have to make it back, too.

Helaena's heels clack quite loudly against the hard pavement, making Boletus all too aware of her movements. Her legs do admittedly look fantastic in those shoes. Of course he's been staring; he's a hot-blooded tiefling. The arch of her foot just accentuate the curve of her calves in the most delicious way. However, a part of him also worries about how uncomfortable she must be. "Well, I wouldn't want you to have to walk too far. Because... you know," he states nervously, glancing at her feet. "I'm confident that your 'really good' is a 'absolutely perfect' to someone like me. We can just go up the street to that food truck area." It's not like Cormyr is a small city, by any means. However, the nation is rather mono-cultural. But here, in the Gate? So many cultures blend together. To Boletus, that means a place like this has all of the best food Faerun has to offer. As they walk side by side, he's fixated on those heels of hers again. She barely comes up to my neck despite her choice of footwear. If she took those shoes off... how much shorter would she be?

She tries not to grin in triumph as his eyes linger on the shoes adding a good four inches to her meager five foot two inches of height, and the way they accentuate the shape of her legs. Helaena almost regrets not opting for an outfit showing off the curve of her thighs and ass, but skintight trousers are such a pain to get off again, especially in a hurry. She gets the sense Boletus would have appreciated it. Oh well. Hopefully he'll get to see the whole thing with no clothing in the way later. "Perhaps another time for the best place, then?" she suggests without thinking of the implications of that. But... He is a soldier, right? He might be on leave for a tenday or so. Most don't want more than a night, but... maybe he'd want a tenday? Don't assume he's different just because he blushed from looking at your tits. "It's right through here... There's things other than kebab, too, if you'd prefer. Pizza. Curries. That sort of thing."

His tail wags excitedly at the prospect, the words "another time" catching his attention immediately. "Oh! I would love that!" he exclaims a bit louder than he meant to. "I seriously would like to try the best the Gate has to offer while I'm on leave." Arriving at the food truck pod, his eyes are bouncing back and forth between all of the options like he's a kid in a candy store. "You said curry, too? Oh my goodness, I bet it's so much better here," he starts to ramble. "It's frankly quite bastardized over in Cormyr. They totally do not use the right seasonings. I must try some while I'm here. Along with the kebabs. And maybe pizza...? I wonder if that would be too much..." His tail swishes faster as he tries to decide which truck to visit first. He stands in the middle of the lot, one hand on his hip and the other resting on his chin. Maybe he's a little more tipsy from 3 glasses of whiskey than he realizes. "Helaena, I'm having so much trouble right now," he says very seriously. "I don't know what to eat first."

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Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

Ell (Tav: Rosie and Co.)

polarized2023

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She knew he was sweet. Nervous in an excited way, like a puppy hoping a treat is coming. Boletus is utterly adorable. She bursts into genuine, slightly-too-loud laughter despite being only barely tipsy herself. “Bo, we can just order a bit of everything and split it,” she suggests, as if it’s obvious. It is to her. Why try one thing when you can try two? Or even better three or four. “Luckily for you, I’ve lived a handful of blocks from here for two years now, so I’ve tried almost everything on the menus here. I can tell you, without a doubt, that you cannot leave Baldur’s Gate without trying the falafel from this truck.” She nods to the kebab place, that also does excellent homemade falafel. “The pizza’s good, but it’s more greasy than authentic. Curry… it’s good, but it’s spicy. We should definitely get some raita if you’re not used to it. Oh and the churros from that truck that also does tacos are excellent. The tacos are just fine. Not incredible.” He wanted ‘another time’ too, that hopeful little voice says. But words are wind. Actions speak louder. Just enjoy the moment. The whole point of this is to stop thinking.

"Ok, ok... kebabs are what brought us here, so the logical conclusion would be to try those first!" He meant to keep that to himself, but a lot of factors are making Boletus lose that tight grip he normally keeps on his demeanor. He's tipsy. He's in a big outdoor space instead of a crowded bar. He's surrounded by tons of food. And he isn't alone. There's someone actually with him right now. Sure, they just met, but she seems so nice and so sweet. Nothing like the other women he's tried to approach so casually. He jumps in the line for the aforementioned kebab truck, and Helaena starts listing off a bunch of other different food. "Wait, wait, wait. Hold that thought." Out of his back pocket, he takes out a pen and paper. The sound of pages being flipped through rapidly can be heard, stopping only when he finally finds a blank sheet. "So you said... the pizza is greasy, curry is spicy... not sure if I'll need the raita because I love spicy food, but it wouldn't hurt..." He scribbles down as much as he can recall. Even someone like Boletus wouldn't be able to try *everything*, so to him, it only makes sense to make a list of every single thing Helaena recommends so that he has a clearer idea of what to get for next time. "O-oh! It's our turn!" he blurts out. With very slightly slurred words, he tells the worker his order: three kebabs and one order of the falafel. "What would you like, Helaena? It's my treat!" His tail wags happily, almost hitting her legs in its wake.

Three kebabs? Helaena is also tipsy enough she bursts into giggles at his adorable excitement, complete with _taking notes_, and Gods, this man is far too easy to like. "I'll, um, I'll grab some curry probably, but thank you for offering." And steal one of his kebabs, maybe. She wouldn't feel bad about keeping him to a one night thing unless the dick is really good if he's opposed to sharing. "Tymora's tits, Bo, how much can you _eat?_" she asks with a laugh. He looks like an eager puppy, wagging tail and everything. It's so utterly precious she can't stand it. It makes her want to haul him back to her bed and figure out if he's just as respectful with her tongue down his throat, and what exactly it'd take to break through that chivalry. "You should get some of the harissa if you like spice, by the way, it's excellent."

“Oooh, good call,” he replies. “Looove spicy stuff. Whatever assumptions you’ve got about hot-blooded tieflings…” He points to his face with a smile. “…You’d probably be right.” With his rather large order placed, including Helaena’s curry and a plastic ramekin of harissa, he surveys their surroundings, tail bouncing around curiosity. “I bet you’d like to sit, right?” he asks, glancing at Helaena’s heels. “Your shoes look uncomfortable. They’re nice, though! I don’t know how women do it…”

Gods, thoughtful too? What’s next, he loves dogs? I like him too much. “Practice, stubbornness, and a healthy dose of vanity,” Helaena sums up, sighing in relief as she sits down at a nearby picnic table. Lifting her leg like that probably gave Bo one hell of a view of her thighs, but eh. That’s a plus in her book. “But I’m glad you like them,” she adds with a wink. 4 inches is about as high as she can go while still being able to walk, and this pair are so strappy as to be barely there, at that, showing off the dark green polish on her toenails. Her matching fingernails tap against the scarred wooden surface of the table, trying to decide on a topic of conversation. She’s not used to spending this much time with people she picks up at bars while everyone’s clothed. Well, no, a few times have been mostly or wholly clothed, sometimes barely inside the door or even once in a public bathroom, thankfully single stall (4/10, would not repeat) but still. “What’s your favorite food?” she finally asks. “Maybe that’s a terrible question, I’d never be able to pick just one thing.”

"V-vanity, huh..." Of course he's looking. Isn't he supposed to? She's clearly showing off for him. It would be a shame if her efforts were to go unnoticed, wouldn't it? Art exists to be stared at, examined, and appreciated. She wants him to imagine her sitting in a chair, legs crossed, bouncing her manicured foot slowly up and down as if she's dangling a carrot on a stick. To imagine him sitting on the floor, looking up at her for permission to touch her, to remove her shoes, to trail kisses up her shapely legs until... Such a strangely detailed scene has him in a trance until he hears the word "food". "Food? Yeah... I would love some food..." There is already food in front of him, of course.

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Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

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She grins when she notices exactly where his eyes linger. Men are simple creatures, really, but it never stops being flattering when one can barely take his eyes off of her. Boletus is much more respectful than most. Sweet, even, with the way he blushes the moment his eyes stray above her knees. She tears a piece off her flatbread and dips it in the perfectly balanced curry with a happy hum. It might wreck her lipstick, but she can reapply it stealthily if she has to. “Oh, three servings of kebab and one falafel wasn’t enough? Gods above, you might end up buying out the whole food truck, then,” she jokes with a too-broad smile. She’s not nearly as self conscious around Bo as she normally is with hookups. She doesn’t think of the way her hair is probably frizzing despite the amount of product she put in it, or the way smiling like that shows off too much of her teeth. She feels pretty without having to be a perfect object of desire. As if just being herself might be enough, actually? Ridiculous thought.

"Oh!" he says with a gasp. "Right! Wow, this all looks so good..." That very specific and arousing image is already out of mind. High heels? Legs? They're nothing compared to the deliciously authentic street food right in front of him. He quite literally stuffs his face, starting with one of the kebabs. His strict yet kind foster parents taught him manners, sure, but his inhibitions are loosened just enough so that he is pushing those lessons to the side. His mother's "slow down!" and his father's "chew your food, Bo!" don't mean a thing right now. While he eats, he looks up and gazes at Helaena's smile. To him, it seems like she's glowing. Or maybe that's just a streetlight? "Mmfwow," he mutters, mouth full of a heavenly mix of meat and spices. He swallows his bite before continuing. "You're so beautiful." Then he's back to his feast.

She has just a moment to think he’s a man after her own heart with the way he obviously enjoys food, before she’s bowled over once more by his casual, sincere compliment. You’re so beautiful. When was the last time someone who didn’t have to think so called her that? Even her hookups who thought she needed a bit of buttering up usually went for hot, sexy, pretty, more than one thicker than a bowl of oatmeal. (She has no idea why they’d think that particularly complimentary) Why would they call her beautiful? Beautiful’s a word for dainty, delicate, lovely women with tiny waists who fit into a size 36, at the most. She can be sexy, at least for a few hours. She can be pretty, when she covers her real face and does everything to flatter what attractive attributes she has. But beautiful? He says it like it’s a foregone conclusion. Something as obvious as falafel being best served still scorching hot from the frying oil. She ducks her head in an attempt to hide her flaming blush, but gods damn it all, she’s no innocent little flower to be knocked over by one little compliment. “Thank you,” she tells him, just a hint of flirtation in her voice. “You’re not half bad yourself.” She steals a falafel off his plate to distract herself and dips it in harissa before biting into it with a sinful moan of pure hedonistic enjoyment she doesn’t catch in time. Fuck, there might be better kebab, but this might be the best falafel she’s had in the Gate. The alcohol still in her system probably helps that, but still. “Sorry,” she demurs, her blush returning. “It’s really good falafel.”

The food in his mouth almost falls right out from just how slack his jaw becomes. Boletus has to cover the lower half of his face with his hand just to keep it all in. His tail is stiff and straight behind him. Holy hells. He swallows his food as fast as he can. If the falafel made her moan like that, it must be pretty good, right? Following Helaena’s lead, he takes a ball, dipping it that harissa and trying it. “Mmm!” It’s not a moan. Boletus isn’t sure he’s ever had food that made him moan. Nevertheless, he is still very susceptible to a strong emotional response to good food. He thumps his tail against the bench as it waggles around haphazardly. “This is really good! No wonder you…” He stops himself before he says something he thinks would be too forward. “After this…” he starts to ask, trailing off as his eyes wander off to the side and focus on someone ordering food from one of the other trucks. “Um. What are your plans after this?” She said I didn’t look “half bad”. That’s good, right? I have a chance here!

After this? Wasn’t it implied already? Almost every other person she’s left a bar with would assume her to be a sure thing by now. It’s oddly sweet that he doesn’t, that his words are shy and hopeful instead of cocky. “Well, that depends on you, doesn’t it?” It’s a shame he’s sitting across from her, or she might run her hand up his thigh in a more blatant tease. Instead she smiles at him, just a little lopsided with humor. “But I know I don’t want the night to end, yet. I don’t live too far from here. Maybe we could head back to mine for a nightcap?” She’s not doing nearly as well as normal at playing the game. At being available but not easy, desirable but not slutty, flirtatious without being desperate. Instead her words are… sincere. She’s enjoying herself. She’d like to continue to do so. She’d probably be fine saying goodbye once he’s done with his food and say that’s it, even if she’d be disappointed, she’d enjoy going back to hers and having him fuck her brains out, and nearly every point in the middle between those extremes. And that’s… very confusing. She feels more affirmed, more validated, more desired from the near-innocent look in Bo’s eyes right now than she has with a cock halfway down her throat and a man groaning expletives above her.

He's already finishing up his second kebab, his brain slowly processing Helaena's words. "Mmhmm." It's vague noise that, combined with a head nod, signals that he is agreeing with whatever she said. He chews and chews, but even the delicious meal can't quite shake away the nervousness that is left behind as his buzz starts to wear off. The very tip of his tail flickers in circles. The idea of a girl taking him home, drinking with her, doing whatever that inevitably leads to... That sounds like what normal men in their 20's do, doesn't it? But it's hard for him to see himself in such a way. What about his life has been normal? His parents are both decorated veterans, his path in life being set as soon as they signed his adoption papers. It's not like either of them had completed their service unscathed, either. Who's to say what will happen to him? Plus, their relationship only seemed to work because of they had the same type of career. They understood each other. They had time to form a bond, to date, to plan a future. If he could, he would go about this entire ordeal in a completely different way. He would want to do the same things his parents did: take their time. However, Boletus is only on leave for the next two tendays. There is no such thing as enough time for him, and there never will be in his eyes. He's lonely. He thinks woman sitting across from him is stunning, and she seems to think he's "not half bad" either. The answer is obvious, then. "A drink would be nice," he says soon after he finishes up the second kebab. "And I would love to keep... well, spending some time with you, too." With a blush, he continues, in case his answer wasn't clear enough. "I really, really would." He pops another falafel into his mouth and smiles.

She smiles, a little shyly, into her drink. It's just lemonade, despite her suggestion of a drink she doesn't want to be too drunk to think, not this time. "Okay," she agrees. Still, he hesitated. Is she... moving too fast? She's never really tried that before, usually it's just sort of... expected from the start. She sits at a bar, alone, she's receptive to flirting, so she clearly wants to have sex with someone, it's just a matter of who, and some nights she really isn't picky. That's how it works, right? She tries to enjoy her curry, but a nagging uncertainty that she hates is snaking through her stomach. This is why she does this instead of dating. She can't handle the will they won't they what if they don't call me back game, because she loses, every time. No one worthwhile wants her, and if they do it's certainly not for more than a night. She can be easy, she can be fun, she can be sexy, but she's not girlfriend material, that's been made clear to her on numerous occasions. It's okay. It'll be okay. You'll take him home, kiss him, and if he turns you down you can hate him, and that'll be fine. She doesn't want to hate him. She doesn't want to push him into anything he doesn't want, either. Gods damn it all, this is already far too complicated. "Would you, um. Like to try the curry? Strike it off the list? It's rogan josh. With lamb." It'll be okay, she tells herself as she gathers a perfect bite on a piece of flatbread. You've been through a lot worse than, worst case scenario, one wasted evening. He called me beautiful.

"Oh, thank you," he replies, using his own spoon to take a bite. "Mmm! You weren't kidding, Helaena! This is delicious!" He takes another spoonful, putting it down when he swallows that second bite, not wanting to tempt himself into eating more of her food. "I'll definitely be getting this next time." I wonder if she would come back with me, though? It doesn't take long at all for Boletus to finish his third kebab, along the majority of his falafel. There is a single piece left before he speaks to Helaena again. "Did you want the last one?" Behind his head, the fluffy end of his tail can be seen. It's the same shade of deep red as his hair. It sways slowly back and forth.

His tail is so cute. Don’t think of him as cute. “I never turn down the last falafel, Bo,” she tells him, her face deadly serious. She bursts into laughter before she reaches for the last ball of golden-fried chickpeas and dips it in some of the lemon-tahini sauce it came with. “Sorry, I’m the youngest of three, I’m used to fighting to the death for the last pancake.” The sound of satisfaction she makes is sincere, but not quite as pornographic as the one before. “Thank you. For the meal, and the drink, and just, uh… I’m having a really nice time with you.” She wipes her hands on a paper napkin, a mix of anxiety and curiosity and anticipation mixing in her stomach. She wants to stay here forever. She wants to have him in her bed already. She wants him to want both of those things, too. “Are you, um. Ready to go?”

"Yes, of course. Hold on just a moment." Using one of the napkins, he brushes all of the little crumbs of food off of the table into another napkin acting as a dust pan. Once he is sure every single crumb is disposed of, he gathers all of the trash and throws it away. It's as if they never ate on this table in the first place. Actually, it's probably cleaner than it was before they sat down. Now satisfied, he walks over to where Helaena is sitting and offers up his hand with a slight bow of his head and a gentle smile.

It should be a sign of the apocalypse that she finds his obsessive neatness endearing where similar behavior from her own mother drives her up the wall. And then he offers his hand like she’s some fine lady in a period piece instead of a girl he picked up in a bar, and gods damn it all, she’s charmed. She takes it with a blush that’s straight out of one of those movies, too, and leans on him slightly as she maneuvers short skirt and high heels over the bench. His hand is warm, calloused without being too coarse, and this gentle clasp of palms couldn’t be further from the way he’d gripped her wrist in the bar. It’s… nice, though. “Shall we? I promise it’s not far.”

"Well, that's good." He glances briefly at her shoes again, fully ready to carry her if she gets too tired. It's not like he hasn't carried men double her weight across a barren wasteland before. For some reason, he doesn't really want to let go of her hand. Maybe the heels are a blessing, because otherwise, Helaena would have to lift forearm slightly just so he could comfortably continue holding it. So they walk, hand in hand. Almost like they're a couple. Briefly, he just feels normal. Boletus is fine with silence, and finds the repetitive "click-clack" of Helaena's heels to be strangely relaxing to listen to, but he isn't completely fine with how little he knows about someone he is going to be potentially sleeping with (the word "potentially" is very important here. This man does not see anything as an absolute.) "So, have you always lived here in the Gate?" he asks, not really sure what he's going to be doing with this information. "It bet it's interesting place to live. Seems a lot more forward-thinking here, anyways." Cormyr's monarchy might have a lot less power than they used to, but they're still an ever-present force that's been around for over a millennia. The culture is almost painfully homogenous because of it. The laws might have given someone like Boletus equal treatment, but that didn't mean anything when it came to how people treated him.

”I was born in the Gate and have lived here my whole life, yes,” she confirms. He’s just… holding hands with her. Like he wants to. His thumb is gently rubbing the back of her hand, and it feels really nice, and this isn’t really something she’s had… ever? Augustus didn’t like holding hands. He said it was stupid and her palms always got too sweaty. “I’ve traveled a little, mostly up and down the Sword Coast. Amn, Tethyr, Waterdeep. I’ve actually never been to Candlekeep for some reason. And my family’s gone on vacation in Kara-Tur a couple times. “But I like the Gate. It’s home. And yes, it’s a lot more forward thinking than some places. My sister’s best friend was born in Amn, but apparently people are much more likely to look sideways at him for being a foreigner than they are here, even though he was born there and so were his parents. Isn’t it silly?” She’s never understood the urge to divide people into foreigners and natives. What did it matter, truly? Alyn is a wonderful man (who is absolutely and utterly in love with her sister, but that’s another story) and that’s what matters, not the color of his skin or the far-off origin of his family. “So I suppose… I’ve never truly lived anywhere else, so I wouldn’t really know for sure. But of everywhere I’ve visited, I like the Gate best at the end of the day. And don’t believe the smear campaign, the river barely smells even in the summer nowadays.”

"I'm almost a little jealous," he replies lightheartedly. "Part of why I joined the Cormyrian army is so I could travel. We have a bases all over Faerun. Plus, my parents both served, too. My path would have been set regardless, I suppose. So far, I've only really been to the places between Cormyr and the Gate. Berdusk was nice. So was Elturel. But this has been my favorite city so far." His gazes wanders to the other passerby coming and going. There's a Dragonborn one minute. The next minute, a family of gnomes. There's even a half-orc, and this one isn't even dressed as some sort of soldier or bodyguard! His tail flickers around with a hint of wonder to it. He's reluctant to speak of his struggles as a tiefling coming from a place were 99% of the population is human. What would be the point? The woman holding his hand is a human, after all, and she doesn't seem the least bit put off by him. "And you don't have to worry about me. I know a lot of those so-called smear campaigns are just that. Besides, any large population living near a large body of water? Smells of all kinds are just par for the course, I think." As they continue to walk, his tail starts to curl around the back of Helaena's legs, not quite touching them, but simply hovering. It's owner doesn't really notice, still blabbing on and on about food, travel, and a variety of other things.

”Both your parents served?” she asks, curious. She knows the Cormyrian military has a far higher service rate per capita than almost any other country in Faerûn. … look, she’s from a family of political scientists and lawyers. Some amount of statistical nerdery comes with the territory. In any event, it’s a vastly different perspective than her own. Her brother’s in the military, sure, but that’s unusual in a city state with no conscription and minimal military spending. “Cormyr is one of the last extant monarchies in Faerûn,” she muses out loud. “We used to have Dukes, I suppose, but that was centuries ago. Is it true you still have conscription?” She can’t help it. Her curiosity is officially piqued, and she wants to know everything. “Sorry, I’m asking too many questions, I’m just curious,” she admits. She’s not used to this much… talking. Names, sure, most of the time, maybe some smalltalk, but she’s never initiated any true getting to know you talk before, and she’s not used to others doing it either.

He raises an eyebrow at Helaena's questions, not expecting her to be interested in anything to do with Cormyr or his military service. She honestly didn't look the type. That's all on him, he thinks, and it just makes him feel the tiniest bit guilty. "No, no. You're not asking too many questions," he answers earnestly. "Not at all." "We do have 1 year of mandatory service, yes. Many chose to stay afterwards. Cormyr's military is so robust because of its history, after all." His tails moves away from the woman's legs, now swinging lazily back and forth instead. "We've been invaded more times throughout history than I can count, so the monarchy thought a strong military was necessary. Over time, those actively serving, and ever veterans, sort of became their own social class. Even if you were poor as dirt, you were guaranteed a living if you pledged loyalty to the crown and fought to protect its borders..." Though, that's not what Boletus is doing stationed all the way out in the Gate, is it? "My parents are an example of this. Both of them came from rather low-income households, but they were able to claw their way up the social ladder. I grew up very comfortably, I will admit." But it was the unspoken expectation growing up that he would follow in their footsteps. Boletus never really had a problem with this, always so unsure of what his life would look like, who he'd even *be*, without being a part of something so seemingly grand and important as the Cormyrian army.

The way he speaks of the military, of the grand ideals of the Cormyrian Army… It doesn’t look like the same man who excitedly babbled on about what kind of street food to order, or the one who almost fell over when she flashed a bit of leg. She likes that Bo more than this one, she’ll have to admit. She’s not completely sure if he means what he’s saying, or if he’s parroting what someone else told him. She’s not sure what option she dislikes more. What the fuck were you thinking asking a hookup about military policy, anyway? “So did I,” she admits. “Grow up comfortably, I mean. My family are lawyers and scholars, not military, though.” Too honest, too real, too open… She wracks her brain for another topic of conversation, any topic. “So how long are you in the Gate for? I’m guessing you’re stationed out on the base by the river mouth?” Most Cormyrian soldiers who pass through the city are, apart from the tiny contingent assigned to the embassy.

"Correct again," he says with a small smile. "I've been stationed at this particular base for the past 6 months. So that's... another year and a half for me. However, I'm only on leave for the next two tendays." So, an academic family? No wonder she seems so intelligent. Every little piece of information he learns about Helaena feels like a small reward. He recites these facts in his head as if he were indulging in some sort of treat. "It's been nice, getting to leave the base," he confesses. "Of course, while I might be stationed here for a while, I'm active duty. I could always be deployed at any moment." He tries to hide the smallest little sigh that escapes from his lips. "You said you come from a family of scholars, but I'm sure this must be incredibly boring for you to hear. How about you? I assume you're in school? Or would I be wrong?" His tail goes back to hovering around the back of her legs. This time, Boletus does notice. He doesn't really mind, but he is keeping an eye on it.

”It’s not boring at all,” Helaena assures him with a smile. They’re getting close to her apartment, but unfortunately not close enough she’s likely to be able to dodge the question. “I am, yes. Second year of my undergrad. Political science major,” she admits, like the admission pulls teeth. It was that or pre-law and this is better. I don’t hate it most of the time. It’s not the classes’ fault, it’s mine. I’m trying. “It’s nothing special,” she demurs. “Mostly a million theorists and case studies. I’d be happy to take a break from Foucault and Locke in favor of someone who can answer my questions most days,” she jokes weakly. “Because, um. They’re both long dead, that is.”

"Haha! That is the problem with fields like that, isn't it?" he responds with a laugh. "Just learning abstract concepts invented by long dead men." He gives Helaena a playfully gentle nudge on his arm with his shoulder. "It's plenty special regardless. I think all education is. I hope to go back to school once one of these days." Their surroundings seem to be getting quieter as two enter a much more residential area. He can't help but feel... excited? Nervous? Happy? Scared out of his mind? All he's doing is going back to a girl's place. Why does this seemingly mundane occurrence elicit at least four different emotions? The tail he meant to keep and eye on starts to wag, smacking into the back of Helaena's legs. "Oh, sh-, crap. I'm so sorry!" he sputters out in apology. When it swings back out, he grabs it and holds it away from its victim.

Her eyes widen as- _oh_, that’s his tail! She can’t help but laugh at how utterly mortified he looks, holding his tail like one might hold a misbehaving puppy by the scruff of its neck. “No, no, it’s fine, you just startled me,” she assures him, still giggling as she fumbles around in her purse for her keys. “I’m, uh, I’m just through here…” She unlocks the gate and takes him through the courtyard to the back house. Her flat is on the third floor. “Fair warning, it’s really nothing fancy,” she warns him. “Just a one bed.” An apartment she wouldn’t be able to afford at all if it wasn’t for her parents’ help, but that’s another problem. Still, it’s her own space, and it’s hers, and she’s done her best to make it her own with overflowing bookshelves and little mementos filling the windowsills. The less said about the stack of dishes in the sink, the better, though. Gods, what was she thinking inviting over company…

His first impression of the place is that it’s just so… Normal. There’s that word again. One that he’s been fixated on the entire night. The thing he’s been trying to be and trying to feel. Distracted, he lets go of his tail as he steps inside. Amateur mistake, Boletus. It immediately swings into a small table by the door, the kind of table people put their keys and mail on as soon as they come home. It doesn’t quite knock the thing over, mostly because it’s against a wall. Still, it wobbles a bit, and he immediately goes right back to holding his tail still by the tip of it. You are not ruining this for me! “Haha, sorry again. I, uh…” He doesn’t know what to do or where to go. This manifests as him standing as still as a statue by the door. This 6’2”, muscled up tiefling male is just standing there, eyes blinking rapidly, stupid fluffy tail tip in his hands, waiting for a girl to tell him what to do.

He's so damn cute, it makes her want to kiss him. And, well, there's nothing really stopping her from doing so now, is there? Well, nothing apart from how fucking tall he is, but that's fixable if she can persuade him to bend over a little, isn't it? "Don't be sorry," she tells him, her voice the slightest bit breathy. How would he react, if she straight up told him she'd like it very much if he kissed her? Would he be flattered? Flustered? The hallway of her flat is small enough she barely has to take a step forward before she's closer to him than she has at any point so far, close enough she can feel the warmth of his body radiating through his clothes. She trails her hand from the somewhat-familiar territory of his own, over his wrist, up his forearm, light and curious. "Bo?" She meets his eyes, a warm, pleasant yellow she wants to drown in. "I really want to kiss you right now." Well. She's never claimed to be beating around the bush.

He audibly swallows as he looks down at the much shorter woman. Her eyes look just like they did at the bar. It’s a very unmistakable sort of look: darkened, half lidded, and hungry with a desire of some sort. He can’t even hide behind a flimsy excuse like mishearing her. “Oh,” he blurts out. “Really? Ah. Ok…” With one more deep breath, he reaches within himself to find that part of him that is more willing to give into these sorts of desires. This was the entire point of their interactions tonight, wasn’t it? A warm hand tenderly grabs the underside of Helaena’s chin and tilts it upwards as he lowers his own head to kiss her. It’s more like they’re just pressing their lips together, really, as Boletus tries to adjust to the feeling of actually kissing someone after so long. He might not be doing much with his mouth, but the other hand that was holding his tail lets go of it in favor of sliding along the curve of Helaena’s back, gently grabbing onto her waist once he reaches it. With nothing to hold it back, it loosely wraps around the woman’s lower leg. At least it’s not trying to knock over more of her furniture.

He's nervous. Is it strange she finds it charming? Is it strange she feels... flattered, almost, by the gentle press of his lips, his hand on her waist, all so innocent, so _sweet_? Most of the people she's been with would have their tongues down her throat and their hands on her ass or tits by now, the only words a breathless question of which way to the bedroom, maybe an appreciative sound or whispered compliment if she was lucky. Instead, she has the warmth of Boletus' hand soaking through the thin fabric of her dress, his thumb gently running back and forth, perhaps without thinking. She has his tail winding around her calf, the tufted tip just barely tickling her bare skin. She has his lips pressed against hers while his hand cradles her face like she's something worthwhile. Something precious, even. Dangerous thoughts for a girl like her. It's just one night. "It this okay?" she breathes against his lips as her hands wind through his hair, gently, without pulling.

“This is…” he starts, his eyes readjusting to the dimly lit room as they open again. He didn't realize just how tightly he had them shut when all they did was kiss in a relatively chaste way. “This is more than ok. Can I… can I do that again?” he asks, the words spoken through heavy breaths. The small hands in his hair make his skin tingle pleasantly, and he leans his forehead against Helaena’s in response. The very base of his horns, bumpy and textured from where they come off of his skull, make contact with her smooth skin. “Kiss you, I mean.”

He’s affected from just a simple kiss, so innocent it wouldn’t look out of place in a Disney movie. She is too. “Yes,” she agrees. “You can absolutely do that again.” She tilts her head to the side as she leans up to kiss him, slow and soft but with just a hint more heat. Still, it’s… gentle. Unhurried. It’s kissing for the sake of kissing, instead of one step on a rush to the finish line. It’s nice.

Over the initial shock of kissing someone (which he is now very sure that he is not dreaming about, based on the way his cheek hurts when he bites into it), he allows himself to give into what he wants, what he has been given permission to do, if only just a little. Though Helaena initiates, Boletus intends to lead. He sets the pace with slow, yet deep kisses that just grow more confident with each subsequent one. He dares to take her bottom lip and simply graze his sharp teeth over it. The hand that was on her chin has since moved to her hair, wrapping her ponytail around his fingers and gently pushing her head upwards, as if their faces still weren’t close enough. He wants to touch all over her, to feel just how soft she is underneath the dress he has been staring holes into all night, but the most he is allowing himself to do is just this. He needs to earn it, he thinks. But the tail around Helaena’s leg is much more daring than he is. It creeps up higher and higher, until it’s fully underneath her dress and attempting to wrap around her thigh. However, her legs are pressed together just a little too tightly for that, so the tip just rests in the dip where her thighs touch. Boletus does not notice any of this. He is too focused on trying to kiss Helaena in a way that will convince her that none of this is a mistake.

He earns the first moan with his teeth on her lip, not biting, simply… grazing, with only the slightest hint of pressure. Nervous he might have been, but it clearly wasn’t for lack of enthusiasm. He kisses her like he means it. She doesn’t have a tail to wrap around him, so her hands will have to do. One stays in his hair, tugging gently at the soft, dark auburn strands. The other roams, exploring and appreciating, feeling the planes and curves of neck, shoulder, arm, back. He really is that built everywhere. Fuck, she wants that shirt off, wants to see every ridge and muscle she can feel, wants, preferably, to trace them with her tongue and teeth. They’re still in the hallway. She ought to invite him in properly, right? Maybe straight to the bedroom, or at least her couch? Mmm, just one more kiss first…

He doesn’t even know where he is right now. Is he in Helaena’s hallway? Is he outside? Is he still in that too-crowded bar with his friends jeering at him from afar? Who cares? As hands roam his upper body, he responds by taking the hand that was so comfortably entangled in Helaena’s curls and undoes the first two buttons of his shirt. This is was done more out of discomfort more than anything else. It was already slightly too tight, but growing intensity of their kissing only makes his clothes feel distracting, his body starting to feel way too hot. You’d think he’d be used to feeling hot. He already feels so much better, broad chest free to rise and fall unrestricted as his body tries to take in more air. He takes one good, deep breath before pulling the woman by the back of her neck in for another kiss. Or two. Or 10. His lips stay on Helaena’s, not daring to pull way until she’s satisfied. The crick in his neck? What crick? The soreness forming in his lower back from how slouched forward he is? Nonexistent.

Unbuttoning his shirt like that is practically a written invitation. She’s undone one more, her hand busy exploring the newly bared skin, and hells, his ridges are beautiful even to the _touch_, before she remembers she should probably ask before tearing his clothes off. It’s almost torture to stop kissing him, even for a moment. “Would you, um, would you like to sit down?” she offers automatically, like he’s a formal caller instead of someone she was kissing like her life depended on it just seconds ago. “Bed, couch, I don’t really care as long as I can keep kissing you.” He would look fantastic in her bed, especially with a lot less clothing, but they have time. She wants him, but she’s not in a hurry. Even more unusually, he doesn’t seem to be, either. She doesn’t really know what to do with that, so instead she lets her eyes linger on where her thumb brushes over the delicate ridges decorating his collarbone, forming a line of Vs down his sternum. Beautiful.

“Huh…?” He’s in a daze, eyes half closed and lips tinted with a reddish-pink lipstick that isn’t his. “Sit down? Oh… yes. That would be good. Uh…” He has to force himself to tear his eyes away from the object of desire right in front of him, her gentle touch on the ridges spanning across his collarbones doing nothing but distracting him. There’s a couch just down the hall, but it looks kind of small. Perhaps 3 normal-sized people could fit on it, but Boletus? Let’s just say he would prefer a little more room. “Bed? Please?” he asks breathlessly. His tail unwraps itself from her legs and wags enthusiastically, smacking into the wall behind him. He looks slightly annoyed by it, brows furrowed and lips disappearing into a small pout. “Sorry about the tail… it does what it wants. But yes, I’ll kiss you as much as you want, which will be as much as I want. Can I touch you some, too? You can do the same to me. Whatever you want to do, I’ll do. Not do, I won’t do… you just have to tell me…” His eloquence is pretty much gone. All he wants to do is go back to what he was doing, which is what he does. He cranes his neck downwards to meet Helaena’s lips again, softly moaning once they make contact. Weren’t they supposed to move to her bed or something?

Bed. Right. Very easy to focus on that with the moan he just gave, and the way he’s kissing her like- Right, right, bed. She stumbles backwards, towards her bedroom, not keen to let go of him for a single second, but between the heels, the low light, and her level of distraction it’s proving a near-herculean task. “Oh curse these stupid _shoes,_” she mutters before kicking them off, but then she whines in frustration as the loss of their extra inches of height makes it that much more difficult to kiss him. Intolerable. True torture. “Fuck, Bo, please…”

It’s a miracle that the two make it to Helaena’s bedroom without either of them falling on their asses. Between her precarious heels and Boletus’s tail flailing about, they were a tripping hazard waiting to happen. But then, Helaena kicks her shoes off in a way that he ought to not be so attracted to, and now he’s seeing just how short the woman really is compared to him. Boletus has to bend down even more just to stay connected to her in the way he wants. He doesn’t want to be rough. It’s the last thing he wants to do, a tiefling’s reputation often preceding him every time a new officer meets him. They expect him to be tough, savage, strong. These are things he can be, of course, but they are not things he needs nor wants to be. At least, not right now. So all he does is gently nudge Helaena’s body towards her bed so that she lands softly on her backside, while he gets on his knees and goes right back to kissing her as intensely as he had been before. Boletus never got a straight answer on whether or not it was ok to touch her, but the way she begged for him, name and all, makes him think that it's okay to at least try and see what she allows. Fire-hot hands slide up her skirt and squeeze at her outer thighs. The feeling of pliant flesh spilling between the spaces of his fingers almost makes him moan. “Gorgerous. Seriously,” he whispers between kisses. “I would love to see you… touch you… your body… more of it. May I?” he asks earnestly, head tilted upwards to gaze up the the woman who is now slightly above him height-wise. “Please?”

Gorgeous. She’ll get addicted to his compliments. He’s asking. Not assuming. Not taking. He’s all but begging for the privilege of touching her, his hands only barely straying above the hem of her admittedly short skirt. She wants his hands everywhere, preferably with as few clothes as possible in the way. “Yes, Hells, you can touch me anywhere you want,” she assures him. “The dress, it zips in the back,” she hastily informs him. “If, I mean. If you want that?” This is about when she’d normally reach for the stash of condoms in her bedside table, or the backups in her purse. But they’re both still fully dressed, sans three buttons and a pair of shoes, and he’s barely even copped a feel yet, beyond squeezing the outside of her thighs. And she’s second guessing herself again. The man literally asked to touch her and she’s getting nervous because he’s actually being respectful, conscious of consent, and taking his time? She’s just not used to it. “I’d, um. I’d like it if you did the same. You could take your shirt off, maybe?” It’s just evening the playing field, but she bites her lip at the thought of all that skin on display, her hands and mouth able to freely roam and explore every sculpted muscle decorated with ridges, and, judging by his forearms, veins and a nice dusting of body hair.

"You can touch me anywhere you want." Permission granted, then. He feels like he's just been given unlimited access to a bakery. But first, he is compelled to obey the one request Helaena has made: to strip. Well, at least his shirt, anyways. He obliges, hastily unbuttoning the somewhat ill-fitting top and tossing it to the side. His torso is now full unclothed, defined musculature he earned from years and years of self-discipline on display. It's not just his chest that has those ridges: his ribs and his back are also defined by peaks and valleys of that tiefling-specific anatomical feature. "There," he says with a long exhale. "Now... your turn, I guess?" Your turn, I guess? I sound like an idiot. He cannot let his anxieties get the best of him simply because his shirt is off, or because he is exposed in front of a woman. This is the time to be confident, strong, and reliable. Boletus moves to sit on the on the bed next to her, tail immediately curling around her body as it rests on the mattress. He drags his hand across her back until he finds that hidden zipper, pulling it down slowly. Once it's open, he slides his hands underneath the garment with the intention of removing it. But he stops. "Can I take this off?" he asks. Why are you asking? She obviously wants it off. She is going to be turned off by you asking for permission to do every little thing. Take charge. Despite his inner thoughts urging him to do so, his hands still don't move. He still waits for confirmation, the very end of his tail thumping softly against the bed.

He gave her permission to touch too, right? Took off his shirt after she asked him to, and damn, it’s difficult to tear her eyes off a pair of shoulders that are to die for, not to mention the glimpse she got of his back when he turned around. Still, her hands hesitate much like his do, both to not get in the way, and because she’s unsure how much appreciation she can show for the tiefling aspects of his anatomy before risking making him uncomfortable. Her dress is hanging loosely on her shoulders, ready to slip off her hips if stood up. One of the reasons she likes this dress is how easy it is to remove. You can take everything off, if you want. Please do. “Please do. You can remove the bra, too, if you want, it’s-“ It’s been digging into my ribs for hours, I hate strapless bras, but I can’t wear a halter top without some amount of support and boob tape is not sexy. “Please?”

It’s one thing to imagine what someone’s body might look like underneath their clothing. It’s another thing to actually see the body that was once filling out that dress so beautifully. And it’s his hands that are removing the layers that obscure the body that he has been craving. His friends were staring at her, too. They all probably wanted to do this exact same thing. Right now, this is all his. There’s the smallest fire in the pit of his stomach that he isn’t quite sure what to call yet. With that explicit permission granted, he gives the dress that little push so that it slides off of Helaena’s torso and gathers in a bunch around her hips. Oh my gods. She is… “… too beautiful,” he mutters, hands already fiddling with the back of her bra. He can’t stand to just sit there with his mouth unoccupied, lest he start to stay some truly embarrassing things, so he leans over to pepper kisses up the side of her neck while he attempts to solve the puzzle that is a woman’s bra. Determined, he eventually figures out the clasps, and the undergarment falls to join the crumpled up dress in her lap. His hands trail up and down her now-exposed ribs, touch so light, it seemed as if he were scared to break her. “Helaena,” he whispers, lips only centimeters away from her shelled ear, “I would love to touch you here. May I?” The grasp on her rib cage becomes firmer, hands resting just below her breasts. His thumbs brush against the soft undersides of them, his idea of a taste before he can indulge. Just as soon as he is allowed to, at least. Maybe there is a part of him that is only asking for permission constantly because hearing someone want him so enthusiastically helps him maintain that confidence and strength that he knows she wants. She deserves a good time. Pretty girls like her deserve a good time. You have to deliver. You cannot mess up.

There’s that word again. Beautiful. She’s tempted to offer to help him with the bra, after all she deals with one every day, but then his mouth is on her neck, and oh she wants to feel those warm, slightly-chapped lips everywhere she can. She shivers under his touch to her ribs, so light it tickles. Careful. So gentle it’s almost reverent. “Yes, you can- _ah!_” She’s always been mortifyingly vocal, and fortunately for how many seem drawn to them, her breasts are quite sensitive. His touch is nothing more than a tease, but fuck does she want the real thing. Is he going to make her beg for it? It should worry her how little the possibility of that bothers her. His hands are big enough they could probably span the circumference of her waist if he tried. It’s rare she feels truly small under someone’s touch. Delicate, almost, instead of too broad, too thick, too soft. Maybe he’ll make her actually feel beautiful, too. But that might be a pipe dream. “Bo, you can touch me anywhere you want. Please. I’m asking you to.”

He hums, low and satisfied, right in her ear as confirmation. Warm hands hold the full weight of her breasts now, and for a moment, that’s all they do. Hearing just how responsive Helaena was to a barely-there touch melts away a lot of the nervousness he had about having sex with a woman. *She sounded genuine enough*, he thinks. “Anywhere I want…” he repeats, breaking his thought with a few kisses underneath her jaw. “Good. Just… tell me if something is bad, or if I need to stop.” His experiences with women are few and far between (not that he would ever admit it). So, he has no choice but to trust that Helaena will oblige him. After his request, he starts to gently massage her chest, moving his large hands in wide, sensual circles. While he’s focused on that, his tail moves to her lap, seemingly trying to wrap around her. Sadly, they’re sitting too close together for it to do as it pleases for the moment. Instead, it starts to stroke up and down Helaena’s exposed abdomen, moving between her stomach, her ribs, and her waist in no discernible pattern.

His hands are warm, careful, just rough enough to feel wonderful on her soft skin, and he is definitely a tease, else why would he go this slow? Tell me if something is bad. Hopefully that means she can tell him if something is good, too? It’ll be difficult not to. “Keep kissing me like that,” she gasps, her neck’s sensitive, always has been, one of her worst weak spots. “Neck too. Feels… feels good.” Her hands have returned to the pleasant anchor of his hair, but she wants to explore, too, run her hands over every inch of skin exposed by his shirtless state, much as his tail seems to be curiously mapping out hers. They slide further down, along the knobs of his spine, over his shoulders, exploring the muscles and ridges decorating his abdomen, tempted to follow the trail of soft hair leading into the waistband of his pants. He’s a bloody work of art, and she wants to see all of him. “Nipples,” she blurts out, a little breathless. “You can- pinch them, roll them between your fingers, anything, feels- mmm, yes, please keep doing that.” Is she being bossy? Yes. Hopefully Bo won’t mind too much, especially since it’s already taking everything she has not to climb on top of him and ask to see the rest. They aren’t nearly close enough, but they have time, right? The mingled impatience and confusion at why he isn’t being more impatient itches under her skin, turning into a need for more, almost anything as long as he’s doing it.

He shivers, skin tingling pleasantly as hands he perceives to be cold trace along the edges of the ridges that adorn his upper back. It’s downright distracting. How is he supposed to focus on her when just the feeling of her fingertips on him makes him want to moan? He stifles them by burying his face in Helena’s neck at her instruction, the low rumble of his voice brushing against that sensitive skin. His kisses turn into the gentlest of bites, the sharp points of his teeth merely resting there while his tongue revels in the taste of her slightly-salty taste. Boletus is very thankful that Helaena is so vocal, so willing to tell him what she likes. Most of his other partners seemed to just know what to do, and expected him to be the same. It was easier when their anatomies matched. Maybe he is being too obvious that bodies like hers are much less familiar to his hands, but she doesn’t seem to mind that in the slightest. He is happy to follow her command, taking her peaked nipples between his fingers and pinching lightly, trepidation in every movement. “Never…” he groans, lips now pressed against the base of her neck. “Never have I felt something so wonderful…” For a moment, he worries that he’s going too slow, that Helaena might start to get bored with just simple heavy petting, but this pace is exactly what he needs. He might tend to scarf down food, especially when it was particularly delicious, but he wants to take his time with this particular meal.

She's not cold. How could she be, in the pleasant temperature of her own bedroom, with his hands scorching hot on her skin, his mouth a burning brand on the sensitive skin of her neck? Still, she trembles under his touch, still so careful, so genuine. If he thinks her bossy, he doesn't seem to mind. And it's worth it for just how fucking good the graze of his sharp teeth feels. She moans, low and only halfway stifled, as he pinches her nipples, and oh, he has to do that again, he has to. Never have I felt something so wonderful. How could that be? He's focusing on her, just touching her breasts for Cyric's sake, her own hands paused for the moment near the downright tantalizing vee of his hips. He's exaggerating. A little drunk still, maybe, or lost in the sauce of touching tits after a while without. Any dry spell had to be by choice or circumstance, because gods damn... Still, her breasts are nice, but not that nice. His teeth graze the tendon of her neck, and the sound she makes is far too loud. "Shit, gods, hold on a second," she mumbles, reluctantly letting go of him for a moment to slide her dress the rest of the way down her hips and turn to straddle him loosely. He's tall enough even sitting down they're roughly at eye level like this. "Is this okay?" She brushes a stray strand of dark auburn hair back behind his horn as she meets his eyes. "Not too fast?"

"O-oh, gods..." Too fast? Not at all. But too much? It is in the best possible way, having her body so close and facing him. Now he can touch and feel and grab wherever he pleases, and that knowledge breaks away some of his soldier-esque levels of restraint. His hands latch right back onto her chest, palms happy to be filled out by soft flesh once again. She makes such lovely sounds when all he does is grope to his heart's content, so he continues. He takes her darkened nipples between his fingers to pinch and play with them, motions just a bit rougher than before. But this position presents a new challenge to that aforementioned restraint of his. Straddling him like this, though she is not yet putting herself fully on his lap, makes him realize that he is just so painfully hard. His hips buck upwards automatically, trying to meet the heat of her body. "H-Helaena... please, please..." he gasps. The way his tail is now firmly wrapped around her waist echoes his pleas. He's not even sure what he's specifically asking for. More of this? For it to never end?

It’s nice to know even his restraint has limits. To know this affects him, too, even as her brain seems to be melting out of her ears. His hips buck upwards, seeking _more_, and she’s happy to give it to him. It takes only a tiny adjustment before she’s straddling him properly, lined up perfectly to grind against him, even through his pants and her underwear. (It matches that accursed bra, not that any men seem to notice) It’s not a surprise that he’s hard, but fuck, it only stokes her own flames higher. Hopefully he doesn’t like these pants enough he’ll be mad if some of her own plentiful arousal smears onto them. He wants this too. He’s all but begging. “Anything you want,” she breathes between nips along a strong jawline. “Just have to tell me, and you can have it.” She has very few true hard nos. A few things that would make her stop and ask for clarification and safeguards, sure, but if he asked her to get on her knees right this second she’d do it without a moment’s hesitation and enjoy every minute. Her hips roll against his, so slowly it’s barely more than a tease for them both. All it does is make her want to do that over and over and over… “Kiss me again?” she asks, a gentle plea whispered against his lips. It should be in harsh contrast to where his hands are, to the way his erection is pressed between her legs, but Bo makes her want to take the time to be sweet. Soft. He seems to like it that way.

Each drag of her hips, wet heat sliding across the growing tent in his pants, chips away at his restraint. He is finding out very quickly that he enjoys hearing her ask him to do things, and loves fulfilling those requests even more. "Of course," he replies, taking a hand away from her chest to entangle it in her curls. He wants to be gentle, he really does. But the way her body moves, unrelenting in its teasing, makes him desperate for more. He pushes the back of Helaena's head forward, mouths slamming together ungracefully. "Gods, I'm s-sorry," he moans between wet kisses. "Feels so good, this, you. More, please..." His other hand slides down her torso, fingers hooked into the waistband of her underwear. He tugs at it weakly, groaning in frustration because of how this thin piece of fabric is getting in the way of what he wants. "Off. This needs to be off," he demands, voice low and breathy. His lust-addled mind can only manage to speak in short, choppy sentences. If they could even be called sentences, anyways. "Please, off, off, off."

There’s something beautiful about watching a man’s self control crumble. There’s something incredibly powerful about being the cause of it, of watching someone lose any semblance of restraint with something as simple as a gentle grind of her hips. It makes her almost giddy, a surge of satisfaction making her smile into their kiss. I did that. I made him want me. I made him need me. He’s so polite even in the haze of lust, saying _please_, apologizing for their kissing turning sloppy with need. Off, he demands, and she couldn’t be in more agreement. “Fuck, yes, hold on,” she groans, very reluctantly climbing off him long enough to roll down her underwear and toss it towards the laundry hamper in a likely deeply unattractive move. She has a feeling Bo won’t mind much. But then she’s straddling his hips again, and she is absolutely going to stain his pants if he doesn’t get out of them soon, so really it’s just the polite thing to do for her hand to hover over the buckle of his belt, a question in the quirk of her eyebrows. “Can I? Your turn.”

And there is something so freeing about being allowed to lose control, being told it is ok to give into desires that are normally suppressed. He always, always has to behave. Even when he's just a civilian, he feels the need to always stand up straight and set a good example. Right now, he is allowed to be messy and selfish, unbuttoned figuratively and literally. He has to pull his own tail away to let Helaena climb off of his lap to take off the last piece of clothing that was hiding her beauty from him. Watching the soaked piece of fabric land in her laundry basket tickles the part of his brain that wants to go "yesss" whenever a he throws a piece of trash into a wastebasket from far away. This objectively silly emotion is a strange, but welcome one while he's in the middle of foreplay. "You, yes. You can. Please do," he answers, dizzy from how lovely her voice sounds when it's full of desire. With her hands so close to his erection, he can't help with thrust weakly into the air. He wants those hands all over him, and he has no shame about letting her know how badly he wants that. There's a reason he hasn't taken his pants off himself: he wants her to do it, because he sees that as undeniable proof that this is something she wants to do. He does not want a performance, because he has long since stopped performing for her. I hope she will want to see me again after this. A dangerous and naïve thought. That's not how things like this were supposed to go, right? He is not supposed to consider a girl he just picked up at a bar as anything more than a one-night stand. Because surely, that's how she views him, isn't it? But maybe if he does a good enough job, that will entice her to want him more. His tail moves to try and wrap around Helaena's waist again, and he has to push it away and pin it to the bed. It thrashes against his grip like a wild snake that just got caught. "No, not yet, you stupid thing," he mutters. "Just wait."

How is she supposed to find that amount of eagerness anything but endearing? She laughs as he scolds his tail like one might a misbehaving child. “You don’t have to. Restrain it, I mean. I, um. I quite like it wrapped around me.” She’d blame the last remnants of the alcohol in her blood for the way her fingers fumble in undoing a simple belt buckle, but honestly? It’s nerves, and no small amount of anticipation. Not necessarily for what’s in his pants, even if it is for that too. She’s just… enjoying this. Not as an escape, not as a desperate need to shut off her own brain. It’s simply good. Part of her is waiting for the other shoe to drop. She doesn’t get to have things this nice without a prize. The rest of her is determined to enjoy this while it lasts. Belt and button dealt with, she tears down the zipper, too impatient to tease. Judging by the eager buck of his hips, he doesn’t mind. “Underwear too?” she breathes against the lightly stubbled skin of his jaw. Her hands are already itching to push the plain, functional dark grey boxer briefs (somehow exactly what she expected) down, tear them off if necessary, but she’ll wait if he wants to. She will, even as her misbehaving hand gently palms at the cock that’s going to feel even better inside her than grinding against her through multiple layers of clothing.

He's almost scared by how sensitive he is to Helaena's featherlight touches. Why does he feels the slightest of electrical shocks coming from her simply palming his cock? Boletus lets out exactly one unrestrained moan before swallowing it down, trying (and failing) to pretend he is not nearly as affected by all of this as he is. That's embarrassing. What am I, a teenager? This isn't my first time, but it feels like it is. How is he supposed to last at this rate? "A-ah..." he exhales, leaning his head back to give Helaena more access to his neck. "Gods, yes. Please, Helaena. Off. Need it off. Now, now." Precome is already leaking out of him, small dark stain forming on dark grey fabric.

She will never understand men who consider being vocal shameful or embarrassing. Every single sound this beautiful man makes underneath her makes her want to fucking ruin him. “Please don’t bite back those gorgeous sounds, baby,” she breathes in his ear as a bit of maneuvering gets his pants and underwear down over his hips and ass, free for him to kick off the rest of the way. “I want to hear every single one. I’ve never learned how to shut the fuck up, myself.” Her hand reaches for his cock even as her mouth kisses down the length of his throat. She can’t resist the urge to bite into the meat of his perfectly muscled shoulder, her blunt teeth using just a bit too much pressure to be considered a nip. What were shoulders like that for if not to be bitten, anyway? “How do you want this?” she asks as her small fingers stroke him just too slowly to be anything but a tease, the pre-come leaking out of him creating a smooth, easy slide. “You can have anything you want.”

He hardly has enough blood left going to his brain to figure out how to completely remove his boxers, mindlessly kicking them away. Who knows where they even end up? His heavy cock is now free, but it's not long before a small hand wraps around the thick length. He lets out another moan, unsure how having the sounds he makes described at "gorgeous" makes him feel. Helaena is not giving him time to figure it out, because now she's lavishing his neck and sinking her teeth into his shoulder. "Fu- Hells, Helaena," he groans, throat vibrating from the deep baritone of his voice. "I- I don't know..." Anything I want? What if I want everything? He might not be able to decide, but his body is desperate for any kind of stimulation it can find. He thrusts into Helaena's hand, another moan escaping him. Fuck, I am not going to last like this. I need to turn this around. "I- I need to touch you. I w-want... need... my mouth on you," he begs, trying his best to stave off a way-too-early orgasm. "Lie down for me. L-let me taste. You're so pretty, gorgeous. I bet you... gods... I bet you taste good." At least with his mouth busy, he can stop sounding and acting like a pathetically horny fool, all hot and bothered just from having someone pumping his cock a few times.

The sounds he makes are gorgeous. The immediate vocal feedback from every single move she makes is heady, her own arousal heightened by every groan of that lovely voice he has. She’s always had a weakness for a man with a nice voice. I bet you taste good. Wait, is he actually offering that? Voluntarily? Not some quick fingering to ensure she was stretched enough it wouldn’t hurt, or some teasing because he likes to hear a girl beg, he’s actually going to eat her out just because he wants to? The thought breaks her brain a little. Her hand only reluctantly stills at his insistence. She was having far too much fun teasing him. Besides, there’s plenty of things they could do while waiting for him to be ready for a second round, if necessary. She has to consciously resist the urge to lick off the bead of arousal gathering at the tip. You don’t know where that’s been. Safety first. “You, um. You don’t have to do that?” Her words are more confused than anything as she meets his eyes in the dim lighting of her bedroom, her hand still loosely wrapped around his cock. “I mean, you absolutely can if you want to! But…” Why would you want to? That’s something people do for people they care about. People they want to make feel good. It’s inherently selfless. Maybe he wants her to return the favor? She would have, regardless. He’d probably sound incredible, falling apart in her mouth. “If you’re sure? There’s um. There’s dental dams in my bedside table, top drawer, if you want.” Safety first goes for both parties. Even if she gets tested like clockwork and never has unprotected penetrative sex, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

For a moment, the fact that she is anything less than completely enthusiastic makes him feel like he just said something wrong. “I, uh… know I don’t have to. Want to. I, uh…” He curses the fact that he looses his ability to be eloquent when someone’s hand is still very much on his very hard cock. She has dental dams? She is so prepared… It’s not a turn off at all. It would be hypocritical of him to think that, as he really only has his wallet stocked full with condoms so that he can hand them out to his friends before a night out. “I like… like oral. Is that odd?” he asks, licking his lips at the thought. “Always have.” His tails softly thumps around the bed, anxiety making its movements a bit erratic. “Am I pushing you, though? I uh, don’t need to do it… if you don’t like that kind of thing.” Even as he says that, he is already thinking about his mouth on her, gorging himself on every lovely sound he could get her to make.

He is so fucking sweet it’s giving her cuteness aggression. Her kiss might be a bit too sloppy, too eager, her hands winding through his hair as she shows him exactly how little she minds him enjoying performing oral by snogging the living daylights out of him. “I do too,” she gasps against his lips when she pulls back to breathe. “I’d love to return the favor, after. For the record, I’m clean, got tested less than a month ago, but I try not to be a hypocrite.” She’s not going to ask anyone to put their mouth on her genitalia unprotected when she’s largely unwilling to do the same. It’s tempting, with Bo (some cocks just look like they need to be kissed) but she tries not to let her horny self make that decision. “You aren’t pushing me in the slightest, you’re just…” Going to ruin me. Going to make the inevitable rejection hurt that much more. Going to set a bar that’ll leave a lot of others looking bad. “You’re spoiling me,” she accuses mildly, still smiling as she presses another kiss to his lips. “So yes, if you want to, fuck yes.”

The feeling of their lips meeting. The fingers in his hair. The scent of her perfume. All of his sense are filled with her, leaving no room in his mind to indulge in those silly, unfounded anxieties of his. His vision is slightly hazy when she pulls away. What it is about her lips that keeps making him dizzy like this? "Clean? Same. Checked... few months ago. I don't... I don't do much. Sexually," he admits, choppy phrases spoken between kisses along her jawline. "Would love you to return it... would love to do anything. Not spoiling you at all." Getting impatient, he grabs Helaena and flips her onto her back, her head bouncing against her pillow. He wastes no time climbing on top of her, large frame threatening to envelope her own. "You are spoiling me, looking... and saying... and doing all of these things..." he says in a low, breathy tone. He so badly wants to reverse the scales, make her look as much of a mess as he feels. Hungry eyes scan her body, and he can't help but fixate on her chest, reveling in the way gravity causes her breasts to droop towards the sides of her body. He said he wanted to taste her. He never said where exactly, right? He latches onto one of her breasts, greedily sucking on her nipple, while taking the other one in his hand and rolling it between his fingers. This is an area he is too scared to use his teeth, as much as he wants to bite and sink the sharp tips into her flesh. No. That is what beastly tieflings that can't control their base instincts do. He is better than that.

Fuck, that's a relief. That means they don't have to be quite as careful. She should probably question why she simply trusts him to tell the truth. It's not like she's going to be stupid. But she might indulge in a few things she wouldn't otherwise. Her sound of surprise isn't far from a squeak as he lifts and flips her like she weighs no more than a feather. It's almost as stupidly hot as the way his much-larger body covers her own, pressing her into the mattress without even trying. Spoiling him? How could she be, she's barely even gotten to touch him yet! Not for lack of trying, but he keeps being a bloody _distraction_, insisting on paying more attention to her than she's had in... Don't think about that. Don't you dare compare him to others or you'll never recover from this. She cries out, in shock and pleasure both, as he sucks on her nipple with a greed that's going to echo in her dreams, her legs wrapping around his waist in search of any kind of friction, anything. Her hands seek out anchors in his hair, his shoulders, and she's being too loud again, she knows she is, he's just sucking on her nipple for gods' sake, but it feels fucking incredible. She can't decide if she wants him to keep going, or move his mouth further down. It's truly cruel she can't have both. "Bo, _please,_" she whines, her nails digging into his shoulders as his teeth graze her nipple, perhaps by accident. "Fuck, feels good, but I want- want more..."

That’s it. That’s what I want to hear. There is a side to him that revels in a partner begging for him, writhing under his strong touch. It’s not one usually explored, pent-up soldiers only focused on getting each other off as quickly as possible. Boletus was no exception to this. There was never enough time, never enough privacy. But right now? He has an infinite amount of both. He’s not ready to let go of her breasts. He spent all night stealing glances at them, eyes fixated on how they were just a little too big for her bra, how the little window of her dress gave him a sneak peek at what he is happily indulging in now. “Mmm, sorry,” he groans, voice muffled by the generous amount of flesh still in his mouth. “Let me enjoy these more. I promise. I promise I’ll do more…” His tail curls around her leg, squeezing slightly. It’s oddly satisfying, have someone so soft and warm to wrap around. It keeps squeezing and relaxing, so rapidly it feels like it’s pulsating. After a moment, he realizes he does have a free hand. It’s just grabbing onto Helaena’s waist… maybe it could be doing more? Gliding down the curves of her stomach, his hand makes contact with her swollen clit, already drenched with arousal. The sudden heat of it makes his tail squeeze harder than he means it to. One could imagine that the strength of his tail is comparable to the strength of its owner.

Let me enjoy these more. Enjoy. He sees her body as something to be enjoyed, not simply a sexual object or something warm, wet and concave to seek pleasure in. He’s savoring her, genuinely, enthusiastically. Enjoying her. I promise I’ll do more. His hand slides down her side, along the curve of her hip, and then… oh, she didn’t realize just how wet she is before he touched her. His tail tightens around her thigh, his own unconscious response, or perhaps an unspoken reprimand to stop squirming, but she can’t. “_Fuck,_” she whimpers, her body trembling with the effort not to rock against the touch of his hand. “Gods, please, I want- please, I need you to touch me, please…”

He truly, truly does not want to pull his mouth off of her nipples, now swollen and red from his attention to them. But fuck, she's so wet and whimpering with want for him. How can he ignore her pleas? "Of course," he answers, licking her arousal off of his fingers before kissing down her body, savoring her smooth skin where his is littered with ridges. Boletus never understood the fascination with a tiefling's ridges. To him, this is so much better. Human skin: an even, pristine surface. It felt so much better to kiss and touch. It looked downright angelic. This is true beauty, he thinks. Once his face is between her legs, he is hit with an overwhelmingly heady scent. He can still pick up her perfume, but it's mixing with the natural smell of her body. It makes him so lightheaded, he feels like he could pass out right here, in a slice of heaven that even someone like him is allowed to experience. His hands grip her thighs just to keep himself grounded. His tail has since let go of her, and is instead raised high and swaying happily back and forth. "I... I haven't. Done this... this... this kind of thing ... too much," he admits, finding it hard to speak through that scent that just makes him want to go insane. "Tell me, use me, Whatever you need to do. T-the horns... you can grab... grab them if you need." This is a major weakness of his that he has just revealed. But Helaena is no enemy, is she? He forgoes the use of the dams. He needs to taste her, or he might die. So, he does. A few experimental licks soon turn into him pressing his face into her cunt and using the flat of his tongue to taste and please to his heart's content.

He might have admitted to little experience, but fuck if his enthusiasm doesn’t make up for it. She’s grateful for the lack of a barrier, grateful for the sound he makes as he licks into her like a man starving, grateful she spotted him across the bar, grateful his friends half-forced him to go talk to her. Grateful that for once her poor decisions led to something good, however fleeting, instead of another regret. She doesn’t want to regret this tomorrow. Her hands reach for his horns the second he gives permission. They’re the perfect anchor, grounding her against the jolts of electricity every flick of his tongue sends through her veins. Is she normally this sensitive? Does it always feel this good? Is she usually this easy to please? She can’t for the life of her remember. “Oh hells, feels- feels good, feels so good, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” she pleads, her head thrown back against the pillows as she just lets herself feel. The sounds she makes and the reactions of her body are honest. Open. Too much, likely, too loud, too needy, not reserved or demure or elegant in the slightest. But they’re real. And to anyone paying attention, they provide the perfect guide for how to please her.

Once her hands are on his horns, he’s gone. If you were to ask him his name, he wouldn’t be able to tell you without really thinking about it. When she pulls upwards, he moves up. When she pushes down, he moves down. When a certain motion of his tongue makes her gasp, he focuses on making that same motion over and over. Even without words, she is telegraphing how she feels in a way he can understand. She is the kind of puzzle he finds enjoyable to solve, the kind he would happily do over and over, just because there must be an endless combination of ways to finish it. Even if the solution is always the same, he is still compelled to solve it. The satisfaction is downright addicting. And it’s not like this act is 100% selfless. The reason he allowed her to grabs his horns, a feature he normally tries not to draw attention to, is because having someone pull on them feels really damn good. They’re connected to his skull, and the pressure that comes along with someone tugging at them brings about a sensation that is akin to a scalp message, except the pleasure permeates deeper into the bone. It is not an experience a human would ever understand, he thinks. That pleasure just encourages him to do more, to not allow his tongue and jaw to tire out as it wrings more and more of those sweet cries out of the woman beneath him.

He pays attention. He learns her, as if this is reward enough, as if he wants nothing else in return but her cries of pleasure. It’s overwhelming. It’s almost too much. It’s not normally like this. There’s nothing performative or disinterested about this, nothing that implies this is simply a suffered step on the way to the main event. “Fuck, Bo, your _tongue,_” she whimpers. He is unrelenting, stubborn, quick to learn and dangerously good at repeating what works. He could have done this for a hundred different women or not a single one, she has no idea. She’s too busy hurtling towards a peak that’s been building since he first started touching her breasts to care. Her hips rock involuntarily against his face, her legs tightening where they’re thrown over his shoulders. She has to remind herself not to tighten her thighs too much for him to breathe. If nothing else because then they’d have to stop, which would be wholly unacceptable. “You’re going to make me come if you don’t- fuck, please, keep going, feels, gods, so good, please,” she begs.

Plush thighs press against the sides of his head, and he wraps his large arms around them in response. His strong grip keeps them closed as much as possible, fighting against Helaena’s voluntarily (or involuntarily?) attempts to open them. Maybe he has actually died and gone to heaven? That’s not such a bad fate for a guy like him, he thinks. Because surely, only angels could sound as sweet as this. Would his previous partners have been this loud were they not stuck on a base with thousands of ears listening at all times? He dares not interrupt Helaena’s journey to her peak with words, so he just resigns himself to thinking them. Come, please. I need to know what you sound like, what you look like, what you smell like… when you do. He is so focused, even his tail stops moving.

He doesn't stop. He keeps going. He follows every single suggestion her body gives him beautifully. There is truly something to be said for a man willing to take direction. She'd say it, if she wasn't a mite occupied having her brain melt out of her skull. She's not sure how you'd classify the sound she makes when she comes. She is sure she doesn't care, because gods, why would she when a gorgeous man is making her come harder than she thinks she ever has with a partner? It hits her like an avalanche. She can feel it coming, but it still shocks her with its intensity, and with how it just keeps going. She's beyond any inhibition, any attempt to stifle the sounds her body wants to make. Her neighbors might complain, but fuck them, she's not the one having parties until the crack of dawn on school nights. Her hands grip his horns like a lifeline as wave after wave threatens to sweep her away. But he's there, a steady anchor even as his mouth's continued efforts threaten to undo her entirely. "_Fuck,_" she whines, the first recognizable words out of her mouth. The overstimulation is almost too much, almost to the point of pain, but it feels so damn good, too, drawing out every last tingling spark of her orgasm.

Every jerk of her body, every cry of pleasure, just adds fuel to a fire that is already burning hot. All of this, raw and uninhibited beauty, is all because of him. It fills him with a strange sense of pride to know that, and it would be dangerous to let that feeling progress into something he would deem “too much” for someone he just met. Until his horns are let go, he does not stop the motions of his tongue and the pressure he applies with his jaw. Even then, it’s not a guarantee that he will, too addicted to the taste of a woman who sounds like this when she comes.

”S-stop,” she finally manages when the overstimulation turns from pleasant to painful. “S’too much, too sensitive, need… gods, need a chance to breathe…” Her hands finally let go of his horns in favor of running through his hair, down his neck and shoulders, soft, almost tender touches. Gentle. Appreciative. Grateful. She is soft and sweet in the afterglow, desiring closeness above all else. Intimacy. “Come up here?” she asks, a soft-spoken request. “Want you to kiss me again. Please.”

Her wish is his command, though that might not necessarily be what’s going through his mind right now. Without a word of protest, he is back on top of her. His base instincts tell him he wants to kiss her roughly, tongue shoved into her mouth and teeth biting into plush lips. But her tone snaps him out of it. Her voice is so soft and pleading. The cadence of her words tells him to cool off, figuratively and literally. So instead, he kisses her with a controlled sort of intensity. It’s somewhere in-between their first kiss by the door, and the more feral kiss he wanted to give her just now. “Was that good?” he asks, even though someone as obtuse as he can be would know the answer without asking. He just wants to hear her talk more.

She sighs happily into the kiss, enjoying the dance of tongues and lips and teeth. Her body might need a moment to recuperate, but that doesn’t mean her desire for him has reduced in the slightest. Still, they have time, right? This night, at the very least. He certainly doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to be done with her and leave. Was that good? She blinks, confused. Wasn’t the way she all but screamed until her voice gave out an indication? “Oh, uh, yes. It was… bloody incredible, actually, but I don’t want you to get too big a head about it,” she jokes, before pulling him into another kiss. He’s utterly soaked in her arousal, the taste suffusing every kiss until her tongue is covered with it, too. It’s primal, and just a little filthy, and she fucking loves it. Her legs wind around his waist, drawing him closer, and it’s no surprise he’s still hard, but fuck it feels so much better with no clothes in the way between them. He’s clean. I don’t have to be too careful. It’d be easy as anything to reach between them and guide him inside her. She’s on the pill, the risks would be minimal. Horny you doesn’t get to make that decision. “What do you want?” she asks again, between kisses slowly growing ever more ardent. “I want… I want you to feel just as good as you make me feel.”

He groans into the kiss as he’s pulled closer, his body a slave to the much smaller person under him. It was so easy to ignore his own erection with his face buried between her legs. But now? Helaena is making it impossible for him to keep a clear head, to not completely surrender to base instincts. It would be so easy to just slide into her and fuck her senseless. She is probably so ready, wet and waiting for him, the diligent job he did with his tongue resulting in a body that is all but begging for his cock. “Condom,” is all he’s able to blurt out. But that probably gets his intentions across.

Condom. She couldn’t agree more. Her hand reaches out, fumbling for the top drawer, and damn it all why does she have so many different kinds? Latex-free, different sizes, ribbed, flavored, fuck, what does it matter? “Please tell me you don’t have a latex allergy,” she begs the universe at large as she manages to get fingers clumsy with arousal to pick up a foil packet that a glance confirms is indeed a condom, and that’s good enough for her. “I have latex-free but I don’t-“ Her voice trails off to a low moan as he nips at the crook of her shoulder. Having to disentangle long enough to get a proper look and search around for the specific slot in her little drawer organizer that had the latex-free condoms, depriving her of his hands, his mouth in the process? Basically torture. “Don’t want to stop…”

He hardly remembers that he just asked for a condom, his mind already filed with thoughts of burying himself in her as deeply he can. As he continues to inadvertently distract Helaena with the kisses and bites along the length of her neck, his cock keeps brushing against her entrance. He really is about to lose his mind. “Mmm, need you,” he mumbles into her skin. “So bad. I don’t want to stop either. I need…” That’s right. Condom. I owe it to her to be safe. He lifts his head to see Helaena fumbling around a drawer of what is possibly the most erotic thing he has seen from her all night. So many options, all organized beautifully. The condoms provided by the Cormyrian military had nothing on this drawer. Seeing the needed object in her hand, he is finally able to tear himself away from her enough to sit up on his knees. His tail is going crazy behind him with excitement. “P-put it on for me?” he asks hazily. It’s just a thinly-veiled excuse to get her hands on him.

"_Yes._" Anything to get to touch him again. It might be sexier to tear it open with her teeth, but she's more worried about foolproof efficiency than sexiness right now, so fingernails it is. "How do you want this?" she breathes as she glances down exactly long enough to line things up and begin rolling it on. If her hands linger even after that, teasingly stroking him as her mouth nips along the ridges down his sternum, towards his ribs, well... It's so difficult not to touch him when she can. She wants to pay attention to his frankly gorgeous pectorals and abdominals too, true works of art, but she's spoiled for choice. I'll have time later. "I just want you, I don't care, you can have me any way you want..." It's hard to tell, but she thinks Boletus might be the sort to enjoy it face-to-face. She also thinks his masculinity isn't fragile enough he'd be offended if she suggested she might enjoy being on top. Still, she mostly just wants him to fuck her. Anything else is secondary.

“F-fuck…” he moans. It is taking every ounce of restraint to not push her into the mattress and take her before she can finish rolling the thin layer of latex on. His hips buck slightly from the way her hands linger on him. She is toying with me, I swear. But I don’t want her to ever stop. It should be emasculating, right? Demeaning?To be such a slave to a woman’s touch? Who cares when it feels this good? He is done trying to hide the fact that he loves her hands on him. He is enjoying the way she stares at him with awe in her eyes, the way her curious lips traces along ridges that he feels are, frankly, eyesores. Instead of answering her question with words, he soon gives into that urge and pushes Helaena a bit rougher than he means onto her back. Large hands grasp her inner thighs and pry them wide open with the sort of strength you would imagine he has. “Like this. Is this ok? Tell me, now.” He is already positioning the tip of his cock where it needs to go, but eagerly waits for confirmation before going further.

She's never been opposed to a bit of manhandling. Much less when it's for a purpose as brain-meltingly hot as this. Gods, she knew he was strong. How could he not be, looking like this? She's felt it herself, from the moment he gripped her wrist onwards. It's still stupidly hot. She lets out a small squeak as she's suddenly on her back, and then he's spreading her legs like he doesn't just want what's between them, he needs it. Still, he asks for verbal confirmation, but there's just a hint of command, just a hint of an order to the words. Tell me, now. That's stupidly fucking hot, too. "Yes, yes," she answers as soon as she can get her mouth to work. "This is bloody fantastic." Her legs wrap around his hips, urging him on, pulling him closer.

He remains disciplined, despite temptation in the shape of a woman below him. The way he enters is slow, careful, methodical. Even as his mind is filled with the overwhelming desire to fuck her, he also wants to be considerate. Everything about him is just a bit bigger than normal, after all. “F-fuuuck. Fuck. *Gods,*” he hisses, the tight fit aided by a generous amount arousal. He can’t hide the way his brow furrows, eyes closed as he feels like he is sinking into utter bliss. He stills once he feels he is as deep as he can reasonably be. “Y-you feel incredible,” he moans. “I… tell me when I can move. *Please.*” His tail loosely wraps around one of Helaena’s legs, the tip of it making little dusting motions on her inner thigh.

Her legs tighten around his hips, pulling him just a little closer, just a little deeper. She moans at the delicious stretch. She’s too wet for it to be uncomfortable, it’s just _good_, so fucking good… “You can move,” she confirms, a little breathless. “Fuck, please move, please…” The angle could be just a little better, if she just… Her legs lifts until her calves are resting on his shoulders, more or less bending her in half, and letting him go deeper in the process. “Like this? W-want, shit, want you to make me come again.”

He hooks his hands under her knees, testing the limits of her body as he presses her legs just a little further down. "Fucking *perfect*," he hisses, slowly starting to fuck into her. At first, his movements are slow. Helaena's grip on him is impossibly tight and impossibly euphoric. He wants to last, so the calm pace is more for him than anyone else. Especially since she wants to come again herself. He has to last long enough for her to do that while his cock is inside of her. Hehas to. He almost drools thinking about it. One of his thrusts must hit a particularly good spot, as her walls clench around him just a bit too tightly, causing him to buck involuntarily. "He-laena... *gods...*" he moans, throwing his head down as he momentarily loses all the strength in his neck. Soon he picks up the pace, biceps flexing as they press Helaena's legs closer to her body, her calves soon in the air instead of his shoulders. This allows him to lean in close, to feel her ample chest pressed against his own, as he brings his face close to her sensitives ears. At first, all he can do is moan into her ear, his breath hot like steam. Eventually, he finds the brainpower to speak his thoughts aloud. "How... how am I supposed to last when you feel so good?" he growls. "Gods... I want you to come on my cock. Tell me how I can... *fuck*... how can I make that happen?" His voice sounds incredibly strained, a normally deep sound quality just getting breathier with every word he speaks. "I'm... very stubborn. I'll make it happen. I *will.*" Sharp teeth bite into the soft cartilage of her earlobe, his tongue licking behind the pain he knows his bite might leave.

There is almost nothing as intoxicating as watching someone lose themselves because of her. It’s usually the best part of this for her, the implicit compliment in every low moan, in every pleasured sigh. She did that. If nothing else, she made them feel that good. It’s her body they lose themselves in. She shouldn’t have been surprised it’s so much better with Bo. She’s keyed up, gloriously sensitive and well on her way to coming again just from how fucking good he feels inside her. But more than that, the way he moves, the way he sounds, this careful, restrained man swearing and groaning into her ear as she clenches around him… he’s driving her insane. Fuck, she hopes his hands leave marks where he’s gripping her thighs. She whines at the sharp pleasure-pain of his teeth on her ear, the strain in his voice, the heat of his breath. “Bo, please… j-just keep going, fuck, please, you feel so fucking-“ Her eyes widen and a shock goes through her whole body as a minute adjustment in angle, barely there at all, means he hits something just right. “Like that,” she urges, begs, her hands clawing at his shoulders as she aches for more. “Just like that, fuck, please, need you to- please!”

Boletus enjoys physicality. He likes to use his hands and body to get results. He likes to always be improving. He likes to see his the results of his self-discipline. Something good has to come out compulsions that have plagued him every since he was small. That something good is a body made purely of muscle. One that is strong and useful. Right now, he feels that Helaena is the ultimate reward: an endless supply of reassurance to feed his fragile ego. He is bringing pleasure to someone so beautiful. Someone worth something. He did it. He was able to be useful, to bring something good to someone who doesn't know him. She is crying and begging for release because of him, and that knowledge makes him feel euphoric. His own pleasure is an added bonus. Being allowed to let go, to loosen his collar, is merely a secondary to his main goal. His next thrust aims to hit that spot again, the one that made Helaena start to claw at his back. He is already addicted to how responsive she is, to how she does not shy away from telling him what she needs. Her blunt nails drag across his scapula, over ridges in the shape of wings he never had, making him moan unabashedly. "Like this," he repeats. To him, it's an order. Like a good little soldier, he always follows orders. "My gods, my gods, oh my gods..." he groans, aiming for that spot over, and over, and over again. Her orgasm is being dangled in front of him like a carrot on a stick, her legs squeezing tighter and her fingers digging into his skin. He just needs to hold out a little bit longer. He can do it. He will do it.

He’s close. She can feel it in the tenseness of his body, the edge to his groans, the hitch of his breath. It’s all but coming off him in waves, but he’s holding back. For her. Gentleman like that aren’t supposed to be real, she thinks hazily as she holds on tight. Strength, stubbornness and attention to detail combined threatens to be her undoing. It’s rare that she can come just from this, but many things about this night are rare. “Just me,” she breathes in his ear, a little irreverently. “Fuck, I’m going to come for you. Won’t take long. Can you hold out for me that long, baby? Want to make you feel so good…” Her voice trails off as she pulls him into a sloppy, desperate kiss, more shared, ragged breath than anything else. She’s hovering on that knife’s edge, so close she can taste it, every single thrust getting her closer, until… “Oh fuck,” she whimpers, clinging to him as bolts of white hot pleasure shoot up her spine from the focal point of where he is still relentlessly fucking her, as if it’s his mission in life. Her head swims with the force of her peak, but it’s not like this, it’s never like this, she doesn’t get to have this. I don’t get to be this lucky, her blissed out mind insists. There’s always another shoe to drop.

He tries so hard to kiss her when her small, unrestrained hand grabs the hair at the base of his neck and pulls him close, but he can't even form his lips into the correct shape. His mouth hangs upon, breathing in her air, so much cooler than his own. Soon enough, she pulls away, says two words, and then her voice goes quiet while her entire body tenses. Mission accomplished. It feels even better than he imagined. Her cunt feels like a damn vice grip, pulsing and fluttering as pleasure fills her senses. How can silence sound so rewarding? "Good?" he asks, his pace slowing a bit as Helaena's breathing starts to bottom out and her body relaxes. His entire body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, droplets beading on the areas between his ridges. He nuzzles his face into the enticing crook of her neck, dragging his sharp teeth against her skin. The taste of her sweat on his tongue makes his head foggy with want. "Tell me... how good I did. How good I was," he groans, his hips keeping up a slow, yet powerful pace. What am I saying? This woman is making me insane...

If he wants his ego fed, she’s more than happy to oblige him. Especially after that. Her brain just needs to restart first. If he wants it to be at least semi coherent, that is. Her actual peak was near silent, but each aftershock he drags out of her with his slow, steady pace is greeted with broken whimpers of pleasure, incoherent cries of his name, pleading for more, don’t stop, please don’t stop. “Feels so good,” she babbles. “Never feels this good, not like this, never want you to stop, want you to make me come like that over and over, want- want to- _fuck_, you feel incredible.” She never wants him to stop, but she does want to see him come. She wants to see him lose himself. If it’s good enough for him, maybe he won’t feel it was a wasted effort. “Want you to come. Please? You feel so good, you’ve made me feel so good, you’ve earned it, a hundred times over. Want to see you let go…” Her hands have returned to his head, scratching at his scalp with a gentleness incongruous with what they’re doing. Her mouth lingers near the line of his jaw, babbling praise between kisses slowly moving towards his ear. “You did so well for me, Bo,” she breathes in his ear, her voice still ragged with pleasure. “Made me feel so good. It’s your turn. Will you come for me?”

“Yes. Yes, yes yes…” he mumbles, drunk off the high of her praise. His words slur, his pace becomes erratic, pleasure he had not been allowing himself to truly enjoy coming to back to overwhelm him seemingly all at once. “Helaena, Helaena, Laena, Laena… fuck…!” He quickly sits upright, grasping onto one of her legs to hold her in place while he continues to fuck into her, chasing and chasing that pleasure that he feels that he has finally earned. His tail copies the motion of his arm, wrapping around that same leg and squeezing like a snake. When he comes, all he can do is grunt madly as he grits his teeth, hips stilled as he spills into her. His entire body is almost unbearably hot, sweat turning into steam. Just for a moment, he wishes he wasn’t wearing that damn condom. He would have loved to fill her with his come, to watch it leak out of her… But that is a part of himself he is not allowed to entertain. He cannot embody the stereotype of a tiefling. Plus, this is just a stranger that he is fucking. He wants her to be more than that. “Gods…” he pants. “I… for you…” He hasn’t stopped completely moving, though his peak has come and gone. Boletus almost finds this slow and lazy pace relaxing, basking in the afterglow of the intense pleasure he earned. When his body cools off a bit, he leans over to place a gentle kiss atop Helena’s forehead.

It’s everything she wanted. Everything she hoped for from the moment she caught him in her net. He is beautiful when he lets go, his hands gripping her almost to the point of pain as he seeks his pleasure, as he finally takes what he wants. “That’s it,” she urges, her own hands straying back to his horns as he pounds into her, as he groans brokenly against the skin of her neck. “Just let go. Fuck, want to feel you…” She regrets even the thinnest of barriers between them, when it keeps her from feeling every single twitch and throb of him inside her. Still, she knows exactly when he gives in, his face tensing at the peak of pleasure and then releasing into an expression of utter bliss. She drinks in every single second, far too aware it’s likely to soon be over. He doesn’t seem the sort to leave before the sweat cools, but it’s only a matter of time. Enjoy it while it lasts. She lets out the softest of moans, a sound of pure satisfaction and contentment, as his pace slows, but doesn’t quite stop, not yet. “Good?” she whispers as her forehead rests against his, seeking reassurance.

"Perfect," he replies. "I don't want to stop." But, it's been a while since he's done anything like this. His cock starts to soften, and he realizes that a round two isn't in the cards for him just yet. So, he stills, savoring the closeness, the connection. He doesn't even dare to pull out. "I'm sorry, Helaena. Just... let me stay like this for a bit." Unless she's done with me. I would really hate that. The way he kisses her echoes his thoughts. Let me stay here. I'm not ready to leave. I want to see you more. The tail that was wrapped around her leg moves to lay across her waist, the appendage heavier than it might look. That fluffy little tip is mostly still, only flickering intermittently.

Let me stay like this for a bit. She relishes lingering in the afterglow, when she can. In the soft touches and soft words of two bodies slowly coming back down to Toril. Her hands wind through his hair as they kiss, slow and lingering and indulgent. This is already incredible. I don’t get to be lucky enough that he wants to stay. She won’t beg him to. She’s too proud for that. The words won’t ever leave her mouth. Still, her touch, her kiss, they do all the talking for her. I don’t want you to go. Stay right here, for as long as you want. Maybe he’d linger in the hopes of a second round, or cashing in on her promise to return the favor and put her mouth on him. Gods, she hopes he does. She’d be more than happy to get on her knees if it meant he’d stay, just a little longer. “Don’t be sorry,” she finally breathes against his lips. “Why in the gods would you be sorry? There’s nothing to be sorry about.” She got off not just once, but twice, and he spoiled her rotten every step of the way. What on Toril could he be apologizing for?

I just thought you'd want me out of the way by now. "Aren't you... I mean... never mind. I'm just apologizing for nothing." The post-orgasm exhaustion catches up with him, as he soon pulls out in favor of adjusting his position in the bed. Now comes the very awkward moment of taking the condom off. He frowns a bit, not really enjoying how the latex, full of his spend, feels on his hand as he takes it off. Thankfully, Helaena keeps a little waste basket right next to the bed, so that he doesn't really need to get up to access it. Into the trash it goes. I could go again. Then I could stay longer. I just need a minute to get there. He doesn't think it would take long at all. Helaena is nothing short of show-stoppingly gorgeous right now, her pale skin flushed and glowing with a radiance that betrays the action they just did together. Her body, so sinfully soft and curvy, is so unlike what he's used to. A rarity. A delicacy. And Boletus, as large as his appetite is, always goes in for seconds. So, he lies down next to her in the bed, spooning her a bit. He starts to nip at her ear, her neck, the pointy ends of his teeth teasing her sensitive skin. Every gentle bite is meant to rile her back up, to get her to say more filthy things that'll go straight to his cock. "I'd love to go again," he purrs, the confidence in his voice fueled by the praise Helaena so generously gave him before. His hand slides underneath her arm to grabs at her breasts, bicep pressed against them. "You are incredible. I want more of you. I love you hands, your mouth, your body..."

She hums happily as he pulls her into his arms. Getting to cuddle through the afterglow is a rare treat, but one she savors every time. Don’t go yet. I’ll do whatever you want if you don’t leave yet. Nothing ever makes her feel as gross or dirty or cheap or used as someone putting their pants back on before they’ve even caught their breath. Of course she knows she means nothing to the people she takes to bed. They largely mean nothing to her, either. That’s the unspoken contract signed as soon as intrigued looks are exchanged across a bar. The stark reminder still feels like a punch in the face every time. So when he begins to nip at her neck, clearly interested in another go, she can’t help but be just a little disappointed. That’s why he’s staying, then. Of course she’ll play along. Her own foolish desires aside, the still-throbbing ache between her legs is proof enough of just how worth it it is to encourage Boletus’ desires. She also just wants to please him. The stupidest part of her heart thinks if she does well enough he might decide she’s worth the effort of sticking around for a bit. “Oh yeah?” Her voice is soft and breathy as her body arches back against his, the plentiful flesh of her ass brushing his groin. “And exactly what part of me would you like to have again?” She moans softly as he grabs at her breasts. The lingering arousal in her blood makes everything just a bit more sensitive, a bit more intense. It’ll take a bit of foreplay, and she will absolutely be feeling it in the morning, but she can definitely go again. “You can have anything you want. Fuck, you’ve more than earned it, it’ll be a miracle if I can walk in a straight line tomorrow with how well you fucked me…”

If Bo were to be honest, he really just wants to go down on her again. He’s already addicted to the way her voice sounds when it’s thick with want, begging him to not stop, overwhelmed by his actions. But as soon as she arches her back, the curve of her ass pressing lightly against him, that more selfish spark within him is lit all over again. “I want to… mm. To have you again. But… are you ok?” he asks, phrases interrupted by kisses trailing across the slope of her shoulders. He is well aware he had gotten quite rough with her towards the end. “I can always just use my mouth on you if you’re too sore. Can you give me one more, you think? I really enjoy making you feel good.” He enjoys it so much, in fact, that he’s always stroking himself thinking about it without realizing, the tip of his cock nudging against her backside. “Helaena, please…”

Please. The word makes her moan as much as the press of his slowly-hardening cock against her ass. "I'm good," she swears, reaching behind her to grip at an ass that might as well have been made of steel, urging him closer. His body couldn't be more different from her own, and she loves it. "I'm not- mmm... not too sore. Not at all. Fuck, you can do anything you want, just don't- don't stop..." Would she have said no even if she had been too sore? Probably not. Not if it meant disappointing him, or risking him leaving. She's gritted her teeth through a lot worse than a bit of soreness to not feel alone for a few moments longer. Can she come again? Maybe, maybe not. Does it matter if he keeps touching her like she's more than just some tart he picked up in a bar? He doesn't normally do this. He'd be like this with anyone. She's still going to enjoy it while it lasts. "Fuck, want to feel you again... Any way you'd like, I don't care, just please..." She can let him think she's begging for his cock if he wants. It's better than the reality that she's begging him not to leave and force her to confront her own inadequacies yet.

Simply being close to someone like this is as intoxicating as any drug he could imagine. It makes him throw away a sort of selflessness he was conditioned to have ever since he was young. She is offering, so he will take. But he intends to make it an even exchange either way. Leaning over her, he quickly grabs another condom and puts it on. A stark reminder of how casual their encounter is. He's had periods where he's gone through them back on base. This isn't any different at the end of the day. Yet it feels different, and not just because he's off base, or with a woman this time. Holding Helaena close like this is actually quite nice, more areas of their bodies making points of contact than before. Her skin is pleasantly warm, her curves so lovely to be pressed against. He hooks one of his arms under the crook of her knee, pulling upwards slightly. But he doesn't want to be too rough. For some reason, she seems so much more fragile than she did when they locked eyes at the bar, like that seductive, vixen-esque persona is slowly disappearing. "Can you lift your leg up for me, please? You can rest it on my hip," he asks, nuzzling his face into her loose curls.

She lifts her leg before he's even done asking, hooking it around his hip as... oh, she's still soaked, and gloriously sensitive. She'll pay for it tomorrow, but who cares when the present feels so good? The tie of her hair must have snapped at some point without her noticing, because it's free, untamed and as wild as she rarely lets herself be as Bo nuzzles into it, the gentle gesture a contrast to his cock slowly stroking through her wet, oversensitive folds. But isn't that what she liked about Bo in the first place? The dichotomy of a large, strong man who is... gentle. Careful. Controlled, almost. He is so easy to like. It's almost easier with the ones she never liked to begin with. "Like this is good?" she gasps, seeking confirmation. She won't have much leverage, but the angle will more than make up for it. She's not going to think about how, well, intimate this is. He's spooning her, still, his body pressed against hers from shoulder to hip, their legs tangled together. Helaena has tried a lot, in the time since she stopped caring and started making terrible decisions. Good sex, fine sex, truly terrible sex, in any number of positions, with all kinds of partners, in most types of settings. This still feels different. It'd be so easy to pretend... Don't do it. Don't do this to yourself.

At first, all he does is tease. His fully hard length just rubs lazily against her, seemingly with no intention of entering. He just wants to pretend. Pretend that he is with someone that likes him, someone that will want to see him again, someone that will think of him and smile when they’re apart. Boletus is a logical guy, but sex always had a way of messing that side of him up. He came into this knowing that he will have to leave when he’s done. When she’s done. Right now, he is pretending that reality doesn't exist. His tail wraps around her lower leg, pulling back slightly to take some of the strain off of her hips. “Helaena…” he moans, in close proximity to her ear with breath as hot as a gentle steam. “You are so, so gorgeous. Let me… let me ta- fuck you again. Please. You are so, so perfect…” He means what he says. He wants to use more beautiful language, the kind a woman like this deserves. But wouldn’t that be a lot for just a casual encounter? He doesn’t care. He nips playfully at her ear, typically inaudible sighs of pleasure able to be heard just because his mouth is so close to her. “I… I need you. So, so bad. Let me make you feel good… you’re so beautiful, so lovely, sound like an angel when my cock is inside of you. Thank you for letting me have this…” What am I saying? It’s like I can’t shut up. She is ruining me. This was a bad idea. I’m supposed to be smarter than this. He only dares to press the very tip of his cock in, groaning deeply from how deliciously wet and open she still is from before. “Let me. Gods, please, please let me.”

Oh no. She’s an idiot, and a fool, and with the things he’s saying, the way he’s holding her, moaning softly into her ear as he teases her, asks for permission… Would he sound that way if he cared? Does he treat every girl like this? He has to. We met just a few hours ago. I’m nothing special. It’s so easy to sink into the fantasy. Just for a bit. Just for as long as it takes him to get his satisfaction and leave. She can let herself pretend for that long, right? You sound like an angel with my cock inside of you. Even his filthiest compliments are sweet. He is sweet. That’s why he’s like this. He’s being sweet, gentle, almost tender. Maybe a man usually forced to be rough just likes to fuck something pretty sweetly once in a while. It makes more sense than someone actually caring about her as a person. Even the thought is absurd. Enjoy it while it lasts. She moans prettily for him as he nips her ear, shivers as his cock rubs along her slit, and is grateful he can’t see more than a glimpse of her face from this position. She couldn’t bear it if he insisted on stopping. She is such a fool. “_Yes,_” she gasps, over and over. “Need you, _please_, need you to- need you filling me up, you feel so good…” Her jaw drops open from the stretch of even just the tip of him inside her. It doesn’t hurt, it’s not even uncomfortable, but fuck, she’s so sensitive it’s a lot. “Please keep going,” she begs. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop…” She has no leverage like this, her leg firmly in his grasp, spreading her open. She can barely even rock her hips back against him, but by the gods does she try. “Please!”

He enters slowly, agonizingly so. His chin rests on Helaena’s delicate shoulders, letting out a long, pleasured sigh as he feels that way she stretches so easily for him. Every time she begs, it’s like another hit of whatever drug could be comparable to that of the feeling one would get when they know someone wants, no, someone needs them. “Gods, yes. You take me so, so well…” Praise makes him feel like he’s in the clouds. He wants to give Helaena that same feeling that she gives him. How strange, to care this much about a girl you picked up at a bar. When he’s fully in, he stays there for a moment. Truthfully, he could stay like this forever. Would she want the same? Or is she already bored, hoping he’ll just hurry up and finish? He is just one pent-up soldier on leave out of a million that come and go in a city as big and politically relevant as the Gate. When he moves, it’s like he’s in no rush at all. He is dragging this out for as long as he can. “Fuck, yes… you’re perfect…” he pants. His head never leaves that spot by her ear, so comfortable, it seems as if that spot was made just for him. He could go on and on singing Helaena’s praises if we were allowed. While his tail holds her leg open, his hand is free to circle her clit, small precise circles on that sensitive area. He wants it to be good for her, too. It evens the playing field, gives her what she’s owed for allowing him to take her like this. “Tell me what I need to do. I want you to feel good. You deserve it, fuck. You deserve it…” His voice trails off as he picks up the pace just a bit.

Gods, she could get addicted to the way he fills her. He’s big, yes, but not absurd, and any lingering soreness is worth it a million times over for the pleasant stretch, the soft sound of pure satisfaction he makes as he slides in to the hilt, the jolt of electric pleasure down her spine as he praises her. The person he loves will be one lucky bitch, her pleasure drunk mind muses. So lucky, to get to keep him. Perfect, he calls her between kisses to that sensitive spot below her ear. She’s far from it, but hells, it’s still nice to hear. Nice to believe he believes it, at least for now. The moment his broad, callused fingers reach for her clit, she realizes she very much can come again, especially if he keeps… ohhh, if he keeps doing that… You deserve it. She moans, wanton and uninhibited as she rocks back against him, wanting him deeper, wanting him closer, wanting more, even as this is already almost too much. “Feels so good,” she whimpers between punched-out moans for every slow, steady thrust of his hips. “Feels so fucking good, you don’t have to do anything but this, Hells, you’re going to make me lose my mind…” What would it be like, to get to have this for more than one night? Strong arms wrapped around her, a deep voice whispering sweet nothings in her ear, a hand to reach for as they search for bliss in each other’s bodies? I don’t get to have that, she reminds herself. No one wants that with me.

Good. Lose your mind. Want me more. Invite me to stay, to come back. Just tell me that you need me. Helaena is so wonderfully responsive. Her body is as honest as her voice, walls tightening around him the minute his fingers start to work her clit. “There we go…” he mutters, voice layered with satisfied moans. “So, so good…” He’s getting more selfish. Her erotic voice, dripping with sex and want, just pushes all logic out of his brain. He wants to come as soon as possible, but also never wants it to end. He can’t help but increase the intensity of his thrusts, reveling in the way each one wrings out another song from her lips “Helaena, *gods*, Helaena. I can’t… you’re too good. More, more. Give me more of you.” He so badly craves this closeness he is not allowed to have, because he already gave his body away to his country. Helaena is simply being allowed to borrow it for the night. Maybe he can be given just a few more nights if he proves himself. His entire life is just a series of trials, anyways. Opportunities to prove that he is worthy in the eyes of those who take one look at him and decide he is lesser than before he even opens his mouth. Helaena doesn’t look at him like that. Not once did she look at him like that. Don’t think about someone else getting to enjoy this: her kind words, her sinful body. She isn’t yours. And you aren’t hers. Who do you think you are, anyways? You are just another notch on a belt.

More. He is greedy in his need, his search for pleasure, for her pleasure. It's nice, to be needed. To be wanted. Desired, admired, even appreciated, for however long it lasts. What would it be like, to be loved by someone like him? To be his, and have him be hers in turn? Such foolish thoughts. She's a fool, and she should ask him to leave, as soon as they're done, and never think of him again. That would be the smart thing to do. She won't. Book smarts aside, she always was a bloody idiot. It's just the sex. It's just because it's good enough my brain's about to melt. It's just because in this position I can almost pretend I'm being made love to instead of fucked. "Please," she cries, over and over. "Gods, Bo, please... Need you, need you t-to, need- don't stop, need you to- need you, please..." Usually, she's careful not to be too needy. Not too much. Not too demanding. Not too bossy. Just a pretty, easy, soft thing to do what they please with that leaves before she becomes more trouble than she's worth. Bo broke through her walls, through every facade, every filter, every mask she puts on to hide, to protect herself, to pretend to be better than who she really is. She'll pay for it, after, she knows it. But for now... For now there is a beautiful man in her bed, fucking her so well it's all she can do not to scream, and she can pretend. At least a little. "Going to- fuck, going t-to..." She comes for him again with a hoarse cry, her oversensitive walls clenching down around him as she trembles in his arms. It would be so easy to get addicted to this.

“G-gods..!” Not yet, not yet… But he can’t hold back, not when Helaena feels like a vice grip, not when they’re in this kind of position, with this kind of closeness. He can’t even hold back the part of him that dares to skirt along edge of possessiveness, teeth sinking into her shoulder when he comes soon after her. His groans are low and deep, and the air he exhales is hot like fire. Like he’s branding her skin. He doesn’t stop moving once he’s drained dry, because he is scared that his fantasy will be over once he does. But biology be damned! His cock softens, and he has no choice but to eventually slow down, the flaccid length sliding out of her after a certain point. He is completely spent. His tail loosens its hold, Helaena’s leg flopping back down to a neutral positions. Soon realizing just how much strength he put behind his bite, all he can do is apologize for letting go in a way he never has before. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispers, kissing the fresh pinkish-red indentations there. “Left a mark. I am so, so, so sorry Helaena…” Even his tail is exhausted, but it still lifts off the bed weakly to sweep along the back of her calf, back and forth, back and forth. Surely, she’ll at least let me hold her for a bit. The was a lot… I haven’t let go like that… ever. She has to be tired too, right?

She gasps, high and just on the edge of pain, as his sharp teeth sink into her shoulder. No marks has been on her list of rules for hookups for as long as she can remember, along with always condoms and _no undiscussed kink_. So this? This is something she hasn't had very often. And fuck, she's never enjoyed it like this before, instead of being annoyed or even uncomfortable. It hurts, a little, but it's the good kind of pain, like hands gripping a bit too tightly or a stretch just on the right side of too much. "_Yes_," she groans, urging him on with a hand fisted in his hair, pushing his face into the crook of her neck. "Fuck yes, feels- fuck, you feel so good..." It's almost too much as he keeps going, fucking her through his peak, her last orgasm leaving her firmly spent, done at least for a bit. Even if it had been, she wouldn't have asked him to stop. She wouldn't have missed out on his low, broken groans into her hair as lingers inside her, as if he doesn't want this to end either, for anything. But all things do end eventually. She makes a small sound, just on the edge of discomfort, as he slides out of her. She is officially sore, the intermittent twitches of her walls enough to make her shudder. "It's okay," she whispers back at his apologies. "It, Hells, it felt really good... Did it break the skin?" She can't help but be affected by the tender press of his lips to the mark he left. An apology, yes, but also almost a... claiming, of sorts. I'm just fuck-drunk. So he likes to bite. He just got lost in the moment.

“No,” he answer immediately, his voice full of guilt and shame. “But, I’m so sorry, you…” I am a beast at the end of the day. How could you do this to someone that let you have her like this? He kisses each teeth mark as if that’ll somehow erase what he’s done. “Wait… felt good? Huh?” Did I hear that right? “Oh…” Boletus is not making any effort to move. Instead, his arms wrap tightly around her waist and pull her closer. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

”Yes, I am very okay. Completely worn out I think, but… Mmm, incredibly okay.” Turns out she likes getting bitten. She’d maybe prefer a warning or a spot that’s easier to hide under her clothes another time, but knowing she made him lose control, at least for a moment? Insanely hot. And it just plain felt good. At least if it’s Bo doing it, a quiet voice she tries to ignore adds. She snuggles back into his arms, keen to enjoy the afterglow. She’s not going to ask him to leave, but she won’t ask him to stay, either. Still, there is nothing in her body language suggesting she is anything but very content to be in his arms. “How are you feeling?” she asks with a kiss pressed to his arm where it’s wrapped around her waist. “Do you need anything?” Checking in should be a two way street. And that second round had been intense, in the best possible way. It’s risking blurring the lines, but… she’s doomed already.

“Oh, I’m great! Really. Really, really great.” The afterglow. It just makes him feel almost drunk, in a way. Do I need anything? Well first, he needs to take off yet another condom. Again, he winces a bit as he does. It just feels gross in his hands. Into the trash it goes, and he’s immediately back to wrapping his arms around Helaena like he needs her to keep from floating away. “I just need this,” he replies absentmindedly, squeezing her waist a little tighter. Oops. That was an inside thought, Boletus. “I mean… I’m just, uh. I’m very tired. I might…” He fakes a yawn. He isn’t tired. He is too anxious to be tired. Burying his face into her hair, he takes a long, deep inhale to calm himself. Nothing has ever worked to soothe his nerves like this scent. It’s a subtle, but lovely scent that smells mostly of citrus. Maybe he can’t fall asleep right now, but if he kept his face here, he just might be able to. She can’t kick out a sleeping person, can she? So, he lies. He lies and pretends that he fell asleep in the middle of his sentence. He slows his breathing and relaxes his grip on Helaena’s body to sell the act. But eventually, he really does fall asleep. The last thing he remembers is a soft, angelic voice calling out his name.

”Bo?” He fell asleep still holding her, his breath slowing as he buried his face in her hair. The sleep part isn’t a first. It’s not that unusual for her partner to be dead to the world by the time she slips out, shoes in hand. I just need this, he’d said, and squeezed her waist, as if all he wanted was to hold her. That part is a first. She’s functionally trapped unless she wants to risk waking him. But it’s… nice. It’s nice to pretend, if just for a few moments longer. That she’s wanted, needed, even cherished. That she’s worth something, at least to one person. She can let herself pretend a little longer. What’s the harm? After all, he fell asleep. If he gets mad she stayed exactly where she was that’s on him. Bo wouldn’t do that, that quiet voice insists. She lies awake for a long time, heart in her throat as she does all she can to not disturb him. As she drinks in what it must be like, to fall asleep being held by someone who cares for you. But eventually, her body makes the choice for her. She drifts off, worn and sore but warm and held, and just for once, she doesn’t feel alone.

5:30am. On base, he has to get up at 5am. Having been on leave for a bit, his body has so generously allowed him 30 more minutes of sleep before he is shocked awake by the compulsion that tells him if he doesn't wake up *right now*, his entire day will fall apart. He has no idea when he actually fell asleep. All he knows is that he stayed up quite late last night, so a normal person would still be sleeping. He does not have that luxury. Looking down, he sees his body is only half covered by a blanket. That’s because the woman sleeping next to him has wrapped herself up in it, essentially hogging it. Well, it is her blanket, and Boletus runs hot anyways. Her hair is a mess of blonde curls. Her face is smushed between the mattress and his chest, one cheek squished up towards her nose. There is a faint snoring coming from her. It’s a bit high pitched, almost like a tiny whistle. She is quite possibly the cutest person he has ever seen. He can’t move without disturbing her. He isn’t interested in moving, anyways, because how wonderful is it to wake up next to someone like this? He wants this every day.

Helaena sleeps. She often struggles with insomnia, but once she does sleep, she does so with conviction and determination, snoring, blanket hogging, heat seeking missile that she is. She expected to wake up alone, or to him leaving. She did not expect to wake up cocooned in almost blistering warmth, face first in some excellent pectorals, with the same arms that held her last night still loosely wrapped around her waist. Is she imagining this? Her mind wouldn't be that cruel, would it? Her head lifts, just a little, to see familiar ridges lining a sternum she traced with her tongue just the night before, a jaw she kissed while he played with her breasts, freckled cheeks and warm yellow eyes.. that are very much open. She dares to smile at him, a little sheepishly. "Good morning. I, uh... I didn't mean to trap you or anything." She's... confused, mostly. She's never woken up with someone in her bed who seemed to be making no move to leave. It's rare she takes hookups home with her in the first place. She has no cognitive schematic for how to deal with this. But it's... nice? If a bit too warm, he really is a bloody furnace.

Boletus has no idea how long he spent just staring at a sleeping woman like some sort of desperate, lonely freak. He counted hairs on her head. He counted the breaths she took. He counted heartbeats. His mind is in a daze, right in the middle of counting eyelashes until a voice snaps him out of it. Caught in the fucking act. “O-oh! Good m-morning!” he stammers. “Ah! Y-you didn’t trap me. Not at all. I wanted to… uh…” She caught me staring her at. You’re done here. She clearly doesn’t want someone clinging to her like this. That what he figures from the tone of her voice, seemingly distant and put-off by him to his ears. “I haven’t been awake long,” he lies. “And, I had a long day. Your bed is comfortable and I mean, a-after last night, I totally needed the rest.” Another lie. “Plus, I, uh, I just. You know, what if someone… broke in? You live alone, and I…” Lying, lying, lying. It’s all he can do when he feels his walls start to break. They aren’t even good lies. I just wanted to stay.

Oh Gods, he looks utterly mortified, as if he's done something wrong. It triggers her instinct to soothe, to appease. To please. "Bo, hey, it's okay," she tells him with a light laugh. "It's not like I told you to get the fuck out of here." It usually just... happens that way anyway. Bo had already stayed longer than most by the time he fell asleep. "I would have woken you up if I minded. You just... fell asleep. It happens." She smiles at him, but it's still a little shy. She's not sure what happens now. Sex is just sex, but lingering after? Holding each other in their sleep? That, she's not used to. Part of her wants to default to offering another round. Maybe cheekily kiss down his chiseled abdomen, return the favor from last night. But this moment feels... fragile. Precious, almost. She doesn't want him to just want another round. "Would you, um... You don't have to go yet, if you don't want to. You could..." Her voice trails off, unsure. She'd offer her shower, maybe some breakfast, but it just seems... desperate. Like prolonging the inevitable. If he wants to go he'll go, and there's nothing she can do about it.

At first, he is simply stunned that Helaena is trying to… comfort him? Not kick him out? Not make room for the next guy? Not bored? Not tired of looking at him? The word “shower” makes his tail thump against the bed in interest. Boletus is a man of routine. He is usually in the shower by 6:30am, give or take a few minutes. The word reminds him that he sweat quite a bit last night, as was to be expected. He feels gross all of a sudden, a feeling of dread that can no longer be staved off by counting the various features on Helaena’s body. That sex was essentially a workout, and he also always showers after a workout. He fell asleep instead. His compulsion wins over his anxiety, the voice that tells him that he is overstepping the unspoken agreements of a one night stand. Even if Helaena literally offered the shower in the first place. She’s just being nice. She’s probably nice to everyone. “I would love a shower, if you don’t mind. Last night, I, uh… well. I sweat a lot. I run hot. You know. Tiefling. Probably from one of the hotter layers of the Hells. Somewhere in my bloodline. Waaaay back in there somewhere.” He rambles on and on, too scared to let Helaena give him an answer he doesn’t want to hear. ”Why are you still here? Go home. I’m through with you.”

"Well, a shower I can manage, but it's not... huge or anything." Lower City bathrooms tended towards the modest. At least outside the Steeps and Bloomridge. Her tiny one bed is lucky to even have a proper shower stall. With his mention of it, she too notices the dried sweat and undeniable stickiness that follows sex. There's a reason her usual decompression routine includes a scalding-hot shower. "I... I could join you, if you wanted? Again, you don't have to," she hastens to clarify. "But..." They're both still very much naked, their bodies pressed together, the evidence of both their enjoyment still drying on their skin. She wouldn't be opposed to more. She'd be even less opposed to more closeness, perhaps something as mundane as someone to wash her back. Don't get absurd, why would he want to do that for a random one night stand? "It might be nice?" Her eyes are just a little too earnest, just on the edge of pleading as they meet his. Unfortunately, she is desperate. She'd do almost anything to prolong the inevitable, to get to bask in this for a bit longer. She just... wants him to stay. At least for a little longer. Almost no matter what he wants in return. Because, well, in her experience, very few things don't have a price. Much less something as rare and precious as a person willing to pretend, at least for a few hours, to care enough to treat her as more than a pretty thing to fuck.

“Please,” he blurts out. “Please. I would love it if you joined me.” I love her eyes. They are so honest, so expressive. Boletus feels like she actually wants him to stay. Even if she were just the world’s best actress, he desperately wants to believe. Then I’m staying. I’m staying until she kicks me out. I don’t have any other plans, anyways. It only takes the smallest hint of reassurance, and he got it. Now, he will cling to whatever this is as long as he is allowed. But not without the knowledge that this could never go beyond a short fling between a soldier and a young woman. He isn’t that naive. “It’s fine that it’s small. The showers on base aren’t all that big, either,” he admits with a laugh. “After you?” He dares to press a hesitant kiss to her cheek, still flushed with the afterglow of the night before.

Her blush deepen at the sweet, simple gesture of a kiss to the cheek. Why is this affecting her after what they did just hours before? He was quite literally inside her, twice, and she’s affected by something she wouldn’t hesitate to do in front of her grandmother? “Yeah, okay,” she agrees, smiling like a fool as she presses a gentle kiss, no more than a peck, to his lips. It’s only reluctantly that she extracts herself from their little cocoon in her bed, but luckily her bathroom isn’t far. She turns on the water before turning to check if he’s actually joining her. “Nothing fancy,” she reiterates, a little sheepishly. “But there’s hot water, without a time limit, and I’ll find you a fresh towel. Wait, are time limits for showers an actual thing or just something they have in movies?” Her eyes light up in curiosity at even this simple, mundane question she’s never had the chance to ask anyone. For all her struggles with burnout, her curiosity and desire to learn haven’t faded.

They have indeed already have sex at this point, two naked bodies just slamming into each other for a prolonged amount of time. Yet he feels oddly exposed, covering his groin with his hands folded in front of him as he follows Helaena into her bathroom. It was delayed, of course, because the quick peck on his lips made his heart flutter in a way that left him temporarily stunned. Why am I like this? His eyes focus on the water coming out of the little spout, since It feels rude to stare at Helaena right now for some reason. “Unfortunately, you are correct. 7 minutes is actually all we’re allowed,” he replies lightheartedly. “So no time limit? What a luxury!” But 7 is a strange number. Boletus never goes over 5. Even at home when he still lived with his parents, he never went over 10. They were military people, too. Strict regimens are all he’s ever known. It’s endearing to have a civilian ask such a strangely innocent question about his every day life. Wait, isn’t Boletus technically a civilian right now, too?

"Seven? That's such an odd number. You'd think they'd choose five or ten. Even six, to be divisible for ten in an hour." She blushes, realizing her specific brand of numbers autism might not be the best to discuss with a hook up, even one who lingered. So instead, she turns to face him, and pulls him under the spray with gentle hands laced behind his neck. Her eyes don't stray below his shoulders. "Best to enjoy the unlimited hot water when you have it, right?" Her voice is softer now, his face close enough to count out the individual freckles dotting his cheeks. Feel free to enjoy me while you have me. If you want to. It takes her a moment longer before she gathers the courage to kiss him, just a gentle press of lips while her hands return to the familiar territory of his soft hair. It doesn't have to be more than that. She's happy with anything, nothing, whatever he wants. But she likes kissing him. And she's going to enjoy it while she can.

He likes kissing, too. Always has. Horny soldiers don't really have time to indulge in it, though. He's more used to hands shoved down his pants rather than these small and tender meetings of lips. "Is it really unlimited?" he teases, pulling away from her. "Because I might not ever leave if that's true." The shower is indeed pretty small. His tail alternates between smacking the tile wall and the plastic shower curtain, the wet fluffy tip flinging water everywhere. Why is his tail wagging so much? Obviously, it's because he can't resist going in for another kiss, hands on Helaena's waist, yet not pulling her in any closer. The hiss of the stream of water is perfect for covering up how loudly his heart beats in his ears.

Might not ever leave. Fuck, he can't say things like that, not even as a joke, or she might start to believe him. You can stay as long as you want, the foolish part of her screams. Please stay. She might have said something, but then he's pulling her into another kiss, soft and slow and sweet in a way that shouldn't fit such a large man with an occupation like his, but does. Gods, she might not ever get used to the way he kisses. It's obvious he's not the most practiced, or perhaps it's simply been a while, but... he kisses like he means it. She melts into it, her body swaying towards his without her really letting it. His hands are on her waist, so maybe he doesn't mind, but she doesn't want to push it. "Until the hot water runs out," she breathes against his lips. "But that's usually at least half an hour. We have plenty of time."

Half an hour? That's a terrible waste of water. He can't find it in himself to truly care. The water could get cold. It doesn't matter. The fantasy is just too appealing. So he pulls her closer until their bodies are pressed together, tail wrapping around her lower legs. "Please tell me if this isn't ok," he worries. "I just like doing this with you." I like you. I'm so sorry.

"This is very very okay," she confirms. I just like doing this with you. Kissing? Showering? Being sweet? The answer is the same. She can't seem to stop kissing him. She doesn't want to stop kissing him. She's so utterly fucked, and not in a way that has anything to do with the two condoms at the top of her bedroom waste basket. She just... likes him. She wants him to like her, too, and not just for the way she looks or her willingness to put out after a drink and a bowl of food truck curry. So she returns to something safe. Something she knows how to do. Something that isn't this careful, gentle sweetness that makes her think this is something more than it is. He'll be gone by noon. Don't get any ideas. The kiss deepens, at first just a little, her hands winding through his water slickened hair as she licks into his mouth. She moans softly, perhaps just a little intentionally, as his teeth brush her bottom lip. This must be why he's staying, right? He wants more. At least that she knows how to do.

He truly didn't intend for things to progress beyond this, because he's just that naïve when it comes to these types of arrangements. She turns his chaste kisses into hungry ones, and that tells him all he needs to know about how this is supposed to go. Biology cannot win out against a willing body pulling him even closer, moaning into his mouth and biting at him she all she wants to do is swallow him whole. His cock starts to stir, just like it's supposed to. She said this was okay, so... But the lust-addled haze of last night is gone. His anxieties about sex are gone, too, since he seemed to do pretty well. They're only replaced by anxieties about what comes next. "Helaena, hold on," he gasps, pulling away. "I... uh. Can I say something?"

He asks her to stop, so she does. Helaena’s done a lot of things she doesn’t particularly like herself for, but pushing herself on someone unwilling isn’t one of them. Her breath is a bit too heavy as she withdraws, her eyes hooded with fast-building desire as she looks up at him, confused by the interruption. It’s not her fault it’s so nice to kiss him. It’s not her fault it would be _so easy_, despite her soreness, despite the fact she came so hard she could barely think three times the night before, to pull him back inside her for another round. Gods, she’d let him. “Is something wrong?” she asks, her voice a mix of confusion and concern. She’s not trying to look seductive, but, well, between the water slicking her skin, her heavy breathing, her still-swollen lips and the very prominent mark from his teeth still on her shoulder, she hardly looks demure or chaste.

Bo! What are you doing?! He can literally hear Sellian's voice in his head yelling at him right now, for interrupting, for stopping *this*- His eyes wander over Helaena's body, freshly-kissed lips, skin flushed from the heat of the water. The bite mark. Gods, it felt good to sink his teeth in- No. No. You're better than base instincts. You're better than a tiefling that just wants to fuck and breed without a care in the world. "N-nothing is wrong. You're just... I just..." Logic simply abandons his brain the more he stares. "Did you have any plans today?" What in the hells are you asking?!

She grins up at him, just a little teasingly, and cups his face in her hands. I have no plans except for you. "No, it's a Ninthday, I don't have any classes, and I didn't make any other plans." Are there other things she should do, such as the homework necessary to salvage her precariously dipping grades, or perhaps an attempt at basic life functionality such as finally dealing with that stack of dishes in her kitchen sink? Yes. Is she willing and able to blow that off in favor of the fact that having Bo here makes her feel, well... anything but awful or numb? Yes. There'll be a price. There always is. But for now, she's... very close to happy. And even though she knows it's stupid, she knows she'll regret this eventually, for right now it's just... nice. To be wanted. To be treated with care, even tenderness. It's worth it. Or at least she thinks so right now. "The craziest plans I have involve the very handsome man currently in my shower, but he has to agree to those, too."

His tail reacts quicker than his brain can, wagging rapidly back forth. Smack, smack, smack. Plastic and tile. “Me? I’m in your plans?” I don’t have to leave yet? In his excitement, he goes right for her neck, kissing and licking with a sudden intensity. His face comes dangerously close to that bite mark, and it takes all of his willpower not to sink his teeth right back into it. I earned this. “I agree,” he breathes against her skin, hands grasping desperately her breasts, the water aiding the glide of his fingers against filled out flesh. “I agree. Anything with you, whatever the plans are. I just want breakfast after this, with you.” I’ll do anything to keep this for just a little longer. The boy has an appetite!

Breakfast? Fuck, she’ll make him a spread fit for royalty if he just promises to not… stop… mmmm… His lips graze the bite mark on her shoulder, and she shivers despite the warmth of the water as she clings to him. It’s already there, right? No harm if he kisses it, or runs his teeth over the tender flesh, or, fuck, adds more like it… He’s eagerly squeezing her breasts before she remembers she should probably do something but just stand there, lost from something as simple as having her neck kissed. Her hands run down his shoulders, his arms, his waist, fingertips tracing hard-earned muscle overlaid with ridged cartilage, before reaching his hips to pull him closer. Anything with you. “I promised- ah, promised to return the favor last night, didn’t I?” His arousal is pressing into her lower stomach, so she has no illusions about him not being interested in this particular plan for the morning. “Want- fuck, would you let me? Want to see you…” She does. She also wants to treat him so well he never wants to leave, and few men in her experience ever turn down a blowjob freely offered.

Bo is one of those “few men.” Not that he’s turning it down, but it’s just not his inclination. He would rather be on his knees than see someone else on theirs. He does not like attention solely on him, and standing there, having someone use their mouth on you while all you can do is stand there and take it? It feels like a spotlight that he wants to shy away from. Like his tail, his cock is more honest than he is, able to navigate through his various hangups that have led him to have these very specific thought processes. It twitches in interest at the offer, the shower water washing away any proof that he’s already leaking just from the thought of plush lips wrapped around his- “Don’t have to,” he gasps, managing to pull his mouth off of that bite mark he can seem to take his eyes off of. “B-but you can. I wouldn’t mind at all. Just don’t feel like you have to. Please. Ah, but your mouth is gorgeous, I might not… not last long if you use it on me like that.” But finishing fast would be a favor for her, he thinks. The less time on her knees, the less opportunity for him to feel some type of way about it. Less time for his heart to outrun his head.

His selfconscious admission, paired with a compliment that sounds genuine? She's so fucking screwed. "You don't have to worry about a thing," she reassures him before pulling him into another kiss, slow and indulgent but hungry, her hands still roaming the body she didn't have nearly enough time to explore the night before. "All you have to do... is focus on feeling good, yeah? Just feel..." Her mouth moves no further down than his jaw, then the lines of a corded neck, her lips as soft and appreciative as her hands. "I don't feel like I have to do anything. I want to. You can always, always tell me to stop, but I'm right here because I want to be. Because I want you to feel as good as you made me feel last night..." A shudder goes through her at the thought. She's not entirely sure she could go again and be able to walk after, but her body hasn't gotten the memo. Boletus makes her inclined to be greedy. To want more. "You can touch me any way you like, okay? I'd like it if you did," she confesses before nipping infinitely gently at a tendon on his neck. "I'd like that a lot."

He feels his entire body start to heat up in response to Helaena’s hands roaming all over his chest, fingers tracing every ridge, every divot. Obviously, it’s an insane turn-on to have someone explore him like this, to see her pupils blown with desire for him and him alone. At the same time, he just feels like hiding. Attention to features that make him stand out from humans and elves, no matter how good that attention makes him feel, always fills him with a smallest bit of shame. I should count myself lucky that she seems to like my body. Maybe she hasn’t been with a lot of tieflings. He is a novelty. That’s okay with him. He can only hope and pray she doesn’t get too bored too fast. He just has to be interesting enough for 19 more days. It’s addicting, being touched like this. Every kiss on his neck makes him feel like he’s floating in heaven. Even if all of this is just because she likes his body and nothing else, it’s better than nothing. Her words only encourage him to give in, to believe she is being honest about wanting more, about wanting him to just surrender to pleasure and doing whatever he likes. Not because she wants to please him, but because she likes him for more than just this. She is right here because she wants to be. His hands move to grab at her ass, a place he has not been able to truly appreciate with the rush of emotions front last night. His nails dig into her flesh before moving just a bit lower to appreciate the way her curves turn into plush thighs, fingers tracing the line that acts as a border between the two. “I need you so, so bad,” he admits. “Your mouth. I want that. You put the idea into my head and I really, really want that. I-I can return the favor. I promise.”

There are few things as intoxicating as watching someone begin to unravel under her touch. Especially when she's hardly doing anything at all. He's as desperate as I am. "Shh, I'll take care of you," she promises, her hand finally reaching further down than his hips to gently grip him in her too-small hand, stroking just slowly enough it won't do much but tease. "I'll take such good care of you, baby, you don't have to worry about a thing." Her grin up at him is just a bit teasing but full of promise as she finally begins to move down his chest, covering the territory her hands have charted with her mouth. She looks up at him before briefly sucking one flat nipple between her lips, just to watch him squirm. She moves lower, and lower, until she gets on her knees, uncaring of the hard surface of the tiled floor. But before she does anything else, she nuzzles into the gorgeously ridged line of his hipbone, laving every inch of it with her tongue. "You're bloody gorgeous, do you know that?" she mumbles into the soft skin. "A godsdamned work of art." The lure of the beautiful cock waiting for her (as previously mentioned, some cocks just look like they need to be kissed) is undeniable, but she can't resist the urge to kiss the soft line of hair leading down to his groin first. Then she can't wait any longer, and dips her head to lick off the bead of arousal forming at his tip. There's no condoms in her bathroom. She couldn't care less if she tried. Her eyes meet his with her lips just an inch from the tip of him. "You can tell me to stop at any time and I will. I'll tap your thigh three times if I need to stop to breathe. Otherwise... You can do anything you want." And then she begins to cover the length of him in slow, savoring licks of her tongue, slicking him up with her saliva as if the water won't wash it away. He deserves more than a quick, mediocre suck, rushed out of laziness or because her knees got sore. No, she's going to spoil him rotten.

1

Steffi 🍄 [Tavs:Mushroom Mob]

.mushrooming

Close

For a moment, he wonders if he died on the battlefield, a bullet piercing his brain or heart or some other vital organ organ. Because this can hardly be real. He just can’t wrap his head around Helaena’s mouth on him in places no one else has bothered touch him before. He feels like he can’t hide. He’s being undone, opened up like a present, and Helaena is undoing the pretty little ribbon with nothing but her teeth. He is *moaning*, low, indulgent noises from the base of his throat, as she sucks on a nipple, licks the ridges that line his ribcage. He does not care to stifle them, because why would he? She knows he wants to hear them, and he lives to please. He might even kill someone just to get her to keep touching him like this. He has killed for less. Sweet words only add to the heady sounds of her moans as she licks up his length, and he desperately wishes that they weren’t in the shower so he could see her drool all over him. “*Hells,*” he groans through gritted teeth, brows furrowed so intensely he almost looks like he’s in pain. “Keep going. Please, please keep going.” It’s not like he’s never been sucked off in a shower before. Why does it feel so damn different? It must be because she’s special.

There’s almost nothing he could ask for right now that she wouldn’t give him. Keep going? She wouldn’t dream of doing anything else. Every sound he makes is beautiful, only winding her up more until she’d worry about soaking through her clothes if she was wearing any. She takes her time. She lavishes every inch of him with attention. But then she sets to systematically ruining him. There was a time where she didn’t know how to do this. Where she fumbled, gagged, struggled. But she’s always been a quick learner. And she was very determined to learn. Spite is one hell of a motivation. Her lips slowly sink down on his length, growing accustomed to the weight and girth of him in her mouth before pushing herself. He’s not the biggest she’s had, but he’s up there. Still, stubborn. And fuck but the sounds he makes are a good motivation. The hand not gripping the base of him rests on his thigh, squeezing the powerful muscle without her consciously thinking of it as she slowly takes him deeper, deeper, deeper… She could crow in victory as her nose is buried in the soft curls covering his groin, the watering of her eyes and the ache in her jaw small prices to pay for the exquisitely overwhelming sensation of only just barely being able to breathe. It wasn’t a lie when she said she wanted to do this for him. Oral is something she’s enjoyed with every partner but her first. It makes her feel powerful. It makes her feel desired. It empties her mind in a way almost nothing else does. She moans softly around the length of him, her hand on his thigh clenching without her realizing. It’s only reluctantly she pulls back, but it’s not for long as she sets a slow, indulgent rhythm of taking him to the root and sucking on him as she withdraws. There are very few things she can confidently say she’s good at. This is one of them.

This is a far cry from hurried oral done only to satisfy a physical need, silent agreements between men in arms, to do it and then forget it ever happened mere seconds later. No, this is something akin to a religious experience. Except he is the god, and he is the one being worshipped. For someone who has long resigned himself to act wholly in the service of others, something like this quite literally turns his world upside down. To have someone who is both wholly enthusiastic and deliciously talented swallow his cock whole like it’s nothing? More than that, how can she look so gorgeous doing it? She actually looks like she’s enjoying it, like this was her calling in life. Maybe it is, the way her lips look so at home on his cock, they way her throat vibrates happily every time the head hits back of it, the way her eyes look utterly enraptured for getting to do this for him as she looks up despite the splash of water making it somewhat difficult for her to do. It is embarrassing, really, already close to spilling over. No amount of willpower can drive him off course as he feels as if he is speeding towards an early release. “H-Helaena…“ he growls. “C-close. Fuck… wait. Your mouth, careful, I don’t wa-“ He grabs her wet curls in a fruitless attempt to get her mouth off of him before he comes, but he’s far too late, far too weak to oral as intoxicating as this. Boletus hates to swallow. The taste is something he never liked. He has always directed men to simply come on his face, his horns, hair, anything but in his mouth. So he is understandably horrified that he could not catch himself in time, Helaena not letting up as she sucks him through his orgasm. “Fuuuuck…” he moans, a noise that betrays the abject horror on his face. “I- I didn’t. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to come in your mouth… I s-should have warned you…”

She only pulls off once she’s swallowed down every last drop he has to give, groaning in satisfaction as his hips twitch towards her, just a little, even that a sign she did well. It’s been a while since she did this without a condom in the way, so the sudden flood of warm, salty-bitter spend startles her a little. Not nearly enough to do anything but focus on ensuring he enjoys every last second of this. She’s never minded the taste, and the reaction to swallowing is usually more than worth it. “Don’t be sorry,” she finally groans as she looks up at him, her voice a tiny bit hoarse. “Don’t ever be sorry for that, holy shit.” That’s the only real problem with this. Sucking someone off is an incredible turn-on for her, and, well, to many, if they’re done it’s done. She’s throbbing, achingly wet, desperate for more… even if he doesn’t want to return the favor, would he be offended if she reached for a toy? Maybe he could watch. “Did you enjoy that?” she breathes, eyes wide and dark with arousal as she looks up at him, her swollen lips still slightly parted as she pants for breath. Tell me I did well. Tell me how much you liked it.

She sucked the words right out of him, unfortunately. So he drops to his knees, the thick ridges there protecting him the impact of the shower floor, and grabs the back of her head to pull her into a violent kiss. She said I can do what I want. Sharp teeth nick her bottom lip, just a tiny bit of blood welling up from the small puncture wound, and he licks it right up with a sweep of his tongue. He winces when he tastes a small bit of himself of her, but the metallic taste of blood makes up for this, causing him to moan loudly into her mouth. Tieflings like rare and raw meat. The bloodiness of such meat was always his favorite part. But indulging in that is what fiendish hellspawn with no control over their faculties like do. And Bo is better than that “Sorry. Sorry, sorry,” he grunts. “Didn’t mean to hurt. I just want you. Not enough room in the shower to do what I want.” From his position on her floor, he lifts Helaena up easily into a bridal carry. Once he stands, he kisses her over, and over, and over. “Are you ok?” he pants, the yellow glow in his eyes seeming brighter. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself. But your turn.” He bites her neck. “Oral? My hands? Fucking you? Anything, all of it.” He so badly wants to pierce skin, but he only lets his teeth rest against her carotid artery, the pulse bounding from the heat of the shower water. “I can go again. You did good. I can go again.” He’s not wrong. Something about what he did earlier made him fully hard again. But what was it?

Her head spins from the forcefulness of the kiss, a whimper of pleasure-pain muffled against his lips as his teeth nick her, just enough to draw blood. "Don't be sorry, fuck, don't ever be sorry," she groans. "You can be a little rough, I won't break." She really, really wants him to be. Every time the strength hidden beneath his gentle touch is unleashed, she wants more. Her squeak of surprise is hopefully covered by the rush of the water as he picks her up, but then he's kissing her again, kissing her like he needs her lips to breathe. "I'm s-so, ah, so okay, so okay..." Her turn. The shudder that thought sends through her makes her happy he's holding up the vast majority of her weight right now, or her knees might have buckled. She whines as he bites her, just a little more gently than she wants, but it's still... It's still... "Anything you want," she gasps out. "Anything you want. Just want- just want you. Want you..." She wants at least some part of him inside her, but she's not picky as to which. You did good. Simple praise, short words stuttered out between nips to the sensitive skin of her neck, but genuine. Sincere. She did good. She lets herself sink into the happy haze of being praised, being _rewarded_. Bo wouldn't take advantage. She can just enjoy it. "Want you inside me," she babbles. "Fingers, tongue, cock, I don't care, just... just want you..."

“I want to be inside of you, too.” With his tail, he flicks the shower head off. Seems like it can be fairly prehensile when it listens to him. If he were to succumb to his instincts, Helaena would be properly fucked against the shower wall, load after load being pumped into her until he ran dry. But that isn’t fair to her. It’s careless and risky behavior. That sort of sex is reserved for established partners, and Boletus has no time for something like that in his life. He wouldn’t want to subject her to having to be with a man that could be sent off to his death at a moment’s notice. But his restraint only goes so far. He might be able to hold back from fucking without a condom in the shower, but that’s about it. Both of them sopping wet, they leave a trail of water all the way to her bed. His tail seems to be the only part of him that has any logic left, hooking onto the towels Helaena left and bringing them along. It tosses them onto the bed, while Bo tosses her onto the crumpled towel pile. This is messy, unplanned, and not like him at all. Gods, it’s so sexy when her chest bounces like that. No time to examine how he’s treating her rougher than he wants to. He wants to be tender and loving, to show her that there could be more between them than just this. But she clearly does not want that from him. Helaena just wants a man to fuck her well, to let her turn her brain off for a minute. Or an hour. Or all day. He can do that for her. He wants to do that for her. Because he really likes her. And when Boletus likes someone, he will do anything they want.

She moans, wanton and uninhibited and too loud, as his fingers sink into her with no warning, almost too much despite how soaking wet she is. Her voice rises to a cry that'll definitely have her neighbors complaining as his teeth sink into her thigh, the mix of pain and pleasure exquisite when she's this wound up. Even now, he's saying please? She grabs his horns without a moment's hesitation, pulling on them the same way she did the night before when he was eating her out like his life depended on it. "Bo, please, _please_, need you to- _ah!_" Her whole body jerks at the harsh stimulation to her clit, already hypersensitive. She squirms away from it, it's definitely too much, she's too sensitive, too sore, still feeling the effects of the two rounds from the night before. "Wait, no, slow down," she pleads, an edge of discomfort in her voice. "Still- still sore, sensitive, sorry, need you to- need you to slow down..."

The whirlwind stops at her command. “Sorry… sorry. Getting carried away,” he whispers, peppering kisses up and down her thighs. Did I read her wrong? Am I being too much? His tail loosens its grip on her ankle and it flops onto the floor with a loud thud. “I’ll make it up to you. Let me make it up to you,” he begs, guilty, demon-esque eyes looking up at her. They’re harsh-looking, the edge offset by oddly long lashes. “Please? Just my mouth then? I promise I’ll be gentle.”” But you can be rough with me. It’s what I was made to do. He rests his face against her thigh, nuzzling against the bite he left earlier. That bite that is proof that there is a good reason people like him are kept on a metaphorical leash.

"No, no, don't be sorry." The haze clears enough she can pull him into a kiss, trying to show him exactly how not sorry he ought to be. "You don't have to make it up to me," she whispers against his lips. "I, fuck, I still want you, we just... Just have to go a little slower..." His fingers are still inside her, so she rocks against them, moaning at the delicious friction of even that slight movement. "I didn't say stop," she reminds him. "Just slower." Does she want the feral, half-crazed sex he was leading the charge on? Yes. But her body says no, unfortunate as it is. Some other time, maybe. But why would he want another time? He's already stayed far longer than she expected. "You can still... Still bite, or grip me as tightly as you want, or play with my tits, or fuck, anything you want. My cunt's just a bit too sensitive for anything rough. Someone decided to fuck me within an inch of my life twice last night," she tells him with a teasing grin. And I loved every second.

He bites his lip at that, tail starting to wag in the air. I did that. She still feels what I did last night. Maybe if I keep doing this, she can't forget about me. "Understood." Orders received. Clear instructions given. He can be rough anywhere else but where his hand is right now. But he isn't really in the mood for that any more. At least, not yet. Enthusiastically, albeit cautiously, he leans his face into her heat, pressing several kisses on her clit before those progress into slow drags of his tongue across oversensitive flesh. "I want to make you feel as good as you made me," he moans into her, the heat of his breath only getting more intense over time. "I'll spend all day down here if I have to." Because I will always return the favor. I don't want to owe anyone anything. His fingers are mostly still as his focuses on the movements of his mouth. Every once in a while, he opens his eyes to make sure that he's still actually here, and not stuck in the world's most elaborate and realistic dream.

I'll spend all day down here if I have to. It's very unlikely he'll have to. The gentle attention of his mouth is exactly what her sensitive, throbbing core needs. Enough to slowly build her towards a peak she needs so badly she can taste it, but not enough to sting. "_Yes,_" she sighs, her hands winding through his still wet hair as he licks her with a determination that leaves her trembling. "You will, fuck, you will, this is... _Hells..._" She begins to flutter around his fingers before long, each spark of pleasure that much more intense for how it's just on the edge of pleasure-pain. Who the fuck taught him this? He claims to be inexperienced, but this can't be all instinct, can it? "Bo, need... need your fingers, need... need just a bit more..." She doesn't see it as a debt owed. As far as she's concerned, it's the other way around, she owed him and repaid it, and now he's unbalancing the scales again. But with him this insistent, who is she to say no? Maybe he enjoys it, too. Maybe he just wants me to feel good.

He and Helaena are truly just too similar. When he’s on his knees, senses overwhelmed, the body he is serving sings his praises? There is nothing like it. It’s utter bliss. The worst part of it is, is that he has a propensity to become addicted to things he enjoys, to things that make him feel good. Because with the way his life is now, those things are few and far between. In his brain that loves to plan, he is already wondering how he can get to do this tomorrow. Didn’t he have this same thought last night? “Shh, I’ll give you more. Don’t worry,” he coos, sliding just one more of his thick fingers inside. “Is that enough for you? Or did you need even more?” This is his time to experiment, fingers being a bit more precise than a cock could ever be. He spreads her open more, he hooks the ends of them upwards, he slides them in and out. Helaena is so responsive, that he quickly learns just how to make her squirm. Bo can’t help but grasp at his own cock again, grip tight, imagining it’s Helaena that’s wrapped around him this way. It’s not hard to imagine at all, since the reality is clenched around his other hand anyways. The proximity to his fantasies just heightens the excitement, evident by how the head of his cock is already leaking. It allows him to pump himself that much easier, honest moans bouncing off of her skin. “Talk to me. I love your voice,” he groans breathlessly against her clit. “When my cock was in your mouth, I didn’t like that I could hear talk. But now? Now you can talk as much as you want.”

”Perfect,” she blurts out as a third finger slips inside her, the stretch just on the right side of too much, hopefully a preparation for the cock he’s stroking himself, as if he can’t wait, as if giving her pleasure is simply too arousing for him to resist. Gods, she hopes he’ll fuck her after this. “Your fingers are, _ohhh_, your fingers are perfect, feel so good inside me…” He likes it when she talks? Those are dangerous words for a chronic babbler like herself. She’s terrible at keeping quiet in bed, always have been. The way he’s moaning against her clit is going to drive her insane, knowing he’s getting off to doing this to her, that it’s not just an obligation but a pleasure to him, too. “Don’t come yet,” she begs as her own peak grows closer and her every breath is a moan of desperate need. “Please don’t come yet, want you to fuck me again, want you to come inside…” Her voice trails off as the combination of that particular mental image, of Bo groaning in rapture as he spills inside her, with nothing between them but sweat-slick skin, and a particularly clever twist of his fingers drives her over the edge. She whimpers through it, her sensitive walls clenching down around his fingers with every wave, and _oh_, she wants to do that around his cock, too, limits of her own body be damned. Will I ever get enough of this? Maybe not, not when it feels this good.

Don’t come yet. He stops stroking himself, because he was dangerously close to doing so if he had kept going, especially when he feels Helaena coming on his fingers. *Gods*, would she be able to do that again? I want to keep her. Slowly, he removes his hand, but not without a few more kisses on her cunt as accolades, as gratitude. “You did good,” he praises. “You are so good. You’ve earned it. I’ll fuck you just like you want.” Of course, in his brain, it’s him who has earned the privilege. Getting to be inside her a third time? He has come further than he ever imagined he would since they locked eyes at that bar. Her (very sexy) supply drawer is right next to him, so he stands and grabs another condom, rolling it on with a soft moan. “I-I promise to go s-slow,” he stutters, hips already shaking in anticipation. “You don’t h-have anywhere to go, right? I can take my time.” He stays standing, the bed at a decent height for him to do so, as he pries her legs apart further with the most desperate look on his face. Behind him, his tail is going absolutely insane, alternating between wide swept wagging and thumping against the floor.

> Reply to: @Boletus E. Zales (@Steffi 🍄 [Tavs:Mushroom Mob]) > Don’t come yet. He stops stroking himself, because he was dangerously close to doing so if he had kept going, especially when... She manages to make her bones work long enough to sit up and drag him into a kiss. Kissing is another thing she'll never get enough of. Not if it's with him, especially not with him hungrily moaning into her mouth, with the taste of her covering his tongue. "Slow," she agrees, shivering in anticipation. "How do you want this? You can have... You can have anything, I just want you close." He makes her greedy, for all the things she normally doesn't let herself have. Intimacy, closeness, tenderness, selfish pleasure... It'll be hell to go back to her normal after this. She doesn't want to. She wants to keep this, keep feeling this good instead of insecure or scared or miserable all the time. He could keep her in this bed all day and she wouldn't say a word in protest. She'd enjoy every second. He could keep her longer than that, too, if we wanted... Don't be stupid. "Take as much time as you want," she urges. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere, I just want you, fuck, want you inside me again so badly..."

Positioning himself, he does just as he said he would. Gentleness is the goal, and it is the word he keeps repeating in his mind as he enters her slowly. Gentle. Gentle. Show her you care. Show her you can be gentle, even when you look like this. Prove to her you’re worth keeping around. Once he is fully in, he leans over to kiss her, because he knows she enjoys kissing *a lot*. Good. Another compatibility. “Oh, He-lae-na…” he sighs into another kiss. “You are perfect.” His hips remain completely still while he continues to drown in the feeling of their bodies connected to each other like this. “I won’t move until you tell me. I’m at your command.”

You are perfect. She basks in the praise, moaning into their kiss as her body adjusts to once again being stretched open. She's grateful he takes it slow, slow enough she has time to be impatient instead of uncomfortable. "Gods, you sweet, wonderful man, I don't need you to be at my command, I just need you t-to-" Her legs wraps around his hips, shifting the angle, and her mouth falls open in a silent cry. "Need you to move. Fuck, really need you to move..." Her hands are back in the comfortable, familiar territory of his hair and shoulders. She's not used to getting to be comfortable with someone. They don't stay that long. For as basic, even mocked as this position is, there's something to be said for its closeness. Its tenderness. Its intimacy. All reasons it's a rare choice for one night stands. At least not like this. But there's a lot of things that aren't usually like this. Bo breaks all her rules, and it's as terrifying as it's intoxicating.

"Mmm, maybe I don't need to be, but I like to be. At your command, I mean." I want to know that everything I'm doing is what you want, too. "M-move, yes..." he gasps, hips responding to the eager movements of her legs. His pace is slow and deliberate, thrusts attempting to emulate the way his finger moved inside of her earlier. "Yes, yes... this is... fuck..." Words escape him. He wants to praise her more. He loves how simply speaking his mind gets such a positive response. But somehow, her cunt is even tighter than it was the other night. Or maybe he's still sensitive from the fantastic oral earlier? Or maybe, his heart is starting to mix into the euphoria, a confusing soup that is a combintation of too-good-to-be-true sexual compatibility and the beginning of romantic feelings. Is he in love? No. Does he want to turn this into something besides casual sex? Absolutely. Does he think that's a smart or logical thing to do? Not at all. "*Gods*, you are so tight. So good..." he praises, voice dripping with ecstasy. "Want to enjoy you... want this over and over..." He is behaving, evident by the way he fucks into her. His tempo remains calm, relaxed, and restrained. If Helaena wants more from him, she will have to command him to give her more. Or beg. It's a fine line.

She can feel the shudder going through him at the first thrust of his hips, and knows this is affecting him as much as it is her. It's incredible, knowing they are on even ground, that he is lost with her, that they'll fall into the abyss together. It's addicting. He likes to be at her command? He wants this over and over? He's just saying things. Never trust what a man says while he's inside you. "You feel incredible," she groans, her nails digging into his shoulders as the slow pace gets her hungry for more. "Just- just right, fit me perfectly, so good..." Her legs tighten, ankles linking at the small of his back as she urges him on, pulling him closer with every almost-leisurely thrust. "Fuck, Bo, I'm sore, I'm not made of glass," she whines as he refuses to respond to her nonverbal cues to go harder, faster, more. "Need... need more, need you to- want to feel you even when you're gone, want you to keep me this full, feeling this _good..._" Her babbling barely makes sense even to her, but he has to know what she means, right? He has to know how much she craves it when he lets go, at least a little. "Please? Please fuck me the way I know you want to, fuck, I want it too, I want you to let go, I want you to feel so good..." It's fortunate her voice trails off on a low moan, before she said something she'd rather not admit out loud. I want you to feel so good you never want to leave.

That's enough verbal confirmation for his ears. She wants gentle? She gets gentle. She wants him rough, she'll get rough. But doesn't she understand how he can really be when he lets go? Especially when she says things like that. Dangerous things like "fit me perfectly," "to feel you when you're gone," "to keep me this full." She is playing with literal fire. It makes him want to be selfish. Now, he wants to keep her. What a stupid, stupid thing to want. He hates that his logic is all but gone just because he's having the most amazing sex of his life. "Yes," he growls, low and deep right into her ear. "I'll give you what I want, but please, please tell me if I'm being too much." I hate when people look at me with fear. He completely withdraws just to see her whine, teasing her entrance with multiple false thrusts, until he plunges into her suddenly once he can't take it anymore. "Fuck, *fuck...*" he moans, completely relaxing his jaw as it hangs wide open in satisfaction. "Godsdamned perfect." He fucks right into her as he pleases, power and speed behind every thrust. His muscles are not for show, and this is proof. Bo has to keep a hand atop her to keep her from sliding backwards from the force of his movements, the sound of skin reverberating off of the walls. The more he lets go, the more certain thoughts, certain tendencies he keeps locked away start to spill out. He babbles filth he didn't even realize he could say right into her mouth between kisses devoid of any precision.

All she can do is hold on for dear life and take it. Drink in every last moment, store the memories for when she has to pretend to be into the mediocre efforts of the next slightly-too-drunk frat bro. She doesn't want to think about that. The inevitability of losing this, because it never really was anything at all. The inevitability of the next spiral of hers landing her back in that bar, chatting up a stranger, the whole time wishing for warm yellow eyes and broad, callused hands and soft, dark auburn hair. Her moans are drunken, dazed from the overwhelming onslaught of him finally letting go. He told her to tell him if it's too much. She wouldn't dream of it, not when the rush of satisfaction from every broken moan muffled against her lips is almost better than the way she's already well on her way to coming again, despite the protests of her sore, tired body. "Don't stop," she pleads, her voice soft and breathy. "Please don't stop, you feel... you feel so good..." The praise only adds to her daze, leaving her floating in that happy space she usually only finds on her knees. She wants to stay there. She wants to stay there forever, with him, being good for him, giving him exactly what he wants. You were made for this. Perhaps she was. Perhaps this, at least, is one thing she can do right. One thing she doesn't fail at. She might not be good for much else, but at least she can make someone like Bo want her, at least for a day. At least she can make him need her. Make him feel good. She already knows this will be the standard she'll compare her next mistake to. And she knows no one else will compare. She doesn't get to be this lucky even once.

He won't stop, simply because he can't. Even as he slams face first into his orgasm, he keeps up his jackhammer-like pace, cursing every god above that this surprisingly durable layer of latex is the only thing stopping him from filling her up to the brim like he wants. To stop himself from saying more truly embarrassing, sex-crazed dialogue, and also because he simply enjoys it, he digs his sharp teeth into the unmarred flesh of her other shoulder. Helaena said he could let go, after all. When he was horrified, she encouraged. She keeps encouraging the parts of him he wants to repress. That must mean she likes me, right? The taste of her still-damp skin mixed with sweat is dangerously decadent to him, his tongue lapping up what he can even after his peak has come and gone. While none of his attention to her neck breaks the skin, she's so easy to mark, that even his gentler bites leave deep bruises of different hues of red and purple. His hips eventually slow down to the closest thing to "still" as they can be, a lone jerk here or there done simply out of instinct. "More?" he pants. He tries to kiss her, but it's more like he's just breathing down her throat. "I can... I can give you more. As much as you want. You can have." Don't tire out yet. If she wants more, you give her more.

Lost in the haze, she barely registers him coming until he's biting into her shoulder with a broken groan of pure relief. She clenches down around him in response, dragging out every single sound of ecstasy she can from him, draining him dry as he fucks her through it. More? As much as she wants. Those are dangerous words to tell a girl used to being fed nothing but scraps. As much as she wants? What if she wants everything? What if she wants him to pretend to care, just for a little longer? What if she wants to feel loved, at least for a few moments? Her own pleasure is the last thing on her mind. This, this was what she wanted, feeling him let go because of her, hearing every depraved thought hidden behind the mask of polite stoicism. "I'm good, I'm good, I promise," she gasps after a moment too long. His hips jerk, and she almost whimpers from the oversensitivity. Did she come again? She has no idea, she very well might have, but she is most certainly done. It's now firmly in the category of too much, more uncomfortable than pleasant even as her body still hums with lingering sparks of pleasure. He's strong enough to carry me around if I can't walk, at least. "That was... holy shit." She can't help but giggle, perhaps out of some sort of post-coital euphoria. "Remind me to break your brain like that again if that's the result I can expect." Her lips meet his in a kiss much too gentle for the way he just fucked her. She has the oddest impulse to thank him. For what? For sticking around? For fucking her like that? For making her feel more alive than she has in months, if not years? It's just post-coital neurotransmitters going insane. I need to shut up before I say something I regret.

Break my brain? Again? That means… As soon as his lips are off of hers, he blurts out what might be the dumbest thing he has said today. “Can I… ask you out? Like, on a date?” He is very much still inside her when he asks this. “I want to spend more time with you. Uh… not necessarily doing this the entire time…” Again, his cock is still very much in her right now, half-hard and everything. “If you’ll have me, I mean.” He can’t bring himself to look into Helaena’s honest eyes, afraid to see a truth he doesn’t want to see. If anything, I’ve proven I’m a good lay. That’s worth something, right?

She thinks she must have misheard him for a solid five seconds. The last man who asked her out certainly had a very different approach. Seeing as he just poked her shoulder in AP Lit and asked if she wanted to come watch him shoot some hoops at practice that afternoon. She'd also been all of seventeen years old. Augustus had just turned eighteen. Of all the times she's picked up strange men (and women) in bars, not one has asked her on a date. A few asked if she'd been up for another go sometime, that's it. He wants to spend more time with me. Her face must be a study in pure bafflement. Why? Why would he want that? *Oh*. He's on leave. He has a dangerous, unstable job, not exactly conducive to dating or relationships. She's here, she's easy, she's unproblematic. She might not be what he wants, not good enough for someone like him, but she's at least something. Maybe he's lonely too. "Would you... Would you really want that?" Her voice is small, entirely too vulnerable. "I mean... I'd like that, if you wanted to, but..." But why? "You don't have to feel... obligated, or anything. You don't... owe me anything. We absolutely can! I'd like that a lot! But you don't have to feel like you have to, you know?" I'm not the kind of girl anyone wants to take on a date.

It’s his turn to be confused. He just looks into her eyes to find pure bafflement in a sea of blue. It’s not like Boletus has much experience in the wonderful world of dating. He’s been enlisted ever since he turned 18. 4 years later, and all he has to show for that as far as relationships go are a few failed attempts to make connections with those he meets while on leave. And one horribly unrequited crush on his best friend. So when he asks Helaena out so impulsively, it’s because he thought he felt something. A spark. He couldn’t begin to explain it, because it’s the type of feeling that is devoid of logic. Perhaps it’s odd to ask someone out while buried to the hilt in them, but something about Helaena just encourages him to act on impulse rather than plan out his every move. Her response to the question is what throws him off guard. He was expecting a no, or maybe for her to just laugh in his face. But she seems… confused as to why he would even ask in the first place. Is it weird to ask someone beautiful whose company you find pleasant on a date? The only weird part of it, to him, is asking a mere 30 seconds after he came. “I don’t… feel obligated,” he states plainly. “Not at all. I just want to. I had a great time last night at the food stand with you, walking home with you, doing… what we just got finished doing.” Speaking of that, he finally pulls out, taking that nasty little condom off and tossing it in the garbage as quickly as possible. He lies on his back, ignoring his tail being squished for the time being, and offers out a muscular arm for Helaena to lie on. “Wouldn’t it be nice? To do more of this? I think so. I know I’m just on leave… but…” Maybe it could work. Maybe not. But I’d beat myself up about it if I don’t at least try.

I just want to. She rests her head on his arm, still a little dazed and confused as her fuck-drunk mind tries to make this make sense. "I've had a great time too," she echoes. "I really like you, Bo, and I wasn't... I don't want to say goodbye to you yet." Even words that honest make her want to crawl up and die somewhere. They are the words of exactly who she's trying not to be, that clingy, needy mess of a person no one wants around. "We could... We could absolutely do more of this. Whatever you want that to look like. If it's just... hanging out, or eating tacos, or this, whatever. That would be really nice." She can't look him in the eye while saying these things. Instead she rest her head on the soft-but-firm, sweat-damp muscle of his chest, and lets her hair fall down to hide her expression. Well there. I did exactly what I told myself I wouldn't. That definitely won't have any consequences. "I know you won't be here forever, but... that's no reason we can't enjoy the here and now, is it? Even if it's just for a tenday, or however long you're staying." She can do a tenday without getting attached, right? It's just... fun. And then he'll go on his way, and she'll go on hers, and it'll be fine. It's just a fling.

“Nineteen days.” He has been constantly thinking about how he only has nineteen days of total freedom. Now that he’s said it out loud… it feels like he’s trapped in a giant hourglass. “I would like to spend them with you. Um, well I don’t have to always be with you. You have class and all. I have a hotel that I’m sharing with some of my friends…” Oh, gods. They’ve probably been blowing up my phone. I’m not opening that can of worms right now. “But I agree. There’s no reason why we can’t enjoy the now,” he reassures, brushing the hair Helaena is using to hide out of her face. “I’ll be here as long as you allow me to.” That sounds a bit clingy. “B-because I, uh, well, I didn’t have anything else planned as far as my leave goes. Whenever I actually take it I just… normally I just… walk around town and eat. Or hole myself up in my room and read. Learn a new hobby…” She does not need to know the little hobbies you do because you’re so boring, you can’t even take time off in a fun way. “Sorry. I’m talking a lot.” To stop himself from saying more things he deems as embarrassing, he places a hand under her chin, lifting her head up for a kiss. “Let me treat you to breakfast? Or, I can make something? I’m not too bad in a kitchen.” His tail starts to thump softly against the mattress for some reason.

Nineteen days. Far too long and not nearly enough all at once. Nineteen days. You can't fall in love with someone in nineteen days. That's just absurd. It'll be fine. The softest, most vulnerable parts of her heart want to. But she doesn't listen to those parts for a reason. She listens with a soft smile as he rambles on about his usual plans, tying himself in rhetorical knots explaining his frankly wonderful-sounding routine when he takes time off. Part of her wants to thank his friends for pushing Bo in her direction in the first place. Her smile doesn't lessen in the slightest as he kisses her, as sweet and gentle as she knows him to be, at least outside of bed. Not that she minds that, not at all. Wait, breakfast? He wants to make her breakfast? "Oh! Oh, um, you don't have to do that, I can-" She's the host, right? She should make sure he leaves well fed at least, right? Oh gods, and her kitchen's a mess, too... "Will you be absolutely horrified if I admit I've got a stack of dishes I've been procrastinating on for days in my kitchen? Because otherwise, I'd love that, I really would." Her eyes are wide and pleading for understanding. It's not that she's a slob (she's kind of a slob) but, well... There's a reason she went to that bar in the first place.

At first, he wants to say he didn't even notice her dishes, but that's because he has only seen her entry way, her bedroom, and her bathroom so far. And his brain was stuck in some horny zone the entire time, so his memory is hazy at best anyways. "Uh, that's okay. Did you want me to do them first, or...?" His parents would never let him get away with a mess, as he grew up doing chores constantly. It's unclear to him whether his fastidiousness came from how he was raised, or if it was just inherently a quality of his. Either way, he finds monotonous chores to be weirdly relaxing. So he would definitely not be mad about doing dishes for a woman that just let him fuck her three times and gave him a really good blowjob. "I don't really mind. I'm a weird guy. I like chores, especially if I get a reward at the end... the reward being food." Maybe she's self-conscious? I'm not going to let a messy kitchen deter enjoying her company, that's for sure. "I can order something too, if you'd rather. I just figure maybe going out might be... hard. At least, right now." Because... can she even walk? I went a bit hard earlier. "Whichever you decide... just let me take care of it?" Please?"

"I'm not going to ask you to do my dishes!" she protests, aghast at the very idea. "I'm just, it's not very... put together, or... I'm sorry, I'm getting in my head about this," she groans, embarrassed beyond belief. "Look, breakfast sounds _fantastic_, but my kitchen looks like a bomb went off in it and I'm really embarrassed about it because you strike me as the kind of guy who rinses your plate the second you're done eating, and I'm... not." She blushes at the implication of her struggling to go out somewhere because, well, he's not wrong. She's a mess, covered in bruises and bite marks, sore basically everywhere between where her navel piercing is pressed against his side and her knees. She could probably rally, but it'd take at minimum a shower and maybe some ibuprofen. "I can... I can do the dishes, I just need to get my shit together. I'm sorry, this is mortifying. I'd love to have breakfast, though, really."

"No, no, I insist, actually. Really, I don't mind." To prove it, he stands up, but then he realizes that he's very, very naked. So, he takes one of the crumpled up towels he threw on the bed (which didn't even end up getting used, so what was the point?) and wraps it around his waist. "Um, do you need anything while I'm up? Before I get started?" He tries to still the wagging of his tail, since it'll easily undo his makeshift clothing situtation.

This man not only fucked her so well she can barely move, _three times_, he’s now going to do her dishes? People aren’t just like that. They can’t be. He’s bloody adorable, too, still a little self conscious being naked around her, as if they haven’t very much seen and enjoyed each other’s bodies already. She stretches like a cat, flexing sore muscles with a soft, contented groan. And showing off every inch of her entirely bare body in the process, should he be interested. “You are incredibly sweet, but I’m fine, thank you. I’m just going to jump in the shower, probably. We didn’t get much actual washing done, did we?” she muses with a laugh. Her legs are a little shaky, but she does manage to stand. That can be just as much low blood sugar, though, her stomach’s begun to rumble distractingly. “Thank you,” she says again, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I’ll come out and help as soon as I’m out of the shower, I promise.”

He's only mortal. A tiefling. His eyes are trained to track motion. The sight of Helaena stretching like that... Don't ogle. Now is not the time. It's easier to exercise that soldier-esque restraint when he's already had plenty of sex. "Y-you're welcome," he replies, a blush creeping up on orange cheeks. "Please, take your time." Out in the kitchen, he sees that Helaena wasn't kidding. The tiny sink is literally overflowing with dishes, some of them stacked onto the limited counter space off to the side just because there was simply nowhere else for them to go. He doesn't judge. If anything, this is just more proof that this is what normal looks like. This is the kind of life he is not allowed to have. Growing up, he was expected to be perfect in every aspect. Stand up straight. Tuck your tail in. No wrinkles in your sheets. 5 minute showers, and not a second over. None of that is normal, and being in this messy kitchen just proves that. So, he gets to work. Helaena's drying rack is full of presumably clean dishes that she didn't have the energy to put away. So, he starts with that. It doesn't take long for him to parse through the configuration of kitchen: where glasses go, where silverware goes, where plates go. His parents were always weirdly distrustful of dishwashers, using their own as a drying rack more often than for its intended purpose. So Bo just stands there, handwashing dishes while singing softly to himself. "If a picture paints a thousand words, Then why can't I paint you? The words will never show the you I've come to know. If a face could launch a thousand ships, Then where am I to go...?"

She’s just about to turn the shower on when a soft, deep but oddly gentle voice singing a love song is barely audible over the low hiss of the kitchen faucet. Of course he sings, too. Did I win the bloody lottery? She’s still looking for the catch. The downside. The reason a guy like this would resort to picking up a girl at a bar instead of having a girlfriend waiting for him somewhere, or even one in every city. Sure, he’s military. Sure, he’ll have to leave, in less than two tendays. He’s still far too good for her, and doesn’t even seem to realize it. She drowns her thoughts in the spray of almost-too-hot water, urging her brain to shut the fuck up and let her enjoy this while it lasts. At least the soreness in her hips and thighs and abdomen tells her this is real, and not just some bizarre dream fed by too many watered-down cocktails. She wouldn’t feel this battered were it a dream. Dreams didn’t have small inconveniences like needing to leave the shower to grab a condom, or the gross tackiness of drying sweat and arousal lingering after the haze of sex clears. This is real. It’s just also utterly insane.

Boletus. Don’t you see that speck? Wash it again. Again. Again. Again. Again. He stands there in a daze, scrubbing circles in a plate that is clearly clean for a few minutes. A few blinks snap him out of it. And he’s back to scrubbing. Soon enough, every plate is clean, pristine and sparkling on the little drying rack. The larger pots and pans were simply dried off and put away, save for one pan. Should I wait and ask what she wants? I mean, I know what I want… Helaena’s kitchen has everything he needs for pancakes. And who doesn’t like pancakes, especially from scratch? Definitely the kind of breakfast that says “thanks for letting me fuck you three times! Hope we can do it more.” While the pan heats up, he whisks together his drys, his wets, and then all of that together. ”Boletus. Don’t over mix, dear. That’s good, just like that. You’re a quick learner! My bright and wonderful son…” He hums happily to himself, tail wagging softly behind him, its movement mostly restricted by the towel.

She takes her time in the shower, allowing the hot water to work out the worst of the aches in muscles more used to bicycling around the Lower City than the sort of workout she subjected them to in the past twelve hours. Usually, these showers are a set part of the routine for after. Usually it goes hastily leaving before they can ask or force her to, hold back her tears as she stumbles home, maybe some junk food on the way, then curling up in the shower and crying until the hot water runs out. There's a reason she knows exactly how long that usually takes. But it's not really after. Yes, she's very much had sex. They even had a meal at one of her usual walk of shame stables the night before. But he's still here, she didn't run away, he _asked her on a date_, and he's currently in her kitchen doing the dishes. This might be the most surreal twelve hours of her life, including the time Augustus tried to weave a web of logic that made it her fault he cheated on her. ... She much prefers this, by every measure. Once she finally turns the water off, she squeezes the worst of the water out of her hair before tying it up in a deeply unattractive microfiber turban and padding into her bedroom for some lounge wear in nothing but a towel. Bo might be able to catch a glimpse, but honestly, she's beyond feeling self conscious around him. That ship sailed around the time he made her come so hard she almost cried, in her book. She comes into the kitchen, hair damp and loose, dressed in just an UBG tee and a pair of pink pajama shorts. "Hey," she greets him, a little shyly. "Are you... are those pancakes?"

“Oh! Helaena!” he greets excitedly. “Yes, they are. How many did you want?” When he turns around, he is absolutely breathtaken by the sight of Helaena in her loungewear. It’s a far cry from the woman she was last night, the one who was so done-up: curled hair, heavy makeup, skimpy dress. Someone who was putting on a show for the world. He has a feeling what he’s looking at right now is a sight few have seen. That just makes his tail wag like crazy. And that just makes his makeshift towel skirt situation unravel. “AH!” He scrambles to the ground as if he just committed some sort of crime by accidentally exposing himself in from of Helaena. She literally had his penis in her mouth maybe an hour earlier, but she wanted to do that! This is a whole new context. A kitchen is a sacred place for some people, after all! Definitely not a place to have your penis out by accident. “S-sorry. It’s dawning on me that I’m in a… difficult situation right now,” he laments, holding the towel in place since his tail seems to have to have no plans of stopping soon. “I have no spare clothing. I, uh… I might have to ask my friend to bring some over.” Sure, he could put on what he wore last night, but he would rather die. Those are Dirty. He can’t put on Dirty clothes. Out of the question.

Is she supposed to find his awkwardness this endearing? That can't be right, can it? "Right, clothes," she realizes with a start. She obviously usually makes her escape in what she arrived in, give or take a few fastenings hastily redone and some smudged makeup, sometimes her panties hidden at the bottom of her purse if they got nasty enough. But she also never stays the night. This is entirely new territory. It's not like she has an ex boyfriend's leftovers to scavenge or anything, either, she broke up with Gus when she still lived at home. "Uh, well, shit... Hold on, I might have at least an oversized t-shirt or something, let me go take a look." Is she supposed to keep a stash of boy-sized clothing around?! It's legitimately never been a problem before. "At least something for you to wear while we toss your clothes in the wash, I'm not going to ask you to cook in a _towel_..." Even if that towel does leave very little to the imagination and she is very pleased with what it shows, it can't be comfortable. And it's clearly impractical. The absurd thought crosses her mind that her grandmother would be appalled by her hosting. Of a boy. She had sex with. It's not exactly like she invited him over for tea!

“O-oh, you’re very kind, Helaena. But, I’m fine. My towel… skirt… thing… was doing just fine while I cleaned up the dishes and prepped the ingredients.” Until you walked in here looking so… cute. My damned tail always sabotages me. “I wouldn’t mind my clothes in the wash either way, but I’m not gonna delay pancakes for them. I’m pretty hungry. Aren’t you?” He hovers his hand over the plate, deeming it hot enough to get started. His eyes are focused straight ahead as he pours some batter into a buttered pan, lest Helaena in her loungewear causes his tail to go insane again. At least his naked body isn’t anything she hasn’t seen before.

"Well yes, but I can do the washing and looking while you focus on breakfast," she argues, still smiling. If he's going to stick around, and make her breakfast to boot, the least she can do is try to make him as comfortable as possible, right? She presses a kiss to his bare shoulderblade before retreating back into the bedroom in search of Bo-friendly clothing. She doesn't find much, but apparently she must have stolen a pair of (on her) absurdly oversized sweatpants from either her brother or father at some point, and she has a few oversized shirts from various places she usually wears to sleep. Both look like they'll be a bit small on the giant of a man she brought home, but it's better than walking around in a towel. "How about these?" she offers, holding out the biggest-looking of the shirts and the sweats. "I'm sorry, I know it's not much."

Thank goodness for him that Helaena vanished quickly after kissing shoulder blade, remnants of wings that were never there marring his skin. Why would she even… kiss there? Somewhere so… ugly? It throws his mind into a stun-lock, causing him to burn the very first pancake. “Ah! Damn it…” Into the trash it goes. He keeps a few other curse words in his head as he tries again. Once Helaena is back, he has six of them done, and is starting a seventh. The sound of her approaching makes his tail wag happily, and he reflexively grabs at his towel to stop it from falling. “Thank you so much!” he says, elated. He was trying to grin and bear it, but he was quite uncomfortable wearing nothing but a towel in a stranger’s kitchen. “Could you take over real quick? I’d like to get changed as soon as possible.”

”Yes, I think I can manage to flip a pancake,” she tells him with a laugh, grateful he doesn’t seem offended by the meager efforts. She has to consciously resist the urge to do something dumb, like kissing his shoulder again, or maybe playfully pinch his side. He might be too fit for her to manage to successfully pinch anywhere, though, that towel leaves nothing to the imagination and gods damn- “Go on, shoo.” Pancakes are easy enough, at least. He’s already done all the work, so all she has to do is flip them and occasionally measure out butter and batter for a new one. It’s calming. It’s the exact reason she’s always liked to cook, even if it’s another thing she hasn’t had much time for in the past few years. She hums a tune without fully realizing, snippets of lyrics coming out at random. But it wouldn’t be make believe, if you, believed, in me… -# https://open.spotify.com/track/373yGkNo74RZgmQgTiR8xK?si=51VxFBTtTlaHgL8OHwKj8w

Off to her bathroom he goes, unraveling his towel and tossing it onto the floor in a pile of other presumably dirty towels. Going commando is something he would rather not do, but he can’t get everything he wants when it was his fault for being so unprepared in the first place. If he had known he was going to have multiple rounds of great sex with a really nice girl, he would have at least packed an overnight bag. He slides the borrowed pants on and immediately realizes there is a problem. His tail prevents him for pulling them up much higher than halfway up his ass, the base of it extending into the top half of his gluteal cleft. Right. Should have figured. So the sweat pants are simply rolled down until his tail can rest on top of the waist band. Are his hipbones definitely jutting out, dick in danger of escaping containment? Of course. But it beats a damn towel. The shirt is next. This, he knew wouldn’t fit. Even before putting it on, he knew. The light colored plain T-shirt strains against his natural musculature, ridges and pectorals clearly visibly through the thin fabric. Whose clothes were these? he wonders. An ex? A hookup of hers? It’s not like it matters. His height might not break any records, but he was always a bit of a bigger guy than most, naturally predisposed to a muscular, heavy-set frame. Never did him any favors. Well, until today, he figures. Helaena seems to like his body, and he likes Helaena’s body. And Helaena’s eyes. And Helaena’s smile. Hmm. Well aware of how ridiculous he looks, he waddles his way back into her kitchen, his tail wagging as soon as the human woman is in his vision… again. This just causes his pants to sag a little bit lower from the force of the movement. Oh, is that Ella Fitzgerald she’s humming? She likes that kind of music? His heart skips a beat. “Um. Hello.”

She turns off the burner and turns towards him with a slightly shy smile. She’s not used to this part. Are they just… friendly? He asked her out, right, so that’s at least some form of romantic interest? Her hands self-consciously move to the mess that is her hair, smoothing it down as it inevitably begins to frizz. “Hi. The pancakes are ready.” There are a bit many for just two people, but gods know they both must have worked up an appetite. “Would you, um… are you a syrup or a jam kind of guy? I should have both. Don’t think I have any nutella, but I can check…” Her anxious hosting instinct is kicking in fully, giving her the urge to offer him coffee or tea, or maybe some juice, or to ask if she should toss some eggs or bacon and sausages on the stove because he has to have a higher daily protein intake than she does, right? She turns towards him fully, and realizes he looks… utterly ridiculous in the scavenged clothes. It’s… really cute. He is really cute, which is not a word she usually uses to describe men above six feet who lift her like she’s light as a feather. Don’t get attached, odds are I won’t even hear from him as soon as he leaves, promise of a date or no. “I’m sorry the clothes don’t fit better. I, uh. I tend not to have a lot of guests sleeping over.” Why did she say that? He’s seen her sex drawer, he knows she has guests frequently enough, and now she’s up and told him she usually kicks them out on their asses more or less before they have a chance to button their pants.

“Syrup, please,” he answers politely, taking a seat at Helaena’s meager dining table. The rather small piece of furniture is littered with what is presumably schoolwork, old bills, and a random assortment of books. It doesn’t bother him. It’s not his mess, after all. People like Helaena are allowed to have messes. So he simply shoves what he can aside, making room for the one thing he’s been looking forward to since he woke up this morning: breakfast. (The sex was an added bonus.) “O-oh, it’s fine,” he responds in reference to his ill-fitting outfit. “They’ll do for now. I’m sorry I’m stretching out your shirt, or rather, whoever’s shirt this is…” Boletus doesn’t gleam anything from Helaena’s statement, doesn’t infer that she is implying that most of her hookups leave as soon as they’re done. If he were to infer that from her statement, that would only fuel his fragile ego. Out of everyone that’s graced her bed, enjoyed her body… he is the one that got to stay. It’s a good thing he doesn’t realize this. Instead, he simply asks Helaena: “Do you have any juice?”

”RIGHT, juice…” Helaena leaps into action, after a solid 30 seconds of staring at her dining table in horror at the accumulated stacks of _mess_. She knows where everything is, of course, but it’s organized chaos at best. Will she ever stop being mortified by the state of her own apartment? Probably not, at least not today. “I hope apple cider’s alright,” she worries as a bottle of the promised juice and a glass is placed next to Bo’s plate, along with the syrup. “I’ve never been much of an OJ person. Would you like some tea or coffee?” She flicks on the kettle for herself, seeking the comfort of a nice mellow afternoon blend over pitch black, sickeningly sweet emergency fuel she uses coffee as. She rarely drinks it unless she’s very hungover or very sleep deprived or both. Why does she care so much what Bo thinks? He clearly liked what they did the night before and this morning just fine, and the state of her flat didn’t seem to deter him from sticking around. He probably just really likes pancakes. He does seem like a food lover. Something in her settles at the comfort of the familiar ritual of making a pot of tea, if a small one that doesn’t fit more than two cups. Nothing’s so wrong a good cup of tea won’t help, love, she can almost hear her Gran say. “And the shirt’s mine, by the way. Just one I sleep in sometimes, so don’t worry about stretching it. The pants are… I honestly have no idea, probably my dad’s? I have no clue how they ended up here, something must have gotten mixed up when I still did laundry at home.” Her last flat, or, well, dorm, hadn’t had a washer. Another way she’s grateful for this one, even if she dreads having to leave it when she inevitably fails to keep all her plates spinning.

“Oh, yes. Tea would be good, too. I’m not picky. Thank you again!” He dumps an obnoxious, horrifying amount of syrup on his pancakes… which is then washed down with apple cider after he takes a few bites. Damn it, I’m going to need to brush my teeth after all of this. I really need to call Sellian. But I’m just not in the mood to endure his teasing He nods along as Helaena explains the origins of his silly little outfit. So this is her shirt and her dad’s pants? Huh. He is not reaching any sort of new conclusion from this. Instead, he just says: “Thank you. For the food and the clothes. I promise I’ll be better prepared next time, haha…” He was always raised to be grateful. Be grateful you have parents. Be grateful you have a career. Be grateful you aren’t on the streets or in some orphanage like many tieflings are. He had opportunities that so many of them don’t get to have.

She finally sits down, but not before pouring them both cups of tea and placing the milk and sugar within Bo's reach. Every sore muscle sighs in relief. Showers are magic, but not quite cure alls. She'll be able to feel especially that last round for a day or two. "You made the food," she points out, gently bumping his arm with her elbow. "That's lovely, by the way." She's positively surprised she's able to eat without the unsteady half-queasy a lot of richer foods give her on bad days. And they really are very good pancakes. "When did you learn how to cook? Not to judge most men our age too terribly, but... Pancakes from scratch isn't something I'd imagine most make regularly." For her? Her father and grandmother. Not that she does it nearly enough nowadays. It feels pointless when it's just for her, time and energy better spent trying to salvage her grades (she's dipped below a 4.0 for the first time in her life) or... trying to be less of a mess, or something. She's mostly living off takeout and freezer meals nowadays, when she eats at all. It's fine. Everything's fine, because it has to be.

“Oh, my parents,” he answers with food still in his mouth, the one bad habit of his even his strict military family was not able to beat out of him. “They thought it was important for me to know how to be self-sufficient. I’m not going to say I’m an amazing chef or anything, but I manage.” He is well aware most men his age are not nearly as competent. Another perk of growing up military, he supposes. His parents would never let him get away with being lazy or with having to rely on someone else. Having someone compliment his food is a first for him, though. “I’d say they’re nothing special, but… well. I’m not going to turn down praise from you.” He only puts the smallest amount of milk in his tea before sipping at it. “Anyways… normally, if I were alone, I’d be outside taking a walk right now,” he muses. “But is there something you’d like to do after this? I did ask you out in a date, after all. Maybe a movie?” Gods, I am so boring. Wait, she probably doesn’t want to do anything too physically strenuous anyways. So maybe I’m making the right call here…

"My parents taught me, too. Or, well, my dad. And my gran. But I haven't had much time for it, lately." She smiles at him as he demurs from the praise. It's easy to smile, for him. It doesn't feel fake, or forced. "Good, you shouldn't turn down praise that's earned." She's a fucking hypocrite. "Oh! Uh, you don't have to stick around just to keep me company if you don't want to. You've, uh, more than fulfilled any obligation you might have, I promise. I'm okay." He's just nice. He's just trying to make sure I won't fall over the second I stand up. "I would love to go on a date, though. A movie, dinner, a play, a museum-" Oh gods she sounds so _lame_- "Or uh, anything you'd like, really. I'm sorry, I probably won't be up for that much today, though. I could probably rally, but I might need a bit. I... I'm really sorry, I'd love to go out with you, though." She almost regrets the third round now. Almost. It was worth it.

“Obwigafnn?” he repeats, mouth full yet again. He swallows before resuming his thought. “I don’t feel obligated to do anything, or to stay. Honestly, I was just waiting for you to kick me out as soon as my clothes were done.” It’s sweet of her, he thinks, for Helaena to give him an out in case he was uncomfortable. It’s not born from insecurity in his eyes: it’s her being polite. Bo aims to turn it around to make it her choice, and not his. This is her home, after all. It should be up to her when he leaves. Because he does not want to leave. So he shrugs a bit, finishing off the rest of his stack of syrup with pancakes in it. “I wouldn’t be offended. Just because I asked you on a date doesn’t mean I get to hold you hostage.” Helaena was right about him. Mere moments after he’s done, he’s in the kitchen washing his plate, silverware, and tea cup. Bo projects his voice a bit more to counteract the noise from the running faucet. “If I’m overstaying my welcome, please let me know! Otherwise, I’d love to enjoy more of your company! We don’t have to do anything at this very moment, though! I have a Netflix account, so how about we find a movie on it!” His tail is lifted up high as it wags, the fluffy end swaying with every bit of movement. A museum? She’d want to go to one of those? Have I hit the jackpot here?!

"You're not overstaying your welcome," she protests. "Not in the slightest." Is is possible he just... wants to stay? Even if it's just to watch a movie? Given his response to her initiating things in the shower, she sincerely doubts he means for Netflix and chill when he offers his streaming account. "I'm not being held hostage, and I'm not going to kick you out the second I can finish a dryer cycle on your clothes. I'm just... Feeling weird about not being a very good host? I'm sorry, I have my gran's voice in my head nagging me to not let guests do any work-" And there he is doing dishes again. After making her breakfast. And fucking me so hard it took me a solid ten minutes to be able to walk. "And be more energetic than just wanting to lie down." And maybe cuddle. Cuddling would be nice. "But... A movie sounds really nice. I'd like that a lot." Somehow, her own pancakes have disappeared, washed down with tea and apple cider, and she feels... full, but not nauseous? It's been a while since she felt that way. But not eating alone has always helped.

"Oh, but you've been a great host!" Boletus has no frame of reference here. His parents are very private people, just like he is. He can count the amount of times they've hosted guests on one hand. The fact that Helaena let him have sex with her, use her shower, eat her food, use her washing machine, and borrow her clothes? Is she not the perfect host? "It's hardly work. If anything... I enjoy work. I'm not kidding when I say things like doing dishes and cooking relaxes me," he replies, wet dish tower slung over his shoulder. Like clockwork, he grabs Helaena's dirty dishes as soon as she's done with her meal and gets to work washing those too, his tail swinging happily. "So you're agreeable to a movie?" he called outs from the kitchen. "Wonderful! Wait just one moment." With the dishes done, he moves over to her couch. Unsurprisingly, it's not the biggest piece of furniture in the world, and why should it be? It's just meant for a petite human woman who lives alone. When he sits down, he takes up a good bit of the small piece of furniture. His long, thick tail lies in the empty seat next to him, resting calmly on the soft cushions. He could hang it over the back, but that kind of bends the base of it at a weird angle that is ultimately uncomfortable. He'd endure it for Helaena, though. Boletus assumes people in the Gate are just a bit more open-minded, because not once has she mentioned his less human features, positively or negatively. Maybe she won't mind a tail in her personal space. And he starts to scroll through some movies, looking like he's already at home here. "Any preferences?"

The smile she shoots him as he takes her plate and starts to wash it without her having a chance to object is a bit too fond. He's just... sweet. Kind. Helpful. Gentle. She likes him. Don't you dare go beyond like, Helaena Cresswell. She's had enough heartbreak for a long time, thank you very much. Rushing into a relationship based on nothing but admittedly scorching sexual compatibility and a few conversations is just asking for more of it. Nineteen days. Simple, casual, easy, fun. She can do that. She doesn't shove his tail aside when she sits down on the couch next to him. She invited him to fuck her, why would she mind his tail being within a few inches of her body? "Preferences? Hmm, something with low enough volume I won't startle awake if I pass out," she jokes. "But, no, seriously, you can pick almost anything and I'll be happy to watch it. Fair warning, though, I can debate the dumbest things in media for hours, though, so just tell me to shut the fuck up if you want." She tucks her feet under her, wishing she dared lean against him in an encouragement to wrap his arms around her. It was so nice to be held by him last night, and while they slept.

His tail never lies. It wraps around Helaena’s waist because that is was Boletus wishes he could do with his own arms. But that’s a little much isn’t it? Cuddling on the couch? She agreed to a date, not to be his girlfriend. Boletus doesn’t even know what to call her. A friend? A friend with benefits? He is so painfully clueless as to how normal people form normal relationships. He likes labels. The vagueness of what they’re doing makes him uneasy. That damned tail cares not for the anxieties of its owner. It wants what he wants. Someone nice to hold that wants to be held. “Ugh. Sorry about that thing,” he says with a scowl, using his quest for a movie pick as an excuse to not look at Helaena. “You can push it off of you. I don’t mind.” As she confesses to her habit of picking apart movies, he smiles a bit. He would love nothing more but to listen to her talk, so he decides to pick something he’s seen before. Indiana Jones. “I, uh… liked this movie a lot as a kid,” he mutters as close-up shots of explorers walking through the jungles of Chult are displayed on the modestly sized TV. “What little boy didn’t want to grow up and be an explorer, right?” Why does he feel a need to explain his movie choice? Maybe it’s just because he wants Helaena to like him and cares about the opinions. I am so lame. Guess this is as far as my looks will get me.

Why would she mind his tail? It's... cute, really. It makes her a little more hopeful for her not-so-sneaky plans of using him as a tiefling-sized pillow when she inevitably falls asleep halfway through the movie. She perks up at his choice of movie, pleasantly surprised. "This is the first one, right? Raiders of the Lost Ark? I didn't see them until I was in my early teens, but I loved them then. I don't know, I was enough of a nerd that the idea of saving the world with the power of history appealed to me." And Harrison Ford in a tweed suit teaching. Also very important to her formative self. She leans towards him until her shoulder brushes his arm, then just-barely rests her head against his shoulder, hoping he won't push her away. "I don't think I've watched it in years, though. I think I ranted about how Marion should have been the hero until my brother threatened to toss me out the window. It wouldn't have done much, we were on the ground floor, but still."

She is too cute. “Yes, Raiders of the Lost Ark. It’s always a bit disappointing to me that the subsequent movies were never quite as good as this one.” The very tip of his tail flickers slowly, much like a lazy cat’s. “Marion would have made a compelling protagonist: strong personality, competent, moved the plot along just as much as Jones did. But… well, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how often women in media are often put into secondary roles even when they’d make great leads. Especially in these more action-type movies.” Marion actually sort of reminds him of his mother, now that he thinks about it. He chuckles a bit at the image of throwing someone out of a window on the first floor of a building, all while extending his arm out to throw across Helaena’s shoulders in response to her leaning on him. It’s done without a second thought. But when he realizes what he’s doing, he freezes. Well, I can’t take it back now. If she doesn’t like it… she’d say something, right?

"Eh, I've always thought Last Crusade was a worthy runner up, mostly for having Sean Connery in it," she counters. Her smile widens at his agreement, and even more so at him admitting to an anti-female bias in action movies. Who is this guy? Handsome, gigantic, a fantastic lay, sweet, makes excellent pancakes and he's a feminist? She's still waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Marion's independent. She proves time and time again she doesn't need Indy, but he often needs her. And I think my younger self just enjoyed the idea of a tiny woman outdrinking a man twice her age and size." Along with her weaponization of sexuality and men's attraction to her. A young Helaena learned a lot from Marion Ravenwood. She ducks her head as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, pleased. She snuggles into his shoulder a little, feeling like she has at least tacit permission for it now. "I guess it shouldn't surprise you I thought Leia should have been the protagonist of the original Star Wars trilogy, either," she jokes as the scene shifts to Dr Jones infamously being thirsted over by his own students. She can't say she blames them one bit, even if she'd be a bit less... blatant about it.

Boletus might not consider himself a super ardent feminist, but he would surely agree with the tenants of modern feminism. He thinks it’s a shame that the same type of man is cast in a lot of the world’s greatest movies. Don’t people like variety…? “Relating to the protagonist,” which a flimsy excuse for the overuse of male actors anyways, isn’t really a concern of his. He hardly sees tiefling actors that aren’t just extras, after all. “Oh, that’s true. Connery’s performance in the third movie was fantastic. He made a perfectly good movie just a bit more elevated,” he replies. His voice is half the appeal, if he were to be honest… For as demure as she comes off at times, Helaena strikes him as having a rather strong personality. It’s not surprising at all why she would idolize a character like Marion so much. It’s such an insanely attractive contrast to him: someone who seems fragile on the outside, yet fierce and headstrong on the inside. Perhaps this is because he is the opposite. He did not realize his innocuous choice in movie would bring about such a realization about himself. “Haha! That doesn’t surprise me at all. Perhaps they should let you direct these films instead,” he replies with an equal level of lightheartedness. “I might care about the original trilogy more if Princess Leia were the protagonist. Sci-fi never interested me too much.” Truthfully, he hasn’t been paying much attention to the movie, despite the way his eyes are glued to the screen. He is far too busy over-analyzing the way Helaena inches closer to him, leaning against him like she’s unsure. Maybe she can pick up on his own anxiety, maybe not. All he knows is that he likes when she talks. If she ends up falling asleep, he worries that he’ll miss her voice.

"Wait, _what_? You don't like sci fi? Oh my gods, Bo, and here I thought I liked you!" she teases, playfully poking his very well-muscled shoulder. She's barely sleepy at all now, far too invested in their conversation. "Star Wars barely counts as sci fi, to be fair, it's basically just fantasy in space. It's fun, but it's not very _deep_, you know? But hard sci fi? Putting people in the strangest of situations, in the strangest of worlds, and seeing how they're still, well, people? I love it." It's one of her favorite things about fantasy, too. Speculative fiction in general. "I like the thought experiments. I like stretching mortal imagination to its limits and then going beyond. I like the idea that even if you put people on the moon, or in another galaxy, or, I don't know, turn them into mushrooms, they're still people. That there's something inherent to the mortal condition that carries over." She's talking too much, but Bo isn't stopping her. "Uh, sorry. I did warn you, I tend to yap on if you let me."

He simply starts laughing, the way Helaena rants with lighthearted righteous indignation just too adorable to him. It shuts off the part of his brain that was actually nervous about this. The part that was overthinking and over-analyzing to the point where he wasn’t even enjoying his time just sitting on a couch watching movies with a cute girl with too many opinions. Just enjoy the moment, Bo. He leans in closer to her, his arm pulling her head against his chest which continues to vibrate with laughter. “Hahaha! I’m not stopping you because I like to hear you talk. You’re making a pretty convincing argument, anyways.” Bo’s reasoning for not caring for sci-fi is purely aesthetic. The futuristic costumes. The spaceships. The special effects. The machinery. It just doesn’t speak to him. It’s not a point he thinks he could argue well. “Please, go on. I’m this close to putting the first one on. I’ve never even seen it.” He just thinks if Helaena thought Princess Leia should have been the protagonist, then she must be right. He’s hoping that admission might get her to rant and rave even more. Seemed to work on his friends. There’s nothing like saying you haven’t seen a single Star Wars movie in a room crowded with young men, all of them collectively losing their shit about it.

Oh, she really likes his laugh. She likes it a lot. It's a deep, genuine laugh, almost too loud, a little startled, as if he hadn't expected to laugh, or hasn't laughed enough recently. She blushes as he pulls her closer, until her head is more or less pillowed on his chest, and she can still feel his laugh against her cheek, and gods, this is so nice, how is she supposed to be normal about something that's this nice? Then her jaw drops in pure horror as he confesses to having never watched Star Wars. "Wait. You're shitting me, right? You've never watched Star Wars? Not a single one? Not even one of the shitty ones? One of the animated series, maybe? You've legitimately never watched Star Wars?" Just, how?! "Have you been living under a rock your whole life?" she demands. "Did the movies never make it over the Sunset Mountains or something? Bo, you're killing me here, there's just _no way_!"

Helaena’s reaction was exactly what he wanted. This only makes him laugh even harder, a hand slapped across his forehead as his mouth hangs open. “Gods, I’m so sorry to burst your bubble!” he feigns. “But truly, I have not seen a single Star Wars-related piece of media.” He could probably tolerate some sci-fi if a cute girl was lying on his chest. “And I promise I didn’t grow up that sheltered. They’re just not something that I ever watched, I guess? Never got the opportunity. But hey, maybe today’s the day that changes, hmm?” It’s a lovely excuse to stick around for longer, to bask in the normality of spending a weekend in just binging movies.

Continued in https://discord.com/channels/1151902831310274651/1332169552506650674/1332169605870911590