During my DnD session today, my Orc Ranger (Hollow Sovereign) hooked up with our Tiefling Bard. Naturally, we faded to black as most games would, but on further discussion with the other player, we decided that these two characters are absolutely into one another and I told them I was totally going to write what happened that night behind closed doors.
So, here it is.
Enjoy!
Xoxo
CliticalHit
—
Raze stretched his arms over his head until his back popped like kindling as the last dart quivered in the centre of the bullseye.
He’d won again. The dwarven brewster had accused him of cheating, and Quinten had concurred which was hilarious, because Quinten had been too busy teasing Franklin, their Tortle companion, for hiding in his shell all night and flirting with Raze when he wasn’t throwing to have known either way.
The blue tiefling was all silk and swagger tonight. He’d played an impressive set on his lute earlier, his eyes glittering gold beneath his mop of dark indigo hair like some wicked treasure, and his shirt hung open just enough to tease that infuriating line of clavicle that Raze had been staring at all damn day.
They’d fought side-by-side earlier today, killed some goblins, saved a girl, laughed too hard, gotten a little bloody, rinse, flirt, repeat.
The rest of the party had scattered around the tavern, playing card tricks and talking to other patrons about potential quests. Not Raze. He’d just wanted to rinse off the goblin blood, clean his scimitar Madame Charcuterie and sit near the stage and watch Quinten sing.
The locals had been grateful for their efforts, and judging from the talk Raze was hearing, it looked like they might be here for a while. At least to help out and see what kind of work needed to be done to bring some peace to the little hamlet.
Good.
Raze had been on the road for long enough, and this was the first roof he’d had over his head for a while. Besides, Phandalin was as nice a place as any to kick up your heels and smell the roses for a bit.
“Room’s ready for ya,” the inkeep muttered and slid a key across the bar with a look that said ‘don’t make me hear anything I can’t charge extra for’.
Quinten appeared beside him, slow and simmering, like he’d waited weeks for this exact moment.
Raze licked his tusks.
“So…,” he drawled, voice like brown sugar poured over gravel, “Should we take this upstairs, or shall we traumatize the bar keep?”
Quinten arched a manicured brow and looked at Raze appraisingly.
He wasn’t ugly. Far from it. Raze was, as people in Eshk would say, remarkably good looking for an Orc. At six-foot-eight, he was at least a foot taller than Quinten, and significantly more muscular, but where most of his race were pot-bellied and saggy-faced with bulbous noses and shaved heads, Raze was trim, fit, had a straight nose, square jaw and his brown hair was pulled into a top-knot. Apart from the green skin and tusks, he looked more like a Goliath than his own kin.
That, plus the fact he was significantly more charismatic, and had more than half a brain tucked between his ears. He knew that if he was more like his own kin, this blue, horned vision wouldn’t be looking at him like a cat looking at a canary.
And Raze was done pretending they hadn’t been circling each other like wolves in heat for the better part of a month.
Quinten reached across to scoop up the key, “Honey, what I intend to do to you is not suitable even for adult eyes.”
—
The room was small, quiet, and too damn warm.
When the door clicked shut behind them and Quinten turned, Raze didn’t move. He let the silence thicken which was very unlike him. This loud, shady Orc who had spent the best part of 30 years roasting his peers and slinging shade as his elders finally had nothing to say.
Quinten stepped in close to him and reached for the orange bandana hanging from his back pocket.
“Is this a warning,” Quinten asked, “or an invitation?”
“Depends who’s askin’,” Raze’s grin was slow.
“I’m askin’,” Quinten said, as his hand snaked up his neck and around the back of his head.
The kiss was messy, hungry, and all heat and hard teeth and tusks. Raze shoved Quinten against the wall, one arm braced beside his head, the other gripping the tiefling’s ass like he owned it.
Quinten moaned into his mouth and scraped his blunt nails down the line of Raze’s ribs, tracing the large puckered line of scar that crossed his belly from nipple to hip.
That one had nearly killed Raze, thanks to his own father who had caught him kissing another boy behind the armoury when he’d just been a kid himself. Raze had been beaten, slashed with his father’s greatsword and dumped in the woods to die.
The woods had had other plans for him.
Those woods were the only reason Raze was alive and here, with this gorgeous bard who was whispering into his ear.
“You smell like goblin blood and dirt, and you have no idea how much that turns me on.”
Raze’s voice was all growl bostancı escort now, “Maybe I should have used soap.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
Clothes came off with graceless urgency. Raze’s leathers and belts hit the floor with a thud, Quinten’s shirt landed on a lantern, and Raze nearly tore his to get it over his head. By the time Raze pushed Quinten to the bed, there was a trail of boots, trousers and weapons between them and the door.
Quinten lay back like a prince waiting to be worshipped. Pillow under his head, legs parted just enough, arms above him, lazy and unhurried like he had all the time in the world. Which, frankly, he did. He’d waited this long, what was one more minute.
His cock was erect, long and thick despite his lean frame, and slightly darker than the vivid blue of his stomach. Like most tieflings, he only had a very faint dusting of hair around the base of his cock. He had long, strong, dancer’s legs, which Raze had seen part into easy splits during combat. A lifetime in the circus had made him curiously bendy. But Raze wasn’t interested in bending him over much more than the bed tonight.
“You just going to stand there staring,” Quinten purred, golden eyes half-lidded, “or are you going to put that smart mouth of yours to better use, sweet-meat?”
Raze let out a long, slow whistle, already crawling up the bed like a large animal stalking prey.
“Dangerous talk, Q,” he said, “Keep that up and a man might start thinkin’ you want to be ruined.”
Quinten grinned as Raze’s hands came down alongside his hips, “Darling, I want to be wrecked. There’s a difference.”
“How’m I meant to resist that kinda challenge?” Raze chuckled low in his throat and leaned in, nosing along the base of Quinten’s shaft, inhaling him. “Especially when you’re liaise out like a dessert, with your cock beggin’ to be tasted.”
Then, he took one slow lick, from root to tip, tasting the salt and sweat and the faint spice of the smoky cologne he always wore.
Quinten gasped, sharp and lovely, his hips twitching.
Raze looked up at him, “Ain’t even started yet, and you’re already shakin’. You really that desperate for me, Shoog?”
Quinten laughed breathlessly, “If you don’t suck my cock in the next five seconds, I’m going to compose a song about your performance anxiety.”
“Oh no,” Raze curled his fingers around Quinten’s shaft, “Not artistic vengeance.”
And he swallowed him like a hymn.
Raze went down in one fluid motion, sealing his lips around Quinten like velvet. There was no teasing, no halfway bobs. He worked him with obscene expertise, sucking him, flattening his tongue on the underside, pulling back just enough to breathe before blinging back down again.
“F-fuck, Raze!”
He hummed low, the vibration curling heat down Quinten’s spine, and pressed his hand against the tiefling’s belly to hold him steady.
Quinten was always loud, always confident, playful, cocky, dripping with innuendo, but now he was just noisy. Moaning, gasping, babbling half-sentences like his thoughts were tripping over each other in a rush to get out.
“Oh fuck, your mouth… Gods, yes… Fuck, Raze, Gods damnit, don’t stop, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Raze’s chuckle vibrated along Quinten’s shaft again and the bard choked on a groan, arching so hard his horns thumped against the wall.
He was devouring Quinten, reverent and filthy, fingers gripping the tiefling’s thighs with just enough force to bruise, his tongue painting hot, deliberate strokes along the shaft before diving down to the base, lips wet and open, taking him deep like it was instinct.
Raze was like an animal studying every twitch, every gasp, every arch of Quinten’s spine and filing it away like a hunter learning the trails of his prey.
Then he spread Quinten open and went lower.
“Oh, oh! You absolute… Fuck me, Raze!”
Raze lifted Quinten’s hips and buried his face between those beautiful blue thighs, licking, tasting, dragging his tongue in long, greedy strokes over Quentin’s hole like he’d found the heart of the forest and meant to live there. He held Quinten open, one hand below his hips, while the other slipped up to stroke his cock with every deliberate flick of his tongue.
Quinten was gasping like a cleric at prayer. His tail curled over Raze’s shoulder, twitching, and both hands were in Raze’s hair now. He clutched, he yanked, he tore the knot loose until brown locks spilled into his fingers.
“Oh gods, yes, fuck, your mouth is… Fuck, Raze, do you… do you train for this?” he wailed, hips shaking, body trembling like a plucked string.
Raze pulled back just enough to blow a soft breath across the slick mess he’d made. His lips glistened, his eyes burned with heat, as he dribbled saliva onto his fingers, letting it drip and pool over Quinten’s hole. Then, slick and thick, he traced lazy circles around it, teasing the rim while he grinned and leaned forward to take the tiefling’s cock back into his mouth.
Quinten beykoz escort nearly screamed, and his hand twisted in Raze’s hair. The other gripped blindly at the bed, as if he needed to anchor himself to something before he floated straight off the mattress.
Raze was hard.
Gods, he was aching. His cock throbbed against the bed, leaking onto the blanket, untouched and burning. But he didn’t care.
Not yet, not when he had this.
Not when he had Quinten’s cock sliding across his tongue, blue and slick, heavy with head, veins throbbing against the roof of Raze’s mouth. He took him deep, relaxing his throat until his nose brushed Quinten’s pelvis and his lips were wet and flush against the base.
Then, gently, with a twist of his wrist and the careful patience of a man who cared about giving pleasure as much as receiving, he slipped the tip of one finger into Quinten.
The bard buckled, “If you make me come before you even fuck me…”
“Then I’ll be proud of myself,” Raze said taking a breath but keeping his lips on Quinten’s sensitive tip, “Now hush, and let me enjoy you.”
Raze’s tongue dipped lower, lapping at the base of his cock and that clever finger sank deeper, making Quinten sob.
His mouth worked Quentin’s cock in smooth, wet pulls. One minute he was deepthroating, the next he was teasing the tip, letting it slip out across his tongue with an audible ‘schlk’ before sucking him back in like he was starving for it. He dragged his tongue firm and slow along the underside, broad and hot, rough enough to make Quinten see stars. When he took him deep, he didn’t stop until Quinten’s thighs clenched and his voice cracked on a gasped, “Oh Gods, yes, yes, fuck yes…”
Raze kept his rhythm with one, then two, thick fingers sunk into Quinten’s slick hole. His knuckles twisted, slow pumps, curling inside, stroking across that soft, electric bundle of nerves that made Quinten jerk like a puppet every single time.
His rim was wet and stretched and responsive beyond belief, twitching around Raze’s fingers like it didn’t know whether to beg for more or for mercy.
“Fuck, Raze… I-I can’t… oh fuck, your fingers… Gods, I’m gonna… don’t make me come, please don’t make me come…”
Raze was at the point of pain himself. His cock was throbbing below him, like it wanted to crawl out on its own, but he still didn’t touch it. Not yet. This was about Quinten. It was about wrecking him slowly, stretching the moment like taffy until it snapped.
He ducked down to suck Quinten’s balls into his mouth, wet and warm, flicking his tongue underneath while his fingers crooked inside him.
Quinten made a noise that had no business coming from a mortal throat.
“Raze, fuck, I swear… if you don’t… if you do… oh Gods, oh, Raze, Raze, Please!”
Raze slipped in a third finger.
Quentin screamed. Sweat dripped down his temples, his golden eyes wide and wild, curls plastered to his face. His thighs were trembling and spread wide, his cock leaking, flushed dark and bouncing with every thrust of Raze’s hand inside him.
“You look like a Godsdamned masterpiece,” Raze said.
Quentin’s voice broke, “Please, please Raze, I can’t… I need… Please fuck me now, please, please. I’ll give you anything. I’ll sing your praises in every tavern from here to Neverwinter, just fuck me already.”
Raze moved to lean over him, fingers still working slow and deep, and whispered in his ear.
“Ask me nice, Q.”
“Please!” Quinten begged, “Please Raze, I’m going to come if you keep going.”
“Maybe I wanna make you come.”
He curled his fingers, hard.
Quinten sobbed.
“Maybe I wanna make a beautiful blue mess of you,” he went on, brushing his lips against the edge of Quinten’s pointed ear, “before I fill you up with me hard…”
He kissed his jaw.
“…thick…”
He kissed his lips.
“…long…”
He gently bit Quinten’s lip.
“…orcish…”
He leaned back, just enough to look down at him, flushed, and desperate and panting like a thirsty dog. Then he grabbed a fistful of Quentin’s hair and pulled, just enough to arch his neck back and bare the line of his delicate throat.
“…cock.”
Quentin whimpered.
And Raze bent down to bite his pierced nipple. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make the tiefling cry out and shake his head, wide-eyed and completely undone.
Raze withdrew his fingers with a slick, obscene sound.
Quinten whimpered at the loss, his hips arching up and his hole clenching around nothing.
Then Raze’s hands were on him, again. Rough, fast and intent, he flipped Quinten onto his stomach with a growl in his throat, all muscle and motion and hot breath on the back of Quinten’s neck.
The tiefling gasped, sprawled across the bed, thighs spread instinctively, ass flushed and slick and so fucking ready. His tail twitched like a live wire.
Raze leaned over him, kissing between his shoulder blades, dragging his teeth down kurtköy escort the curve of his spine.
He reached over to his belt that was half hanging on the bedpost and found a small metal flask which he unscrewed one-handed and pored it slowly across his fingers with a practiced tilt of his hand.
Wrapping one slick hand around his cock, Raze groaned as he finally stroked himself, and then leaned forward to grind it slowly between Quinten’s cheeks.
He didn’t press in yet, he was just teasing, but he was letting Quinten feel out big he was, how ready, and how much he fucking wanted him.
Quinten’s hips twitched up towards him.
“Please Raze,” he turned his head, gold eyes glazed, “Don’t tease. Just fuck me already, Gods!”
“Oh I’ll fuck you, Shoog,” Raze licked sweat from the back of Quinten’s neck, “I’m just enjoying the view.”
Quinten’s hole was slick from his spit and the oil, and finger-fucked wide open, twitching like it was waiting for something bigger. THe backs of his thighs were blotched purple from strain, and his cock smeared a mess onto the sheets below.
He looked down at his own cock in his hands. It was long, thick, and heavy, with prominent veins. Had Quinten been with an Orc before? He wasn’t sure, but Gods be damned, he was not about to stop and talk about it now.
“You ready for me, Q?” Raze murmured, lining the tip of his member with the dark blue ring.
“Yes,” Quinten breathed, “Gods yes. Fuck me Raze, please. Fuck me like you mean it.”
Raze grinned and placed a large hand on Quinten’s back, “Darlin, I don’t do things I don’t mean.”
And he pushed in.
It was fucking heaven. Hot, tight, slick, Quinten’s body welcomed Raze with a shudder, a divine stretch and his rim clung around the thick head of his cock like it didn’t want to let go.
Raze groaned, deep and feral, “Gods Q, you feel like fuckin’ home.”
He pressed deeper, inch my aching inch, letting the tiefling adjust, letting the muscles part around him slow and sweet and prefect, until he was buried to the hilt, his balls flushed against that beautiful, blue ass.
Quinten gasped, fists twisting in the sheets.
Then… whap.
Raze blinked. Something had just slapped him in the face. He pulled back slightly, looked down, and laughed.
Quinten’s tail was going wild. It whipped back and forth, flailing in pure, uncontrolled ecstasy. One last caught Raze against the jaw again, and he growled through a grin.
“Alright, you little menace, enough of that.”
He reached down, caught the tail mid-flick, and hooked it around his forearm, pinning it like a ribbon tight to his wrist. The moment he did, Quinten whined. It was a needy, strangled little sound like the restraint had made him even harder.
“Oh, you like that?” Raze purred, “Being tied up by your own damn tail.”
Quinten tried to respond, tried to be clever, but he failed. He moaned instead.
Raze didn’t wait. He gripped Quinten’s hips and drove himself back in.
The slap of skin was thunderous, and the sound Quentin made could have woken the dead.
“Yes! Fuck! RAZE!”
Raze thrust again, faster now, deeper, “You’re takin’ me so good, Shoog. So damn tight around me. Fuck, I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”
He leaned over and bit the back of Quentin’s neck, cock punching into him with every word.
“You’re mind now.”
Thrust.
“This perfect little ass…”
Thrust.
“…this mouth, this tail…”
Thrust.
“Mine.”
Quinten sobbed into the sheets, tail still wound tight around Raze’s arm like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to let go or squeeze.
Raze fisted Quinten’s hair and dragged him upright.
The bard arched, gasping as his back curved like a bow pulled taught, his shoulders trembling, his neck bared to the rafters. Raze’s other hand still grasped his hip, fingers dug into the meat of him while his cock slammed into that slick, perfect heat with punishing thrusts.
“Gods Q,” Raze groaned against the curve of Quinten’s spine, “You feel like fuckin’ heaven.”
He looked down and watched his thick, green cock dragging out of that midnight blue ass, slick and soaked and glistening, only to plunge back in with a wet slap that made Quinten wail.
Again, and again, and again.
Fuck, the sight of his cock disappearing into that tight, twitching body was enough to make his vision go white around the edges.
He hadn’t had this in too long. He hadn’t been inside someone like this in what felt like a lifetime. Hadn’t been wanted like this, hadn’t heard the breathless, broken, fucking holy sound of another man begging him to keep going…
“Fuck Raze. More. More. Please, Gods, don’t stop.”
He buried himself to the hilt again, ground in deep and pulled back slow, just to watch the stretch again, then slammed back in hard enough to rattle the bed.
It was obscene and divine. The way Quinten’s body yielded to him, clung to him, begged for every inch and then demanded more, every time he tightened, Raze felt it all the way in his soul. Like his cock was being swallowed whole by something sacred and starving.
“Lookit you,” Raze hissed against his ear, dragging him upright again, chest to back, still driving into him without pause, “Gaspin, beggin, takin’ it all like the prettiest little whore this side of the Sword Coast.”