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Lae’zel stalked across the camp through the rain sheeting down all around her in a torrent of icy silver needles and tried to swallow the acid-heat in her throat. Night pressed in with the promise of secrecy and solitude but that wasn't what the warrior wanted.
No. What Lae’zel of Crèche K'Liir wanted was to still be inside her kith’rak's tent where the istik woman lay beneath thick blankets to drive away the cold.
What Lae’zel of Crèche K'Liir wanted was to peel her leader out of the strange black istiki garments until there was nothing hiding her strangely unspotted golden-brown skin and her full soft glands and the delicate tendrils of her fronds from Lae’zel's ravenous gaze.
She didn't know how to make things any clearer to Raven that she wanted to mate. The Bard said often that she found it difficult to “read” their companions but surely stripping naked in Raven’s tent was indicator enough that she wished to engage in sexual combat with the other woman?
Yet it seemed it somehow was not enough, despite the way Raven’s gaze had lingered first on Lae’zel's pert glands and then on the fronds between her lean thighs.
Lae’zel wanted to know the feeling of Raven’s warm breath against her fronds. She wanted to know the feeling of that clever tongue stroking delicately and twining greedily with her tendrils. She craved the sight of the soft, gentle Elf on her knees in hungry submission.
Yet when Lae’zel bared herself to the Elf, fronds trembling with the desire for touch, nipples pebbling with the cold of the bitter Faerûn night and the thought of Raven’s suckling mouth, after staring for several long moments Raven averted her eyes and gave Lae’zel a thrice-damned towel to wipe away the rain.
Striding into her tent and quickly tying it shut tight against the chill rain, Lae’zel cast a warming cantrip on the space before looking down at the rain-wetted black garment Raven called a t-shirt. The strange orange dragon drawn upon the chest blew a gout of flame from its blunted maw. A Charizard was what Raven called it. It was a type of stunted runty dragon known as a pocket monster. The Bard had loaned it to her after Lae’zel bared herself.
It did not make sense. Raven wanted her. Lae’zel knew it. It was impossible not to see the way Raven shivered and swayed when the warrior offered carnal threat with her claws pressed to Raven’s round cheek and full lips and wide throat and plump belly. The delicious aroma of the woman’s arousal was nearly as heady a thing as the sight of her battle fury.
Just that morning Raven had ripped from her own flesh an enemy blade pinning her hand to a table and thrust it into her attacker's throat, slicing through muscle and sinew and severing the big vein in the neck before leaving her enemy to choke to death on her own blood. If not for the treacherous Gith that Lae’zel herself had been fighting, she might have commanded Raven to submit to her then and there, coupling furiously in the battle-sweetness of blood and sweat.
It was indecorous to show affection or desire towards one's mate before the eyes of one's comrades but in that moment Lae’zel hadn't cared.
She wanted Raven. She wanted to force the Elf to her knees and name her “zhak vo'n'ash duj - source of my bruises” and feel her blunt istik teeth sink into Lae’zel's throat and glands and belly and thighs until the skin darkened like wine-heady fruit.
Perhaps she even wished to try this istiki custom of kissing that the Bard seemed fond of, to feel Raven’s mouth yield to her own lips and teeth. It wasn't something done among her own people but Lae’zel wanted to conquer every part of her kith’rak in every way possible.
With a frustrated chk! Lae'zel pressed her hands to her belly and cast a quick cantrip to dry the strange istik garment. This magic didn't work on dragon leather but soft fibers would surrender their pilfered water quickly.
When the shirt was dry Lae’zel threw herself down on her bedroll and closed her eyes as her mind grasped for sleep and her disobedient body grappled with the desire for soft istik flesh under her hands and a hot mouth sucking delicately on her fronds.
Fuck it. The phrase was one Raven was fond of. If I cannot conquer sleep then I will revel in a skirmish for a taste of the pleasure she may eventually give me.
She let her eyes remain closed as she built a picture in her mind - the battlefield from this morning littered with the shattered corpses of the enemies Raven brought down with her thunder spell and the hewn bodies of the wretches Lae’zel herself slaughtered in defense of her companions. Instead of the enchanted silvery armor her kith’rak often wore, Raven was clad in Githyanki lounging leathers like Lae’zel’s own as she stood regal and fierce in the middle of their camp and surveyed the fallen with cold hazel green eyes.
The Bard would look at Lae’zel with concern at first because she could not help her soft istik heart but once she realized the warrior was alive, her gaze would spark with the embers from the battle and the relief of her fighter unharmed and victorious. She would stride to Lae’zel and Lae’zel would meet her in the midst of the field. Raven’s ferocity would melt away as the power and hunger in the warrior’s gaze demanded an honest response without any istiki pretense or modesty or whatever else was standing in the way of their mating.
Perhaps she does not truly desire me.
The moment of doubt was immediately shot down with a flick of disgust and annoyance. If Raven did not want her then Lae’zel would accept that. However until her leader rejected her outright rather than hiding behind this outlander shyness, Lae’zel would allow her desire to flourish and smolder beneath her skin.
Retracting her claws, she raised the hem of the borrowed shirt until the still slightly cool air kissed her fronds and glands. The soft fabric smelled of Raven’s soap – strange flowers Lae’zel didn’t recognize – and somewhat of her skin. As her long fingers slid over her glands and brushed against her taut nipples, Lae’zel imagined Raven on that battlefield sinking to her knees looking glorious in straps of dragonhide and gazing up with the pleading look the warrior knew she’d seen in those eyes before.
In her fantasy Lae’zel threaded her fingers through the silken black and violet hair before pulling taut. A soft cry escaped Raven’s parted lips.
“Do you submit to me, my kith’rak?”
“Yes,” Raven gasped, almost a moan. The scent of her desire would be a heady thing on the air mixed with the warm aroma of freshly spilled blood. “Please, Lae’zel….”
The fingers on one of Lae’zel’s hands remained at her gland, twisting and pinching the nipple with just the edges of her claws to simulate the sweet bite of teeth. The other hand made its way across her toned belly. Dew began to pearl up along the thin tendrils between her thighs and slick her entrance. To have such a fierce and complicated creature under her power… for Raven to want to kneel and beg and accept the pleasure Lae’zel would offer….
Behind her closed eyes the bloody field remained but the leathers disappeared. Raven leaned forward with hands braced against Lae’zel’s thighs as her small pink tongue stretched out to flick against the tip of one tendril. A shudder ran through Lae’zel at the thought of that warm tongue licking dainty and soft against each trembling tip, tasting the salt-sweet dew of need slicking her fronds.
“More,” Lae’zel snarled softly. Her own fingers moved through the tangle of writhing fronds, each little brush of skin against skin sending shocks of pleasure through her pelvis and biting against her clit. “More, little kith’rak.”
In her head Raven moaned and took a few of the wet frond-tips into her hot mouth. She suckled gently and stroked with her tongue in quick lashing flicks. Her lashes fluttered while Lae’zel purred, “Very good. You can take more.” She needed Raven to take more. Not just her fronds but the twining phallus too. Perhaps one day she might even take fronds and phallus inside that strange and strangely beautiful Elven body. Perhaps she would even give Lae’zel a hatchling one day? The thought made Lae’zel's clit throb and tendrils writhe. “All of them. Open.”
Pale green tendrils twisted around Lae’zel’s fingers, stretching and writhing as they grew wet enough to drip with slick. The picture of Raven nude except for the spattered crimson spilled by her own spells and blade… the thought of those bountiful glands pressing bare against Lae’zel’s thighs as the Bard pressed closer with mouth open wide to accept the pulsing thrust of the small forest of miniature Gith tentacles…
Lae’zel canted her hips as her fingertips slipped past her fronds to find her aching clit. Each pass of her wet fingers sent another pulse of biting heat through her pelvis. She gritted her teeth. So close so soon? Unacceptable for a warrior to have so little control… and yet she couldn’t stop the insistent throbbing under her own touch. She couldn’t stop the staccato jerking of her hips against that touch that wasn’t even close to what she truly wanted.
In the fantasy Raven gripped Lae’zel’s hips with desperate hands and plastered herself against her thighs while she suckled and moaned and Lae’zel kept a ferocious grasp on the soft black hair that had Raven nearly swooning. Every stifled moan sounded like a plea for more.
“You’re mine, little kith’rak,” Lae’zel groaned to the apparition in her mind. “And I am yours. Finish me, and I will show you what true pleasure can be had from a Githyanki warrior. I will show you why you should be mine….”
She stroked faster and faster against her clit. Molten pleasure pooled low in her belly and claws scraped sharp and delicious along her spine and the threat of her surrender coiled tight behind her clit.
She kept the image in her mind: Raven gloriously bare on her knees and smeared in enemy scarlet, saliva dripping down her chin as Lae’zel’s fronds braided together into the thick twined phallus of her people and thrust deep into the hot welcoming mouth, Raven moaning and reaching between her own plush thighs to pleasure herself while Lae’zel held her still by the hair and rutted into her tight throat.
“Mine,” she gasped. “Mine… Raven… source of… my bruises… mine!”
The coil snapped, pleasure with claws and fangs sinking into her as heat spilled like sweet acid through each frond and pulsed through her clit. Her orgasm spilled from the pearly tendril tips and gushed from her entrance and in her mind as the glorious pleasure pounded through her pelvis and ribcage and skull, all she could see was Raven’s mouth and chin wet with saliva and mingled come from both fronds and phallus and her beautiful hazel green eyes hazy with the happiness of pleasing her mate.
Breathing as hard as if she’d run an obstacle course in the crèche training rooms, Lae’zel slumped against her bedroll and nearly purred with contentment as she rubbed her come-slick thighs together.
If the fantasy was anything to judge by, then when she finally mated her kith’rak, their shared pleasure would be enough to set the Realms afire.