zeebeeatthegate

[zeebeeatthegate]

The Cold Soldier.

Soldier to the Order of the Gauntlet, a draconic sorcerer who weilds the magic stripped of her family centuries ago, the almost wife to a man she didn't love - Zelaia has never been able to define her own life, until now.

Camp Comfortability.

Chapter summary: It's the first night at camp. Zelaia contemplates her situation at hand, and worries about the whereabouts of her sister. Although she was hoping for some alone time, she's promptly interrupted by the camp wizard.

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While everyone else in the group got themselves set up for camp, Zelaia had politely excused herself from the peculiar group of strangers. They all had their own quirks one way or another that made them individually odd, but they all shared the same affliction, bonding them instantaneously. Without a potential death sentence awaiting, they probably wouldn't entertain one another, but circumstances demand their kinship. 

They'd already run into a few bumps—disagreements on whether to help the tiefling refugees, whether to save the druid leader Halsin, whether to be rid of all of the above and head directly towards an allusive Githyanki crèche. Personally, Zelaia saw the most value in the latter, but Lae'zel’s disdain for tieflings rubbed her the wrong way, and so she voted against her favour, purely to be contradictory.

Wrangling a group together isn't out of the ordinary for Zelaia. She's a soldier belonging to the Order of the Gauntlet. Many times she'd been tasked with leading her fellow order members into battle, strategising their best route forward to achieve success. Though rather unorthodox, this isn't so different. 

She felt a slither of guilt declining the hospitality offered by those kind enough in the group to extend such (not Lae'zel, unsurprisingly), but she felt exhausted and needed a moment of solitude. It was very sweet of Faeryl, the drow they'd found tangled up in Astarion's headlock, to offer her “mutually silent company”, worried about her being alone in unfamiliar territory, but Zelaia had no such anxiety.

She ventured towards the edge of the shimmering lake and found a large, flat rock that extended out into the calm, reflective waters. Seated alone on the rock, she's engulfed by the tranquil beauty of her surroundings—the gentle sound of the water lapping against the shore and distant critters calling into the evening, creating a soothing symphony to accompany her contemplations. Nature so untouched like this is a rarity in her life. She's used to the hustle and bustle of Baldur's Gate, a city that never sleeps.

She reaches into the chest of her wedding dress, pulling out a crumpled up worn piece of paper. She begins reading it.

To my dearest sister,

I'd come to terms with the fact we'd most likely never speak to one another again years ago, but then a little birdie told me of your engagement.

A part of me wishes to crash the grand event. Could you imagine our father's face? The man who raised us, embarrassed before all of The Gate by his disappointment, that I'd dare ruin your big day. The hero to all. The soldier that doesn't sleep.

The reason I write to you on your day, is that despite the time apart, you are still the storm to my snow. I am the water for your ice. We are one another's missing halves, and that means it is my responsibility to ask you the important question...

Are you playing the part of a bride, or is this truly a celebration of love?

I miss you terribly, Zelaia. Please know, that if the world were to turn its back on you, I'd always have my arms wide open.

Yours forever,

Zairissa.

She holds the letter in one hand, eyes scanning over sections repeatedly as she tries to settle on one thought out of the many racing around. Her primal instincts deep, deep down are screaming for her to go insane, be rid of that cover she holds onto so well to stay composed for the sake of others. If there ever was a time to lose all her sanity and be unapologetically mental, it's now, hours after being infected by a mind-flayer tadpole, with no idea where her sister is. 

She must have reread the letter roughly a dozen times by now. She's almost memorised it word for word, beat for beat. She hadn't expected to ever hear from her sister again, let alone on her wedding day, but there she was, ever present in the form of ink and kindness. Typical, really, that Zairissa could do so little and Zelaia would yearn for her so desperately. The pain of being separated for too many years pierced her heart like the point of a rapier—it had her soul crying out in agony, aching to be reunited once again. 

For what felt like an eternity, Zelaia had carried a heavy burden in her chest. A constant feeling of unease, an ever-present weight that refused to dissipate. The toxic love that bound her felt like thick vines coiling around every part of her body, keeping her stuck in place, slowly suffocating her spirit. She had sworn her life to protect and serve as a soldier, never pausing to read the fine print of her contract, or to question those who won't relinquish their control. 

Yet, when her cousin Zaxori handed her the letter, it sparked a glimmer of hope. As she ran away from her past, each step felt lighter and the weight on her chest began to lift. She could feel the first stirrings of true freedom in her heart, like a bird breaking free from its cage and soaring towards the open sky.

Whether it was sardonic divine intervention, or an unbelievably stellar coincidence, Zelaia has found herself stranded many, many miles from her home, in the company of strangers and not her sister. Saying it was unlucky would be an understatement. She'd been so close to reuniting with her twin, spotting her amidst the distressed crowd of panicked Baldurians, and before she could even decide her next move, tentacles from a Nautiloid were kidnapping both girls. 

She can hear the revelry of her fellow camp mates setting up for the evening, getting comfortable the best they can. Everyone has agreed that in order to find a cure for their Ceremorphosis, sticking together is their best bet. Not everyone is thrilled by the choice, but it is the safest. 

Zelaia included would love to travel alone, but she can feel her magic has been dampened by the tadpoles intrusion. She isn't as strong as she should be. 

Ceremorphosis. To become a mind-flayer. It seems like cosmic cruelty that she is to trade one type of servitude for another. At least the life she's known has a level of social acceptability—and, with her vanity in check, she doesn't want to transform into a hideous squid monster.

She's more worried about Zairissa than herself. What if she's already transformed? What if Zelaia is tasked with killing her, freeing her from a slimy, evil prison that her wonderfully kind sister would loathe? It's too much to bear, she couldn't possibly—

“Ever so sorry to interrupt!” A gentle voice bursts Zelaia's morbid ponderings, and she whips around with the fighting instinct to protect herself. She waves her hand quickly and summons a sharp knife made of ice, the air around glistening with snow and frost. To her relief (and mild amusement), she finds the dastardly intruder in question to be none other than Gale. The pompous windbag wizard that is oblivious to shutting up when needed.

He does little to react past a brief flinch, eyes widening at the sight. Zelaia rolls her eyes when she realises who it is and dismisses the cold weapon, letting it melt in her palm.

“Apologies.” She says, turning back around to face the water. She shoves the letter back into the breast of her dress.

“That's quite alright! I suppose we're all a little on edge, and it can't be blamed given the perils of our situation.” He laughs under his breath, then gestures to the spot beside her. “I was wondering if I could bother you with my company? I've helped everyone else get a few homely goods to set up their tents with the exception of yourself.”

She'd noticed him enacting spells earlier before taking herself away from the group, with a bright eruption of light catching the corner of her eye. It makes sense he'd use his skills to help the group, but being a sorcerer herself, she's naturally weary of entrusting someone else's magic.

Zelaia lifts her knees up and folds her arms over them, burying the bottom of her face. “It's very kind of you, but I don't need anything from my home.”

“Are you sure?” Gale asks. He takes it upon himself to sit at her side, groaning on the way down as something in his knees clicks. “It's quite an easy spell! I don't literally appear in your home, but merely an illusion of it, and using that, I can conjure up a few carbon copies of whichever items you may—”

“I'm aware of the spell.” She cuts him off with a sharp edge to her voice, glaring at him as he freezes in place, shocked by her interruption. “My room is the only sanctuary I had back home, and I don't feel comfortable letting a near stranger see it. I appreciate the offer, but my answer is no.”

There's a cold silence then, and Zelaia expects Gale to leave following suit. However, to her surprise, he stays put, letting a moment pass before talking once again. 

“I'm sorry if I upset you. I hope you know I wasn't trying to snoop around your home. I thought perhaps you'd appreciate some pajamas, or a beloved blanket to provide comfort. I don't imagine your dress is the most snug of clothing.”

Gale's voice is annoyingly optimistic, calmer than anyone should be when facing a fate such as theirs. Even worse is his positivity reminds Zelaia of her sister, so his good spirit is welcomed, despite herself. 

She scoffs, her eyes narrowing as they trail down the smooth curves of her wedding gown. It's a work of art, skillfully crafted by a master tailor to highlight her every curve with precision and grace. The description promised it would embody "strength and grace". The neckline plunged daringly low, yet the sturdy structure of the dress allowed for fluid movement while maintaining an air of elegant sophistication. Intricate details resembling twisting vines adorned the sides, expertly woven into the fabric with delicate silver accents that shimmered against the sleek white material. As the light hits, they seemingly come alive with a mesmerising otherworldly energy. Truly a masterpiece fit for a queen, it exudes both power and delicate beauty. However, Gale is right, it isn't the most practical or comfortable choice for lounging around in.

“I'll make do.” She responds, but notably turns to look at him, taking in the kind features of his face. “In truth, I don't own any pajamas anyway, so there isn't anything to fetch.”

“None at all?! That's preposterous, everyone owns pajamas!”

A hint of amusement flickers in her eyes as she arches a perfectly sculpted brow. "Why would I fabricate the current status of my pajama collection?" Her lips curl into a wide, good-natured grin, softening the sharp angles of her face. It dawns on her that this might be the first genuine smile she's had all day, and it brings warmth to her cheeks and a lightness to her heart.

Gale laughs softly in turn, nodding. “Good point. But then what do you do when it's time to rest, do you merely wear your day clothes? Or perhaps your spouse's pajamas?”

“If you must know, I sleep naked.”

“OH right, of course.” Gale's eyes widen all of a sudden, "I mean not of course!" He averts his gaze, seemingly embarrassed by what Zelaia assumes to be his cluelessness. She decides to enjoy the moment.

“Well, that's not technically true either. More than often I only wear a gold thong—”

“Yes, right, well,” Gale nods frantically, compensating for the cherry blush warming his peach coloured cheeks, and Zelaia can't help but giggle. He looks over at her, watching as she buries her face in her arms, body twitching with laughter. He sighs. “You're teasing me.”

Zelaia catches her breath. She winks at him. “A little. Although it is still true.”

Gale takes a deep inhale and steadies himself. “Well, your husband, or wife—or whatever they may identify as—I'm sure they consider themselves very lucky.”

The good mood starts to deflate from her, like his words are a needle to her spirits, and she feels a sluggish melancholy weigh upon her shoulders. Her husband. The man of the hour, that which never chimed, lording over her even when she escapes his clutches. She's a wife, even without being one, her dress cementing the status where words fail. The forced wife with no agency, chained to a man she doesn't love, his to have and to hold, with only death as a means to escape. His wife…

His almost wife.

“Sure.” Is all she responds, hiding back in her arms, and she assumes Gale will take it as it is, a statement with little to say outside of the audible. Yet he stares at her curiously, and Zelaia turns back to him quizzically. “What?”

“Forgive me for being nosey,” He begins, averting his eyes to the lake ahead of them. “But you don't seem too…happy about your bridely status, or at the mention of your spouse.”

“Maybe I'm just upset about being kidnapped by alien squids and stranded in the middle of Gods-knows-where.”

Gale nods. “That is also a fair assumption. Is that the case?”

There's a beat of silence before Zelaia responds; “No.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not particularly, but there isn't much to talk about anyway. I ran away then got abducted.”

“Ah,” Gale shifts uncomfortably, crossing his legs. He looks down at his lap. “So you're not married.”

“No.”

“Can I enquire why you were getting married if you evidently didn't want to?” To his question, Zelaia frowns. Looking in his direction, Gale meets her gaze and his face drops at her displeased expression. “I'm asking too many questions, aren't I?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry.”

Zelaia continues glaring at him for a few seconds before exhaling deeply. She falls backward and lays upon the rough stone, her body sinking into its cool, unyielding surface. Above her, the stars shine with a brilliance that can only be found in the wilderness, far from the artificial magical lights of Baldur's Gate. It is here, surrounded by nature's untouched beauty, that the stars truly have the opportunity to thrive and light up the infinite void of blackness. Each flickering speck of silver wisps mesmerises her, each twinkle representing a moment of eternity in a vast and mysterious universe. 

After a while Gale takes his queue to leave, no exchange of pleasantries or wishful good night's, and Zelaia is glad. It's easier this way. She can't afford to lose sight of what's important, finding Zairissa. Friendships only make it harder. The silence of her own company is golden. 

However, she's surprised when a few minutes go by and Gale promptly returns, situating himself back where he had been but with several items in hand. Zelaia doesn't sit up, but she looks in his direction, trying to see what he's brought.

“Far be it my intention to tell a lady how to dress, nor shun one's right to nudism, but I don't think the great outdoors is somewhere to sleep naked…unless you're a druid, but even then, our own resident drow companion requested pajamas!” Gale chuckles to himself, looking over his shoulder to see Faeryl sitting by the fire with Wyll, the two clad in their nightwear.

Zelaia sits back up and peers down into Gale's lap. He's brought her a pile of nightly items, what she can see to be a pair of pajamas similar to his own, and a thick blanket folded up several times.

“There's no pressure to accept, if you feel it's inappropriate of me to offer. The outdoors can get chilly, is all, and though I'm not 100% aware of tiefling biology, I assume you can still feel nippy if the temperature were to drop.”

She takes the pile into her own lap, lifting the purple tunic on the top. It's wonderfully soft, clearly made out of the best materials gold can buy. An embellished pattern details the neck and sleeve cuffs, similar to what he's currently wearing. She wonders to herself how many pairs of the same pajamas he owns, if it's imperative he have a style to accompany the infamy he awards himself—the ever important “Gale of Waterdeep” and his expensive, stylish pajamas that do his name such justice. It tickles her to think.

She lifts the tunic up to inspect further, pulling it apart and holding at arms width. The body extends far beyond the width of her shoulders, almost making the entire length her arms can reach. A little surprised, she lowers the top to meet his eyes. “Are these an old set of yours?”

Gale furrows his eyes in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Zelaia looks Gale up and down, inspecting his body. His sleep wear isn't exactly tight but it fits his figure snuggly, and with that she can see the shape of his body relatively well. He's a rather lithe man, with his chest filling the cotton of his shirt, firm as opposed to soft, and his figure in check that there's no abrupt lumps or bumps disrupting the fabric. He's not as tall and skinny as Astarion, nor is he as rugged and defined as Wyll—he's something quite pleasantly in between, not far off either man. 

Zelaia's a little surprised, if honest. She's not familiar with many human wizards who don't end up on the portly side. The pajamas in her hands suggest he'd once been bigger, more wizardly.

“These are far from being your size now.” She holds the top in hand up for him to see. “Did you lose a lot of weight?”

Suddenly Gale's face lights up a burning shade of rustic shame, his eyes blowing wide. He brings a hand up to tug at the earring dangling from his earlobe, and then meets her eyes once again. She has no idea as to what's come over him, but he laughs awkwardly, averting his gaze to anywhere other than her piercing eyes.

“Yes, that, I uh…it's a rather sensitive subject, I suppose.”

A sudden twinge of guilt sweeps over Zelaia, a rare occurrence she normally brushes aside. But this time, it lingers, refusing to be ignored. Gale's obvious discomfort is a tangled mess that she knows she has caused. She can't quite understand why he is so uneasy about discussing his weight loss, but she admires how he has been nothing but accommodating to her own needs and comfort. The proof of such sitting literally in her lap. 

"I suppose we'll learn of one another's many secrets upon our travels." She announces to break the tension. She leans over and takes his hand in hers, squeezing reassuringly. When his eyes meet hers again, she smiles. “Thank you. It's very kind of you to offer your aid.”

The discomfort drains from Gale's face slowly as he returns to smile, nodding in acknowledgment. “It's the least I can do. After all, it was you who pulled me from the stone earlier today. I could have ended up stranded forever had you not taken pity on a rogue hand waving you down!”

Zelaia laughs. “Quite a precarious group we are. If we shouldn't fall victim to the cold tendrils of Ceremorphosis, I think we're due to have a rather interesting adventure. Wouldn't you agree, Gale of Waterdeep?”

Gale exhales a laugh through his nose. “I most certainly would, Zelaia of Baldur's Gate.”

An hour or so later, the group take it upon themselves to finally settle in for the night. Zelaia retreats into a small tent, grateful for a moment alone to process her thoughts. As she changes into the borrowed pajamas, she finds herself musing over the very wizard they belong to, and the blundering charm she can't help but find endearing. It was a welcomed change from her usual guarded demeanor, always keeping people at arm's length. He seems so different from most of the men in her life, and she found herself basking in the warmth of his simple gestures, free from any ulterior motives or hidden agendas. His touch was like a cool breeze on a hot summer day, soothing and invigorating all at once. 

The fabric of the pajamas against her skin felt soft and comforting, adding to the cozy atmosphere inside the tent. With a content sigh, Zelaia drifts off into a peaceful slumber, grateful for this unexpected connection; grateful for a moment of reprieve from the worry she has for her sister.

-

Bonus mini comic of the twins:

[zeebeeatthegate]

Worthy. (NSFW🔞)

Summary: She loves him more than anything in the world—she needs him as much as she needs oxygen to her lungs. Mystra be damned, Gale has always been worthy, and if she never went above and beyond to cement that fact for him, then Zelaia will. She drags the tip of her sharp claw up his throat until her finger is positioned under his chin. He swallows down hard as her touch passes his adams-apple. "Shall I prove it to you, my sweetness? That you are very worthy?" Gale's eyes suddenly unfurl like startled butterflies, widening like the universe is expanding within them. (A.K.A. Zelaia knows Gale's love language is just as much touch as it is words, so she turns all her attention to pleasuring him.)

AO3 Tags: Porn with Feelings, Emotional Hurt/ComfortComfort Sex, Body Worship, Praise Kink, Femdom, Sub Gale, Tail Sex, Tiefling Tav, Belly Rubs, Belly Kink, Chubby Gale, Soft Gale, Mentioned Mystra, Hand Jobs, Well…I'm tagging hand jobs bc it's close enough but it's…it's a tail job, the ending implies Gale gets pegged off screen, Zelaia is a Dom and Gale is her sub thank you goodnight

🔮❄️

-

Gale has a lot of talents—his ability to cast complicated spells, being able to memorise lots of information in a short amount of time, cooking such delicious meals with limited supplies for a hearty group of opinionated adventurers…the pompous confidence he wears on his sleeve isn't exactly unwarranted. However, one thing Gale is not , is an actor. Putting on a performance without his whole heart and soul is as painful as pulling teeth. He wears his emotions like a mask, and to try and hide them, well…

All he can do is be quiet, and a quiet Gale is eerie. It's unnatural, uncomfortable.

Everyone at camp can see a mile away Gale isn't okay after they return from Stormshore Tabernacle. Astarion had tried multiple times in vain to rescue the mood as they journeyed back, joking at Gale's expense, at Mystra's expense, at even his own expense, but nothing helped. Gale remained unreadable, not speaking of his own volition, only answering direct questions with the shortest answers possible. He took himself to his tent, pulled down the opening, and hid away from the prying world outside. He needed to succumb to whatever heavy, unrelenting depression was choking him out, before it took over his entire being and transformed him into something vicious .

Zelaia didn't want to intrude immediately, despite how much it pained her to see him like this. The night before he'd taken her to a beautiful astral river for a quiet boat ride to discuss their options. He wanted to ascend, to become something of a God, because he thought that was the only way to salvage things—the multiple disasters plaguing them and their friends, he had the potential to cure everything, if only he was an omniscient being with divine powers. He spoke of Godhood like an academic to pursue and study, rather than the impossible task it really is. His eyes bore the burden of desperation, of broken despair, with hope somehow impossibly holding on by a thin thread that it may prevail. Zelaia could practically taste the acidic iron burn of his heart palpitations, thunderous even between their separate bodies.

Mystra's hold on Gale is something beyond simple human—or tiefling —comprehension. She was his first love, and Gale was her "chosen"...Zelaia could theorise, she could draw from her own past and experiences, but she'll never be able to know what it's like to stand in such a spotlight, desperately seeking the approval of someone with such unshakeable, all consuming authority. He couldn't think straight under her love, he needed to prove his worth, to let her know he deserved her attention. He wasn't just the humble human she chose but in fact was a magnificent prize in himself! He needed to go beyond the Weave, to reach heights worthy of impressing a Goddess.

Gale doesn't like to talk about the pain he felt after their breakup. He's told Zelaia a few tales of how isolation affected him, or how emotionally drained he became without who he thought was the love of his life. The conversations never last more than a few minutes though, ending abruptly with a joke to lighten the mood. He'd ramble about Gods knows what, "cleverly" changing the subject before Zelaia could push him for more.

She respects his privacy—despite her nosey nature, she knows some things are best left alone, and when it comes to Gale, well…she'd rather cheer him up than linger in the pity.

Gale doesn't come out for dinner. He remains secluded to his lavish tent, out of sight to the rest of the world. Zelaia sits around the camp with everyone else, her plate in her lap, still full. An anxious churning tightens her stomach, repulsing her from eating anything. She's too worried.

Astarion notices first and scoffs in her direction. He's busy braiding Faeryl's hair while she eats. A perk of being a vampire, Astarion often reminds them, is that he doesn't need to eat their food. So while they stuff their faces, he can do other things. In this case, it's fuss over his girlfriend's gorgeous mane.

"Darling, you know I love you dearly, but that sourpuss expression of yours is bringing me down. I mean, really, how can you even look so miserable in my company?"

Zelaia rolls her eyes and flips him off as he chuckles. She picks up her plate and rests it on the floor by her feet. The others are busy eating, not oblivious to her upset, but just carrying on as usual, respectful that she herself is rather private; even more so than Gale. It's obvious her anxiety stems from him, and she feels guilty sitting in their company, a dark cloud on their evening.

Astarion is her best friend though, he can cross lines others can't (Although it is Astarion , he's not exactly afraid of poking a bear with a thorn covered stick, best friend title or not).

"Ugh, this pouting isn't going to end until you go talk to that wizard of yours, so go on, be gone with you!" He theatrically shooed at Zelaia, ironically pouting himself as the worrisome expression she holds seems to be disrupting his evening. Thankfully, no one besides Faeryl is listening, otherwise she'd be inclined to chew Astarion out for making such a spectacle.

(No, Zairissa and Karlach are busy giggling at one another in that lovey-dovey way they always seem to, while Wyll teases Lae'zel over seeing her kissing her girlfriend, and Shadowheart watches them with a shit eating grin.)

Faeryl rolls her eyes and waves Astarion off dismissively. "He won't admit it, but he's actually worried about Gale himself– OW?! " Faeryl whips around to glare at Astarion, rubbing at her head where she'd felt a lock of her hair be tugged viciously. Astarion shrugs innocently, though a mischievous grin snakes across his features, all too telling that his innocence is more of a taunt. "You're such a brat!"

Astarion gasps dramatically, still smirking slyly behind Faeryl as he resumes braiding. "Whatever do you mean?! I've done nothing wrong, my dear." He leans forward to kiss Faeryl on the side of her head, lingering for a second as the drow nuzzles back against him, wanting more despite the scowl on her face.

"He's always so guarded when it comes to Mystra…I don't want to make him uncomfortable by intruding—"

"Oh good Gods, you're joking, right? You're the last person Gale would ever be uncomfortable around. He follows you around like a lost puppy, he hangs off your every bloody word! If anything, he's probably dying for alone time with you right now, whether you talk about the ex-Goddess or not."

Zelaia chews over the notion, pursing her lips. "I don't want to do the wrong thing. They're relationship, this whole situation, it's so…delicate."

Astarion lifts his hand and motions eccentrically, the rings on his long fingers glistening against the spitting flame of the campfire. "You know Gale better than anyone. Whatever needs to be said in the moment, there's no doubt about it, you'll know what to say."

Before Zelaia can thank him, Faeryl leans backwards and wraps her arms around him, squeezing tight and planting a wet, dramatic kiss to the side of his head. Astarion scoffs under his breath as he attempts to squirm away.

"Isn't he just so wise? My darling boy, much more than just a gorgeous face." She peppers Astarion's face in another round of exaggerated kisses, making the elf squeal, half-heartedly swatting at her to stop but all the same leaning into the affection. Zelaia rolls her eyes, laughing at the love-birds before getting up and leaving them to their silly bliss while she does as she must—comfort her wizard.

Gale's set up is a decent distance from the campfire, a deliberate choice that granted him a sanctuary of solitude. He tends to have a silencing spell cast over his tent anyway for a lick of privacy, but it's still a comfort to have that space away from everyone when most needed. Zelaia approaches with a hesitant tread, her nerves sculpting frost upon her fingertips as she grapples with a tempest of emotions against her magic. Her heart hammers violently in her chest, the anxiety coalescing into a sickly acidic bile threatening to rise from her throat. She stands before the fabric flap entrance for a few too many seconds, letting the anticipation build and torture her, before finally taking the side of the flap and delicately stepping inside.

Gale is lying on the ground, his back facing Zelaia, surrounded by plush pillows, one of which he's clinging to his chest. He's shed the robe he'd been wearing all day for the familiar embrace of his purple loungewear, a testament to his quest for comfort amid turmoil. There's a gentle melodic hum in the air, though no music box of sorts is around. Zelaia assumes it's a spell he's cast.

"Gale?" Zelaia's voice, soft as a whisper, traverses the space between them, a tentative bridge forged of hope and trepidation. She stands near the entrance still, her feet frozen in place until he grants her permission to enter his space. Her heart sinks when he doesn't respond—when he doesn't even move . "I'm sorry if I'm intruding. I can go—"

"No," He interrupts, his voice quiet and fragile: it's hard to believe it's his own. Zelaia watches as he laboriously rises to a seated position, the groans of effort echoing the strain on his fatigued bones. His appearance goes beyond the usual disarray of his unruly beard and overgrown hair; a palpable weariness envelops him. The toll of exhaustion is unmistakable from a distance—the burdensome bags beneath his eyes, the dark circles that eclipse the brilliance of his brown irises, casting a haunting shadow over them. He lifts his gaze to meet hers, and in the dim lighting she can see the blush risen atop his skin, the glassy pink in his eyes. "No, stay. Please…please stay with me."

Zelaia doesn't need to be told twice, as she falls to his side immediately, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him in close desperately. He buries his face into her neck, holding on for dear life, as if afraid he might slip and fall into the abyss if he lets go. He sniffles a few times, new tears pricking his eyes, and it makes Zelaia's heart hurt fiercely. She combs her long nails through the length of his hair—it's one of the things Gale loves , always soothing him when his head is too busy or he feels overwhelmed. She notices almost immediately how he melts into the touch, the knots riddling his body slowly unlacing to allow him to breath deeply.

They stay like that for a few minutes, content in one another's embrace, until finally Gale pulls away. He rubs his face as if to wipe away the embarrassment, averting his gaze from hers. She keeps a hand on his hip, massaging circles into his plush love handles.

"You must think me pathetic, sulking after talking with my ex."

Zelaia frowns. "I'm not so cruel that I'd judge you for having feelings, for being human." She slides her hand into his, squeezing reassuringly. "I know I can be somewhat judgemental, but I'd never judge you, Gale."

He scoffs under his breath, lifting his gaze to meet her mismatched eyes. "You're a lot nicer than you give yourself credit for."

She wrinkles her nose at the statement, unsure whether she agrees—though she knows Gale wholeheartedly believes it as truth. Zelaia is a soldier first and foremost, and far from the most gentle of those at camp. She's not the most charitable of people, especially compared to her sister, Zairissa, who thrives on helping the less fortunate even at a detriment to herself. Sure, Zelaia has helped those in need where she could, but she preferred to be compensated for her time at least, and even then it didn't mean she wouldn't vent about it later with Astarion, laughing as he crudely mocked the poor unfortunate soul they aided. She can't pretend she doesn't enjoy late night conversations with Astarion, sharing a bottle of wine and gossiping cruelly about the day and the many people they'd run into.

However, Gale has had an undeniable influence on Zelaia. His kind, compassionate nature rubbing off on her, in a way she never thought possible after her strict, cold upbringing. She wants to help people, even if she rolls her eyes and scoffs, a vain attempt to save face for who she believes herself to be. Gale has softened her, and if there was one person she would never belittle and chastise, it's him. Gale's rewritten every rule Zelaia had been taught growing up, so how could she ever cast judgement in his direction, when he's the reason she's kinder today?

She smiles at his words, then lifts herself to straddle his lap. Gale's hands instinctively move to hold her waist, his face falling to something between shock and desperation, like he's been yearning for her closeness; starving for her. She wraps her arms around his neck, returning to play with the length of his hair, watching how he once again melts.

"You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to, but I will listen if you need me to." She presses a feather light kiss to his forehead, then pulls him close to hold against her chest. He exhales the heavy dread that had clearly been building in his lungs, slipping his arms around the small of her back to squeeze tight. Gale isn't the biggest of men - especially when there's the likes of Halsin on camp - but compared to Zelaia he can easily envelop her in an embrace, her slender, petite figure exaggerated against his own. He buries his face between her breasts, comforted by the warmth of her body, the sweet smell of her perfume.

"I love you so very dearly," he says, muffled against her, his voice caught on an inhale. "And I can't help but feel I'm not deserving of your love. I'm not worthy of someone like you."

She rolls her eyes and tuts, tugging his hair lightly so his head is forced out from her chest and meets her scowl. His eyes are glassy, the threat of spilling a rainstorm ever present.

"I don't know what Mystra said to you, but you are more than worthy of love, full stop, let alone mine . You never need to worry about that. Understand?"

Gale doesn't respond. He maintains her stare, his mouth twitching as if to reply, but nothing comes out. Zelaia does her best to remain calm, but inside was a raging storm brewing, pure, unfiltered hatred for the Goddess of magic for making her shining light feel so worthless . She'd like nothing more than to strike her down, make her beg for forgiveness, weep at Zelaia's feet as she makes it clear Gale was, and still is , the best prize to ever be rewarded with.

"You are the best thing to ever come into my life. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve you."

He furrows his brow. "That's ludacris. You're divine—"

"And I think the same of you!" She laughs softly. "If you ask me, Mystra didn't deserve you."

He shakes his head. "That's not true. I broke her trust. I thought only of my own ambition, to prove myself in a way that could have and still can kill me…I was blinded by such arrogant, egotistical delusions." He averts his gaze and sighs. "How can I be worthy of love when I'm capable of destroying it?"

Zelaia knows Gale's self-esteem is rocky. Despite the "ego" he displays, he still struggles to see the value of all his best qualities. He looks at himself as half empty when Zelaia sees him as half full, and only ever wants to drink him up. 

In another life, she'd be back in Baldurs Gate with her controlling parents, using her magic only to fight, viewing herself more a weapon than a living being. In another life, she'd be numb and complicit, her soul burning under the raging flames she refuses to even acknowledge, void of any wonder or happiness like she has now. Without Gale, she'd be no-one; because who was she before him, before the tadpole, before the adventure?

He, and everyone else, have given her an opportunity to be someone, to find herself without pressure. He's allowed her a freedom she's never had before, given her the opportunity to fall in love on her own. She loves him more than anything in the world—she needs him as much as she needs oxygen to her lungs. Mystra be damned, Gale has always been worthy, and if she never went above and beyond to cement that fact for him, then Zelaia will.

She drags the tip of her sharp claw up his throat until her finger is positioned under his chin. He swallows down hard as her touch passes his adams-apple.

"Shall I prove it to you, my sweetness? That you are very worthy?"

Gale's eyes suddenly unfurl like startled butterflies, widening like the universe is expanding within them. His beautiful, chocolatey irises bloom, eclipsing the whites. Zelaia can't help the stifled laugh she releases under her breath, before bowing her head into his space. She teases him with the anticipation of a kiss, lips agonisingly close, enjoying almost sadistically how he puckers pathetically in a desperate attempt to kiss her. Her fingers suddenly snap around his chin, holding him securely.

"Well?...I asked you a question."

Gale's eyelids flutter in a rapid dance, like the fluttering wings of a startled butterfly, as the intricate mechanisms of his mind whirl into overdrive, recalibrating in response to the sudden shift in circumstances. It doesn't take long for his body to follow suit, blood rushing south at the speed of sound he's actually left a little light-headed. He moistens his lips, a reflexive attempt to anchor himself amid the tumult, grappling for words amidst the chaotic rush that has momentarily winded him.

"I don't…I don't want you to feel like you must , if that's what, um…this is about." He desperately tries to shift without accidentally bucking up against Zelaia's rear, lest it be made even more painfully obvious he's already hard . The way she's grinning at him, he assumes she can tell. He goes on, "I'm just as happy with you here, to have and hold. I'd feel awful making you do anything for my sake—"

"Trust me, if I didn't want to, I wouldn't offer." The corner of her lip curls higher, and to punctuate her thought, she grinds down eagerly against the solid appendage pressing against her ass, biting her lip as Gale lets out a pathetic, needy whimper. If she wasn't holding his chin securely, he'd once again be burying his face into her chest, both out of want for her body and to hide his shame.

"Gods, Zel…" His hands move to grip her hips again, bucking up with a shallow thrust, despite how much he wants to resist the urge. His toes curl as lust rushes through him, churning his belly fiercely. He knows he must look ridiculous, face blotchy and red, expression twisting into something lost and dopey, but the way she admires him, like he's a precious, expensive piece of beloved art has him forgetting anything was even wrong before.

"You're such a handsome man, I'm so lucky I get to gaze upon you so often." She exaggerates her hips as she rolls over his lap again, chewing her bottom lip with delighted glee when he curses under his breath, fingers digging into her hips it almost hurts. She lets go of his chin, holding onto his shoulders as she leans back to look between them, continuing to grind over his erection. Her own body obstructs most of the view, but she can make out some of his hard cock straining his pants, pressing up against her desperately for more. It thrills her, to see him so eager already.

She lifts her gaze to his face again. The expression reflected is one lost to his carnal desires. He watches her like she holds the secrets to eternal life, waiting on bated breath for whatever she has to say next.

"I'm going to stand up now," she starts, smirking at the pained whine he involuntarily releases. "And I want you to take off your clothes. I want you naked. Understand?"

Gale hesitates for a second - his poor self-esteem extends to how he views his own body unfortunately - but ultimately nods, thrusting his hips another few rounds for good measure. When Zelaia moves, Gale frantically starts undressing. He kicks off his bottoms unceremoniously, then whips off his top, awkwardly getting caught on his earring and grunting in pain before freeing himself. He's panting by the end of it, stark naked on his tent floor.

He tries not to think too much about what he must look like, every lump and bump on display, his stretch marks and cellulite loud and proud. Gale is undeniably chubby, if not bordering on straight up fat. He carries the weight well, often not even noticeable to most due to his broad build and oversized robes, but when there's nothing to hide his figure, then the truth is blatant. He's always had a fuller figure, the "baby weight" never shifting as a child well into his teens. He's at his biggest now, and often expresses disdain for it—but Zelaia loves his body, and makes it no secret.

He looks up to watch Zelaia, the perfect distraction from darkening insecurities trying to ruin the mood.

She undresses much slower. She's wearing a gorgeous all-in-on anarchic piece that hugs her figure, accentuating the curves of her hips and legs elegantly. Gale had pointed it out a few days prior, said she'd look beautiful in it, and was pleasantly stunned when she'd surprised him later that evening by wearing it to dinner. She delicately pulls it down by the shoulders, sitting it on her waist as she carefully pulls her tail through the hole at the back before resuming to take it off completely. She bends down with her bum conveniently facing him and begins unlacing her fluffy leather boots, loosening them enough that they'll slip off easily with a kick.

Gale's gaze initially stays firmly on her ass, practically salivating at the sight of her round cheeks against the golden thong, but then his eyes wander to that of her tail. Her beautiful, long, pink tail, waving back and forth, elegant and slow like a content cat. He's never been with a tiefling before Zelaia—or anyone with a tail , for that matter. Just humans, elves, and a Goddess. Her body fascinates him as much as it does turn him on. 

Zairissa and Karlach are much more expressive with their tails, wagging when they're happy, curling in on themselves when scared. He's seen them link tails a number of times too, as if in place of holding hands. Zelaia is more reserved, less "dog-like" and more akin to a cat, as she describes. Though Gale has caught a few quirks here and there, like how she uses her tail to catch things, or to swoop stuff off the floor. His favourite is how she wraps it around him when they're intimate, as if that need to connect is so strong, she has to touch him in every possible sense.

His lust riddled mind starts to wander into shamefully familiar but secret territory. Her slender, smooth tail, rubbing against his loins, tempting him with ideas of the unknown. Could she even?...He's never asked, too ashamed to admit the thought out loud, for fear she may be repulsed or offended. He'd never force her to, obviously, so if she said no, that's fine, but he can't bear to ask. A humiliation kink is one thing, but humiliation from insulting his girlfriend would mortify him beyond comprehension.

However, his cock still throbs at the thought. He squeezes his thighs together, trying to take back the reins as his desires begin to overwhelm him. 

When Zelaia turns back to face him, she notices Gale's line of sight is on her tail. Instinctively she looks at it, thinking there's something stuck to her. When she sees nothing, she turns back to Gale. 

"What are you staring at?"

Gale panics, straightening up as he awkwardly covers his cock; as if Zelaia isn't already aware of it and the reason for its current status. "O-oh nothing! I was just admiring you. I got lost in my thoughts, I suppose."

She squints, placing a hand on her hip. "Admiring me?"

"Of course! Who else?"

She's been intimate with Gale often enough by this point to know when something is amiss. Gale is deceptively kinky, much to Zelaia's delight and fond amusement, and she can tell from a mile away when he's hiding something like that …

"I wasn't thinking who else, but rather what else, exactly." A devious grin extends across her face as she lowers to sit in front of him. She grabs his wrists and pulls them away from between his legs, gently placing them on the floor beside himself. Then she's tugging his legs to unfold, encouraging him to rest them on either side of her body, spread enough that he can't hide anything from her. She hears his breath catch in his throat as her hands graze up his meaty thighs. "Are you sure you were simply admiring me?"

Gale is gnawing on his bottom lip, about ready to puncture the skin and taste his own blood. He wants to admit it, wants to speak his desires into existence, but the red hot embarrassment dominates him, keeping him quiet. He watches keenly as her touch slips round to his hip bone, squeezing the fat earnestly and yanking him closer another inch or two.

She doesn't let the silence last too long, continuing her investigation while her hands roam his flesh. "Maybe there's something you'd like to try tonight?" She brings one hand up to smooth over the curve of his belly, pawing the squishy fat he resents. He inhales on instinct, breath shaky as she marvels over his plush figure. Her other hand stays firmly on his hip, holding him possessively.

Gale's body is screaming for friction , his unattended cock standing in despair, and it only makes his depraved desires stronger. Her hands caressing his body, making him feel desirable in place of insecure, he can't bare them to leave, even if to help relieve him. His eyes move for only a moment to where her tail flicks back and forth behind her, and his cock twitches once again as he imagines it around his length.

Zelaia notices his gaze dart away behind her. She turns to look, moving her hands in the process, but is drawn back when Gale whimpers out pathetically. She raises a brow and scoffs.

"I'm still here, my love." She places her hand on his midsection again and rubs tender circles, pushing against the soft flesh lightly to admire how it moulds to her palm. "You like when I touch your belly?"

She already knows the answer—this is far from the first time she's touched him as such during sex, let alone engaged in  related kinks—she just enjoys making him admit it out loud. Watching his shy expression blush a fierce red, the colour rising to the tips of his ears, it's delicious. 

He swallows down the thick lump in his throat, nodding coyly. It takes him a few seconds before finally he manages to say anything . "Please…" is all he's able to get out before a whimper cuts him off.

Zelaia raises a brow, her grin extending even more than should be possible. "What is it you're asking? You'll need to be specific if you want me to do something." 

She runs her tail along his leg, no other reason than to touch him in another way, completely unaware of the thoughts he's been having, and is pleasantly surprised when he lets out a lewd moan in response. His body jerks, and his eyes dart to where her tail snaps up, watching as it sways back and forth. It dawns on her then finally, and Gale can tell in turn by how her devilish expression cements that she's put the pieces together.

"Come on, my sweet boy," she brings both her hands to the sides of his belly and squeezes hard, snickering when he squirms, his cock throbbing in response. He's so lost to his pleasure he's not even aware his eyes are elsewhere from her gaze, still tracking her tail as it sweeps behind her. "You're such a polite, eloquent man, I know you know how to ask for what you want." As she leans in, his eyes shift suddenly to fixate back on her gaze. She places her lips on his delicately and kisses him like it's the last time they ever will, like time is bearing down on them, heavy and painful. 

When she pulls away, Gale takes a deep breath, readying himself. "It's embarrassing," he starts, watching how she tenderly kneads his soft belly lovingly like he's a fresh piece of dough. "I…I've thought about it before, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Oh, my darling," She lifts a hand to cup his face, rubbing his cheek with her thumb as he nuzzles into the touch. "You're so considerate. The worst that could happen is I'll say no, and I know you'll respect that–"

"Of course, yes, always!"

"Exactly. So please, tell me what it is you desire. I won't judge you, I promise." She kisses him again to punctuate her point. "I want to spoil you, after all, prove how much you mean to me. Making your fantasies a reality is one such way to achieve that."

Gale takes her hand against his face into his and holds it to his chest. It's a small gesture Zelaia loves of his, a token of comfort that helps his restlessness. It's like he's grounding himself, using her body heat to remind himself he's alive and well, that things aren't at their worst yet. Zelaia's skin tingles where it rests against the orb's scar. 

"I have to make it crystal clear that I won't be upset if you say no," he starts, eyes elsewhere as if panicked holding her gaze will set him ablaze. When she giggles, his lips curl into a smile. "You're laughing at me when I'm in my most vulnerable state?"

"I'm sorry, my love, but we've been over this. If I don't want to, then I won't. Now hurry up and tell me, before I leave this tent and you to finish yourself—"

"I want you to give me a hand job using your tail."

There's a tense silence that follows, Zelaia's hand still on his belly stalling as she processes the confession. Gale's grip on her other hand tightens, along with his eyes, squeezing shut as he prepares for worse than the worst to happen. Zelaia doesn't really notice her tail's existence most of the time, it just waves contently behind her, a mind of its own unless she concentrates. She swings it around to look at, wondering why Gale would be so… aroused by it. Maybe it's the novelty of dating a different species?

It's sort of sweet.

So, while he's holding his breath, eyes clamped shut, awaiting her apparent disgust, she takes the opportunity to surprise him. She slides her hand down his belly to push up the slight overhang of his weight and gingerly wraps her tail around his throbbing cock until all that can be seen is the weeping prick. Gale's eyes burst open at the feeling and he gasps, looking up at her in disbelief.

"You're so handsome, Gale," she whispers, tightening the grip around his cock before slowly moving her tail to jerk him off. He stutters on another shocked breath. She takes her hand from his grip and cups his face again, anchoring him. "This beautiful face, I could admire you for days upon days and never grow tired. You're magnificent."

Gale is concentrating on breathing, so consumed by his carnal desires he's barely a coherent human. He balls his hands up at his sides, knuckles bleeding white from the intense grip, and unconsciously begins bucking his hips into Zelaia's hold. Soft moans fall from his mouth with every new second, his brain melting into the soothing submission lapping over him.

She continues to grope his belly fondly, admiring the artwork laced across his skin. Fresh, red stretch marks grow like sunflowers from the roots of his stomach, blossoming beautifully against his creamy skin. She likes to encourage him to have a second or third plate at dinner when he attempts to resist, because she knows it's what he wants . He's a big guy with a big appetite, and Zelaia sees no point in him squandering his love of food. She loves how his belly hangs, how she can carry the weight in her hands and lift it up. His body fascinates her as much as turns her on.

Maybe it's the same for Gale and her tail—that difference between their bodies. Her small appetite and fast metabolism paired with an overly active lifestyle means she's the polar opposite of him, and sometimes that contributes to his insecure anxieties. He sees how local Baldurian's look at her, wishfully hoping they could ravish her body, hold her tiny frame in their hands. He feels like a whale in comparison, like a fool awaiting a cruel punchline…

But Zelaia truly adores him. She finds him, mind, body and soul, unbelievably attractive, and she wouldn't want him any other way.

"I love your body," She says through a laboured breath, starting to feel the effects of her own heat taking over. Her tail picks up the pace fisting his cock as she caresses his belly harmoniously. "Love how soft you are, how safe you feel. I love all the things you deem imperfections, because to me, they're flawless." 

Her hand glide's up to cup one of his pecs, groping just as fondly as she was his belly. She takes a second to tune in with her dragon blood magic, summoning frost to her hand and caressing her thumb over his nipple. The icy touch has the sensitive nub hardening quickly. A shiver runs through Gale as he moans out her name, eyes rolling back as he drops his head back on his shoulders.

"That's it, my love," she coos, pinching his nipple between her finger and thumb, feeling her own loins tingle as he lets out a louder uncontrolled whine. "Would you like to lay back?"

"Zel, I'm…I'm close," he rolls his head forward, looking at her under a dark, lidded gaze. "I'm so close."

"Good. You're doing such a wonderful job, being such a good boy." She takes pride in the way he shudders at the praise, how his whole body tenses. 

He reaches for her wrist, for something to hold onto as the impending climax builds in his belly. She squeezes her tail around his cock more, as if to strangle the appendage, cut off circulation, and it has him whining louder, begging through breathless whispers. He's so needy, completely engulfed by subspace, all he knows is pleasure and release. He continues to fuck into her tail's grip, his movements becoming sloppy and unstable the closer he gets to his orgasm. It's so close, he can practically taste it, a dull burning in the back of his throat as his chest expands. 

Zelaia watches him hungrily, pinching his nipple rougher, working her tail faster. He hangs off her every word, her every touch, and that power is a thrill that lights a fire in her belly. He's so beautiful to her—his hooded eyes darkened by arousal, his mouth parted as words fail to come forth, a slick sheen coating his forehead, making the loose strands of hair stick to his skin—she wishes she could tattoo his current image to the back of her eyelids. She wants this dishevelled, blissful version of Gale to be the last thing she sees every night before bed. 

"Cum for me, my love. Be a good boy and cum for me."

That's all it takes for Gale, to do as he's told and finally reach his climax. He lets out a breathy wail as ropes of cum spurt from his cock, bringing a hand up to his mouth to muffle himself as the volume picks up. His cock throbs with each wave of pleasure passing through, his seed spilling over her pink tail, smudging against the underside of his belly where it pushes against it. Zelaia stops her tail's movements to just hold him, gently squeezing as if to encourage his cock to release everything he has. Gale moans with each lapping wave of pleasure until there's nothing left but a calm sea.

He's panting heavily as he takes his hand away from his face. He stares down at where Zelaia's tail remains around him. He delicately takes hold of it to unravel, and reaches behind himself to grab a spare rag he has conveniently nearby, wiping her clean. She blushes, watching keenly, flattered his first coherent thought is to care for her.

She dismisses the icy traces from her fingertips and shuffles forward to embrace him, flicking her tail away so his attention is forced back onto her . She wraps her arms around his neck and straddles his lap once more, kissing him desperately. Gale's reflexes are fast as he easily fits into place, holding her dearly and giving back as much passion as she does.

"My perfect love," she exhales into his mouth, a smile cracking the kiss. "My world."

"I know the whole point of…that was to prove how deserving of you I am, but all I can think right now is how utterly undeserving I am to have the love of a goddess like yourself." He presses a soft kiss to the corner of her lips, trailing down to her jaw and continuing south, pleased as she cranes her neck for him. "You are an angel sent from the heavens, a shining light in these dark times."

She lets out a shaky breath as his hands glide down her back, pulling her close, subconsciously grinding up against her heat. His cock is still hard, pressed firmly against her throbbing clit. The thin cloth of her thong does very little as a barrier between them; she feels everything like they're skin on skin.

"Gale," She exhales, carding her fingers through his hair, rolling against his length in a desperate pursuit for more , like she's dying of hunger, absolutely feral to feast upon the pleasure he has to offer. His soft lips press delicate kisses against the ragged scar across her throat. She's always been sensitive there, the reminder of battle both a wound to her body and spirit, but his affection is like a healing touch. She rolls her hips in tandem with his, then lets out a breathy laugh when he admits a quiet rumble. "Surprised you have such a fast recovery rate at your age."

Gale pulls back to glare at her. "Excuse you , I'm only 35!"

"Mm, such an old man," She leans in to kiss him on the lips, her smile extending high enough to crinkle her eyes. "Don't worry, you're the sexiest senior citizen I've ever laid my eyes on—"

"Yeah alright," Gale shoves her off his lap playfully, smiling as she starts cackling at his false offence. He loves the sight of her laughing—it's a privilege she offers to few, the relaxed, blissfully foolish side that she didn't get to enjoy most of her life. Gale drinks it up like he's a man dying of thirst, and she's his oasis. The way she loses her breath, the loud snorting that makes her cover her face, the big, ecstatic smile that lights up the room. Gods, he is painfully in love with this woman.

Did he feel like this with Mystra, so relaxed and content with the love they share? He adored her, no doubt about it, but it was so vastly different than what he feels with Zelaia. He's so unapologetically comfortable, basking in their sublime, bathing in the love she drowns him in, and he doesn't feel pressured to be something…Godly. She reminds him he's worthy, that he's enough for her. He can breathe deeply around her and not worry his lungs will burst.

He suddenly throws himself on top of her, forcing his lips on her own and gifting her the utmost passion he possibly can muster. She gasps into the kiss, but melts easily, hands moving to squeeze his love handles. They smile in unison, cracking the makeout but continuing all the same, moaning in harmony.

"Shall I repay thy lady's kindness? That quick refractory rate you're so impressed by is more than ready to put to the test." He rolls his hips against her heat and grins smugly when she takes her bottom lip between her teeth, meeting his grinding all too eagerly. "I can always use my mouth, if you'd rather…"

Zelaia quips a brow and snickers. "You're asking me what I'd rather, but knowing you , you probably want both."

A rumble vibrates up Gale's throat with a deep exhale. He nuzzles his face into the crook of Zelaia's neck and nips along her skin, unable to sedate his hips as they pursue the warmth between her legs. He's ravenous, always has been, but he truly hangs off her words, like a warlock signing the pact to their patron. He wants her to take him for all he's worth, own his mortal soul like an object to behold, and cherish it for an eternity.

Something begins tickling at his foot suddenly, pulling him from his lovestruck trance. He sits up abruptly and looks round, paranoid that a snake may have slithered into the tent.

It's Zelaia's tail however, rubbing up against him like a cat looking for affection.

"Gods, that gave me a fright."

She pushes herself up and leans into him, hands stroking up his meaty thighs, squeezing with want. "You're precious." She kisses him tenderly, drawing a low groan out of him. His hands slot into the curves of her hips and he falls backwards to allow her to rest over him, like he's her mattress to curl up on. "Tonight is all about you, my sweetness. If you'd allow me, I want to be inside you." She places another quick kiss to the corner of his lips as he turns beetroot red, grinning mischievously. "Would you like that?"

"I–" he clears his throat, wetting his lips as he tries to find a coherent thought in his head. "Yes. O-only if you would like that, too."

"Oh, my sweet Gale,"  she pulls back and gets comfortable between his legs, pushing against his thighs so his legs spread. Then, with a wave of her hand and a softly muttered spell, a sparkling translucent pink cock is summoned between her own legs, thick and standing to attention. She scoffs when she sees his eyes bulge at the sight, his own cock twitching excitedly against his soft belly. "I wouldn't have offered it unless I wasn't starving for your ecstasy. Now, relax, my love. It's time to make you see stars again…"