Chapter Text
Caleb needed to fidget like a sparrow needed to fly. Molly knew this as an indisputable fact. It was impossible not to notice, even at a first glance. In fact, it had been one of the very first things Mollymauk had noticed about Caleb, and as he’d gotten to know the wizard over the months it had only become more clear: Caleb had an innate need to cast energy out through small, sharp movements in his hands and feet and jaw. If he’d been a fellow tiefling, Molly would have bet the last coin in his purse that Caleb would have had an over-active tail. As it was, Mollymauk supposed it was fortunate that the somatic components of Caleb’s spells could be cast with vigor.
Caleb was a heavy thinker. This weight upon his mind always seemed to express itself through the rest of his body in the form of various fidgets and fussiness. It was fine when he was at a desk scribbling notes down in cramped, precise writing or working on sigils and equations with tightly tense fingers gripping a piece of chalk. But when he was reading simple fiction or in deep, lazy thought, his hands would frequently wander on their own for lack of anything to occupy them.
Often his wandering hands would fall upon something small nearby and take hold of it. It could be anything at all. Whatever he could twirl or spin in his dexterous fingers would do, its origin a mere afterthought. He would happily trace all the grooves of a piece of weathered wood or the texture of a chunk of crystal, nails digging into soft leather or gently scratching the weft of a piece of linen.
Caleb’s need to move made it easy to tell when the wizard was immersed in a project and needed to be left to his own devices. If he was only skimming the surface meaning of a text, his hands would be tense, curled in tight claws around a tome as he looked for the information he needed in the moment. But at his most relaxed and comfortable, Caleb’s fingers fluttered with casual airiness, constantly seeking out stimulation.
Mollymauk hadn’t always liked this aspect of Caleb’s habitus. Initially, Caleb's restlessness had seemed to be a value judgment on the rest of the group, making him seem bored with everyone around him. But Mollymauk had gotten to know Caleb over time, and so where once his eyes seemed to shift suspiciously away, now Molly knew that looking people in the eye distracted Caleb— he preferred to interpret the wrinkle between them instead. Stuttering had been translated instead into Caleb minutely shifting phrasing mid-sentence, and flicking, fluttering fingertips had become a simple expression of joy. The more Molly realized how easy it made it to tell what kind of state Caleb was in, the more he learned to pay attention to the small movements of Caleb's fingers and jaw. Caleb did not feel the need to hide the movements from his friends as he once had, and that, really, was what had sealed his budding affection right into Mollymauk’s soft little heart.
When the Nein were in Xhorhas, ensconced in their strange little abode, Caleb had plenty of things at his disposal to occupy his hands while he worked: pens, feathers, the frayed ends of his scarf, or even Frumpkin’s tail on occasion. The library couch, where he often did his reading, had come with ostentatiously decorative pillows with gilded tassels on the corners that Caleb had all but worn to fraying.
Another funny little quirk the Nein had discovered was that when properly in the throes of a good book, Caleb would absently accept almost anything you gave him as a suitable locus for his fidgets. Freshly-picked flowers, pilfered hair ribbons, silverware, jewelry: all were twirled in fingers or run over knuckles or lifted to his lips to gently, absently gnaw on.
Mollymauk’s favorite discovery, however, was that Caleb would even hold your hand if he was properly distracted while it was introduced. Jester had done it first, and gotten a laugh and a pat in return. Even Caduceus had gotten a thorough pet through the soft fur on the back of his palm before Caleb had noticed.
But when Molly had joined in— foolishly thinking his rings and painted nails might provide some more interesting texture for the man— he had gotten a very different reaction. One he had found entertaining, yes, but not entirely satisfying. Caleb had run his thumb over Molly’s knuckles and twined their fingers together, pushing one glass-bauble ring back and forth a few times while he continued reading. But then, after a few minutes in which Molly definitely didn’t stare at him besottedly with Jester and Veth trading glances in the background, Caleb had suddenly startled and yanked his hand away, face flushing redder than Molly’s own eyes when he had stared pensively at his reflection later that evening.
What exactly was he doing here?
Molly may have tried it a few more times after that. He couldn’t help it! Caleb was just so entirely, inexhaustibly fun to fluster. Molly had already propositioned Caleb outright more times than he could count, and each time he had been turned down politely. It was almost a running joke at this point: Molly flirted, Caleb demurred, and the conversation moved on. Though it was clear that Caleb was no longer the empty husk of a man he’d been when they’d first met, Molly was frustrated that the ease with which Caleb incorporated charm into his introductions to new adversaries never seemed to be mirrored with Molly’s own friendly flirtations.
The problem was that it wasn’t all a simple flirt on Molly’s part, or at least not an empty one. He liked Caleb, which was the problem. He liked him sincerely, deeply, with an affection that wriggled its roots right down into the crag in his chest that Mollymauk wasn’t sure he could call a soul. But Caleb seemed...reluctant to respond. Molly was aware that from a logical standpoint, there were at least several dozen very good reasons that neither of them should ever be involved with other people. But if Molly knew anything about Caleb— and he liked to think he had gotten to know the man very well— he knew that Caleb often denied himself things he wanted just because he thought that was the way it should be.
Because Caleb Widogast, Hero of the Dynasty, thought he didn’t deserve nice things.
It was a mental block that Mollymauk had not yet been able to unravel. As far as Mollymauk was concerned, Caleb's inability to accept his worth wasn’t much of a reason to stop at all, or at least not one that had any real logic to it.
Mollymauk, however, had his own logics to work with. He had at least two reasons that Caleb should take him seriously and accept that he deserved all the nice things.
The first: Molly was confident that he was a very nice thing, with all the bells and whistles of a courtly, competent, beautiful, humbly loving prize.
The second: he was doubly confident that Caleb deserved him (Molly, the prize) very much. And that in return Molly deserved to see Caleb smile, restless hands gripping Molly’s own, finding solace in the steady grip of their reaching hearts finally twining like meeting fingers bound in a handfasting.
Or something to that effect. Jester could probably point him to a novel that could phrase it better.
The problem was, Molly was going a little crazy thinking about it. Crazy in the floral, luridly purple prose way that invaded his every thought. He wanted Caleb in more ways than he could count, and Caleb clearly felt something for him in return. That equation required a little bit of solving to make it work, but would undoubtedly have spectacular results if handled correctly.
And so Mollymauk began to construct a grand plan. Sure, Caleb was skittish about unexpected physical intimacy, but if Molly eased him into it… perhaps someday, maybe even a day not that far in the future, Molly could get Caleb to comfortably hold his hand.
Or at least hold it purposefully, and not as a subconscious reaction. Wouldn’t that be a feat?
Molly just needed to… work him up to it. Yeah. Baby steps, and all that.
—
Caleb was a recluse by nature, but wasn’t opposed to quiet company. Though he wasn’t always good at initiating conversations, Caleb seemed content to amiably share a room while other occupants kept to themselves nearby. This was crucial to Mollymauk’s plan.
The second component of Mollymauk’s plan involved the fact that Caleb often forgot to eat while immersed in work. And so Mollymauk took to delivering food to Caleb in his study. Every night, if Caleb had missed a meal, Molly would bring a dish of leftovers to him. Or perhaps a mug of tea, or one of the fresher pastries pilfered from Jester’s collection. Anything warm that would ensure Caleb never looked as rail-thin as he had upon their first meeting ever again.
He would bring a plate, a cheerful comment or update on plans, and stay to make sure Caleb actually took a few bites. And if he lingered…who was to blame him?
One night, while dropping off a plate of what Caduceus had called ‘vegan hotdish’ (Molly supposed it was at least hot, and it was on a dish?), he dared to stand in the doorway while Caleb set aside his work and prepared to take his meal break. Caleb sighed, stretching bodily in a way that had his shirt straining across his chest in a very appealing way. Molly swallowed an admiring comment and instead focused on the potatoes and pseudo-cheese on his fork, eating his own plate of seconds.
“You have been very attentive,” Caleb commented as he sighed gustily and picked up his fork, eyeing the bowl Mollymauk had handed him. His hands cupped the warm bowl as he dug in, but Molly noticed that the man’s leg bounced up and down. He smiled into his food. “You’ve brought me meals, made me tea…made sure I shower at regular intervals…” He raised an eyebrow. “For purely altruistic reasons, I am sure,” he said with a laugh.
“I only offered to join you that one time because you looked too tired to hold yourself up,” Molly said innocently, letting his tail twirl haughtily behind him as he chuckled. “And because you had literal bat shit in your hair.”
“The dangers of sharing a lab with an alchemist,” Caleb said with a solemn nod, rolling his eyes in the direction of Veth’s corner of the study. Though clean, it was not tidy. Mollymauk had thus far stayed away from that particular …situation. He didn’t dare touch any of the halfling’s unlabeled vials.
“Hmm,” Mollymauk said in agreement, focusing very, very hard on the food in front of him. Slow. Take it slow, Tealeaf. “I seem to recall that particular component coming from your collection, Magic Man.”
“And yet, the result is the same, Circus Man,” Caleb said with a sigh. He paused his fork. “Would you… like to stay and eat together?” he asked tentatively. He gestured with his fork to the other end of the couch he was reading on. It was covered in fussy throw pillows, but Molly thought they could be displaced easily enough. And the fire was low, but there were lamps bringing cheer to the room, and Molly’s food was only going to get colder the longer he hesitated in the doorway.
He grinned, sure that his cheeks were shifting from purple to pink, and not sure he cared to hide it.
“Sure, why not?”
—
Eventually delivering meals turned into staying to talk, which turned into genuine discussion of whatever they’d been up to while apart. Molly would listen to Caleb untangling a new equation, even if he didn’t always understand the technical aspects whatever the intriguing Drow with the stunning sense of style was showing Caleb in his private study. (And oh, Moonweaver's silver tits, wasn't that an image to entertain?) Molly could then return with a problem of his own that required some thought— sword design catalogues, the ethics of bloodletting pacts, if this particular bauble matched his general vibe... Even if the conversations weren’t always directly related, Caleb seemed interested enough in Molly’s perspective on his studies, and Molly was sure that Caleb was taking in every word of his chaotic nonsense with complete seriousness.
With that initial barrier eased, Molly worked on gradually closing the distance between them. He would brush against Caleb when the group walked through the city, and hand on his back to move him out of the way of oncoming foot traffic. If he was feeling particularly bold and willing to put up with Beau’s shit, he might even groom Caleb a bit, tucking a stray lock of copper hair behind his ear or brushing leaves off his fine coat.
Each night, for weeks on end, Molly made a point to sit a little bit closer at the dinner table when Caleb joined them, forking helpings of food onto Caleb’s plate for him or begging him to stay for a bite of berry crumble after. Or a cup of tea. Or a story by the fire.
Or a warm glass of good, hard-sought, exorbitantly-expensive Zemnian apple brandy, privately shared in what Mollymauk was coming to think of as their library, damn whatever machinations Veth had planned for her corner.
At the end of each long day, Mollymauk found that he could sit quietly in the library and simply bask in Caleb’s company, using all his self-restraint to simply be a good companion. He could recline and sip his drink and prop his feet up on the couch next to Caleb, admiring the broken, hooked line of Caleb’s nose as the wizard pored over trashy fiction, caught up in bad prose and admittedly captivating drama.
Gradually, so slowly that Mollymauk nearly forgot that he’d started with a goal, Caleb became used to the attention. No longer did he scoot awkwardly to the end of the bench they were sharing, or take a step back when Molly stood beside him. Instead he turned to Molly as if offering himself to be inspected and brushed down after a long trek. He made room on the couch for Molly to lounge next to him. He started keeping a second glass next to the well-hidden brandy. And best of all, he did not flinch at small contact comforts, even reaching out every now and then to return the gesture, his hands tentative as if he did not know if his touch was welcome. Each time, Molly beamed and leaned into it. And often he got a small smile in return.
—
The small fidgety movements never subsided, but Mollymauk began to notice patterns to them. Contrary to his initial assessment, it seemed that not just anything would do. There were particular textures that drew Caleb to them. If his nails needed a trim, he would press them tensely into softer objects to relieve the pressure on his nail beds. It the air was dry and bothering him, he sought out silky ribbons or glass marbles.
And if he was cold, he might even lay a hand on the hell-warmed weight of Mollymauk’s socked foot digging into the couch cushions next to him, fingers following the lines of tarsals and metatarsals, thumb rubbing the knob of his argyle-clad ankle.
On this particular night, Molly was reclining on the couch with Caleb, a place he felt he had earned through hard work and gumption. It was a fussy old couch, not quite stuffed enough for Molly’s liking, but comfortable nonetheless. It had a warped frame that sank in the middle, clearly having seen better days before the Xhorhaus had been assembled, and he was content to let it force him to sleepily roll into the cradle of its frame while Caleb absently pet his foot and turned page after page.
Molly dozed lightly under the dim glow of the fire in the grate, arms crossed and socked feet propped in Caleb’s lap. This contact alone was a new luxury for him. Caleb rested his free hand on Molly’s ankle, thumb slowly rubbing over the soft wool of his socks just to feel the texture. Molly’s tail draped over his hip, the spaded tip of it twitching occasionally when the fire popped or there was a creaking from somewhere in the house.
Molly would be the first to admit that he wasn’t very good at sitting still. But he had learned over time how to tolerate it, and in the right circumstances to savor it. This particular night was a rainy one, and there was a subdued nature to the library as Molly listened to rain pound the windows, the faint sound of conversation coming in muffled waves through the walls. He was content to doze through the serenity of it all, counting time by the fluttering of paper as Caleb read the newest hit by Matilda Mercer, the Dynasty’s finest, trashiest scribe. He could feel Caleb’s fingers tapping on his calf, feeling along the corduroy of Molly’s trousers.
“You are purring, Mollymauk,” Caleb observed amusedly after a long, comfortable silence.
“Am I?” Molly asked sleepily. He stretched his hands with a curl and crack of joints, tail waving as he shifted against the cushions. “Hm. Must be the weather.” He returned to his doze, his only movement his chest rising and falling and his tail occasionally flicking.
This really was divine. He knew exactly why he was purring, and it wasn’t because there was thunder to emulate. He was sleepy, he was comfortable, and he had a beautiful man petting him. It didn’t matter that it was just his foot, and that it meant nothing at all. It was perfect.
But the contentment couldn’t last forever. Eventually a seed of boredom started to root itself in Molly’s chest, making him sigh and twist to find a better position on the couch. Caleb was still reading serenely, the restless movements of his hands slower, more deliberate. Molly knew that he was not being ignored, but he didn’t like not being noticed, either. He poked his other foot against Caleb’s thigh as he turned onto his side, letting his tail wiggle a little as he settled again.
Caleb did not comment, shifting so that he was comfortable as well. His hand fell from Molly’s ankle to rub over the fabric of his own trousers, nails drawing lines over the weave of the fabric as he was once more absorbed in the book in front of him. (Distantly, Molly envied the allure of the new book; would that Caleb would be so absorbed with him as with a stack of freshly-printed fiction.)
Molly squinted at Caleb, mischief in his eyes. Caleb had gotten so used to other botherances. How far could Molly push his luck? He tapped Caleb's shoulder with his tail, the spade of it patting him in a leathery flap. Caleb idly swatted it away. Molly grinned. He waved his tail back and forth teasingly like a cobra looking to strike. Caleb didn’t seem to notice, so Molly fluttered it against his cheek. Caleb gently tilted his face out of range.
But then Mollymauk slapped Caleb’s hand with his tail, intending to maybe draw Caleb’s attractively frazzled expression towards him— but instead ensuring his own doom. He inhaled sharply when Caleb did not look up, did not fondly tell him to stop being so distracting, but instead roughly grabbed Molly’s tail and held it in a firm grip just below the base of the cartilaginous spade with a yank.
Molly’s mind blared static.
Oh no.
A shiver wracked his spine as something warm and familiar flooded Molly’s gut— and the shiver carried all the way down his spine, ending with a shaky jerk of the tip of his tail. Caleb’s grip shifted, now squeezing so hard that Molly felt the blood pulse in his tail tip. Molly’s breath turned shallow and hot. He froze stock still, staring blindly past Caleb into the fireplace crackling behind the wizard. Did he dare look directly at Caleb?
The seconds passed in glacial, torturous slowness. Distantly, Mollymauk wished that he had Caleb’s ability to tell just how much time passed in a given span. If he’d been forced to guess, Molly could not have told you clearly if it was seconds or millenia before Caleb returned to reading, his grip on Molly’s tail firm.
Molly swallowed a minute whimper as Caleb’s grip shifted so that he could pet the fine, tiny bones of Molly’s spine running through his tail, the delicate muscles and tendons that held it in its arc. Molly fought a full-body shudder as Caleb’s wandering fingers scratched the velvety skin of the spade, running over its curve to the blunt point of it.
He’s just reading. He’s reading, and he doesn’t even know what this means. He has no idea, Molly reminded himself incredulously. But it didn’t stop his cock from straining at the front of his pants.
Molly turned his head ever so slightly to look at Caleb directly. The wizard was still reading placidly, head tilted and eyes intense as they raced over the text in front of him, not even seeming to notice that anything was in his hand. It was as if Molly’s tail was just another piece of bric a brac to fiddle with, another inert bit of nothing handed to him to toy with while he amused himself.
Molly grit his teeth against a moan as Caleb pet along the fine bones going into the spade, calloused fingers dragging across the leathery skin. Caleb’s hands were so warm. The heat blazed up Molly’s spine, tingling very pleasantly indeed as it suffused his whole body through whatever infernal instincts were getting hot and bothered by the attention.
Watch it, Tealeaf. Molly took a shuddery breath as he warred with himself on what to do. Caleb didn’t know. Caleb had had a nice mug of chamomile tea with a spoonful of honey. He had had a good meal and was reading a new book. He was comfortable, and doing what he always did when he was comfortable: moving his hands and humming quietly. But now he was feeling out the delicate texture of what Molly was starting to think was the most sensitive part of his stupid body.
Was Molly just supposed to lay here, getting his goddamn tail played with like a whore?
Well…
Yeah, alright.
The onslaught continued on for several long minutes. Molly wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or frustrated that Caleb didn’t seem to notice Molly’s silence, but he couldn’t much think of it while Caleb squeezed and pinched and pet his tailtip, twiddling the cartilaginous spade flaps through his fingers or along his rough palm.
It was…difficult to keep quiet. Very, very difficult.
Molly suppressed a shaky whimper, staring aghast, unable to lift a finger to stop him as Caleb slowly, eyes still on his book, lifted the spade to his mouth. His mouth opened, lips parting gently as a puff of breath ruffled the peach fuzz on the length of Molly’s tail. Molly’s eyes fearfully grew wide as saucers as he watched Caleb lift the heart-point tip of his tail to his mouth, running the spade over his soft lips. Caleb had done similar things a thousand times before, running a feather over his lips or worrying at the collar of a shirt. Molly could just make out the soft heat of his breath and the faint prickle of facial hair rasping over his skin. It was akin to the sensation of someone nibbling on his ear, enough to— oh, fuck his traitorous body. His tail flicked wildly as another shiver ran through him, but Caleb’s only reaction was to grip more tightly, his fingers pinching the tender skin hard enough for his blunt nails to dig into the cartilage.
Molly was breathing hard now, air shallow and hot in his lungs. His own claws dug into the ugly throw pillow he was holding onto like a floatation device, the sharp ends of his nails probably rupturing the stuffing. He stared hard enough to bore a hole in a wall, cheeks hot, sweat beading on his brow as Caleb absently pressed his lips to the last, tiny knob of Molly's spinal column.
Molly’s cock throbbed in his trousers, achingly hard against his damnably tight pants. He knew instinctively that he wasn’t getting out of here with anything resembling clean clothes or dignity. Molly was torn: did he speak, and risk breaking the spell? Would Caleb skitter away like a startled animal, or would he lean into it, ravishing Molly here and now?
The truth, it turned out, was neither and both.
The last straw of Molly’s restraint was Caleb starting to press the spade between his lips, over his blunt human teeth, the flats of them dragging over his skin like a singing blade, sharp, bright, bloody awful, bloody brilliant—
“Fuck— !” Molly whimpered, high and loud and needy, on the very verge of coming in his pants. “Fuck, please, oh shit, shit, shit—” He jumped, hands flying to the outline of his cock straining against his pants, his tail finally jerking free of Caleb’s grasp. It flew away from his slack mouth with only a thin, cool line of spit shining on its edge.
Caleb looked like he’d been electrocuted, but the cat was out of the bag. Molly’s body shook with oversensitivity, but this time with the shock of neglect.
“No, oh, don’t stop,” Molly whined, gasping wetly as he canted his hips. He displaced another throw pillow shuffling against the old couch, scrambling for purchase as he tried to rock his hips up into absolutely fuck-all.
God damn it!
Mollymauk was not so far gone as to miss Caleb’s reaction, at least. He watched with dazed gratification as realization flooded over Caleb in the form of an immediate dark flush, the rubescent glow spreading patchily from his chest all the way up to the tips of his ears. The book fell from his lap to the floor. His hands, his fucking hands, floated emptily in the air, unnaturally still as Caleb’s eyes went wide as empty arctic blue oceans, and just as frozen.
“Gods above and below, why did you stop?” Molly rasped, unable to stop himself. He collapsed back against the pillows, wiping the sheen of sweat off his face. He’d been so close. He huffed, breath coming in deep gasps.
“That’s— I— you, um.” Caleb spluttered, eyes now darting over every inch of Molly’s body. Molly tried to take some satisfaction that they lingered for a long moment exactly where Molly felt like he was going to burst. “You, er, enjoyed that?” Caleb asked, stuttering over his words. He didn’t seem sure what to say, where to go, how to move, or how to act. He looked like he desperately wanted to tear his eyes away from Molly’s wanton display but was instead compelled by some evil magic to stare at the tiefling he’d half-debauched.
Molly let his legs fall open, one hand trailing down his body far too eagerly, framing the straining front of his pants and the line of his cock. He noted with satisfaction that Caleb’s eyes followed his hand’s path, taking in every detail hungrily. Molly smiled, one fang digging in prickle-point sharp as he worried at his lip, tongue lapping at the blood as he grinned sharply. “Didn’t think you had the teeth in you, to be honest.”
“I did not realize I was biting you— I would not have if I’d — I mean I did not not want to, but I didn’t think you were, you would— I— er—” Caleb spluttered, dragging one hand over his red face as if he should hide his traitorous mouth. “Mollymauk, I am so sorry—”
“Don’t be sorry,” Molly said quickly, though it sounded less reassuring and more ravaged. His heartbeat was starting to come back to normal range, and with it his senses. “It felt amazing, darling.” He sighed, basking in the warmth of the room, the glowing buzz of his own arousal. He squinted over at Caleb, limned by the firelight behind him. Was it imagination, or was the front of his pants tented? Molly grinned, fangs digging into his lower lip. This was his chance. He could push it now, and maybe the payoff would finally pop. “I couldn’t entice you to do that again, could I?”
“I, er—” Caleb spluttered, eyes flicking at every inch of the room except Molly’s eyes.
“What, you’re not curious? At least a little bit?” Molly teased, letting his tail flick playfully against Caleb’s thigh. Caleb flinched, flexing his thighs together, back straightening. “You’ve already done so well. And I mean that sincerely,” he said, dropping one foot back in Caleb’s lap, letting his tail trail over Caleb’s wrist. He felt incandescent in the light of Caleb’s pink face, his curiosity clearly outweighing his shame. “I mean, say the word and I’ll go finish myself off elsewhere, but you’re invited to the show if you want a ticket.”
Caleb spent a minute clearly torn, his eyes searching Molly’s face for any sign that this was just another flirt, a joke of some sort that he should not indulge. Molly looked back at him evenly, careful to keep his expression as neutrally welcome as he could, lest he scare Caleb off at this late stage. But gods. Gods, it was difficult not to sit up, to slither into his lap.
He had to let Caleb come to him.
“Does the...does the show include audience participation?” Caleb asked stiltedly after a moment of obvious internal conflict.
“Oh, absolutely,” Molly purred, his heart blooming. He took a deep breath, laughing shakily and flicking a bead of sweat off one temple. “Come here, my dear.” He beckoned Caleb closer, to cover his body with his own. He was acutely aware of the silence of the study, the late hour, the faint creaking of the rest of the house and the pounding of rain on the ceiling. It felt secluded, though they were as likely to be walked in on here as anywhere else in the place.
Caleb tentatively laid one hand on Molly’s knee, the other on the back of couch next to him, and scooted a little closer. Molly obligingly wiggled a little, showing off the long curve of his spine and making sure that the arc of his body extended all the way down his tail. He let it curl around Caleb’s ankle in one purple twist, the spade fluttering against Caleb’s calf.
Caleb carefully reached out to pet Molly’s abdomen. He stared intensely— and oh didn’t that make Molly burn— as his fingers brushed over the ridges of his tail, each knob of hard bone and cartilage creating a firm ridge. Molly sighed as he was pet and explored— then moaned when Caleb’s fist closed around an upper section his tail, where it was thicker, more like a limb than anywhere else. He pulled it gently this way and that, his experimentalist nature getting the best of him. He was clearly investigating the shape of Mollymauk’s bones, watching the interplay of skin and muscle. Molly bit his lip again, sure he’d be undone any second.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Molly purred. “Oh, fuck,” he moaned as Caleb rasped his thumb over the underside of the high point of his tail, pressing up and under the curve of one buttock so that rather than cup Mollymauk’s ass, he pressed the edges of his fingers into the crevice between sacrum and tail join. “Shit, that’s hot,” Molly gasped. He rubbed his hand over his groin, wishing desperately that Caleb would undo his trousers for him.
“You are sensitive here as well, I take it?” Caleb asked wryly, slowly drawing his hand down Molly’s tail, feeling the flex and curve of the musculature.
“Mm- hmm, ” Molly moaned, biting his lip. There was a rasp of a purr trying to make itself known again in his chest, but he was too tense, back bowed. He was going to ruin these trousers if Caleb kept that up.
He jerked his tail roughly closer, tugging Caleb forward. Apparently not expecting the strength of the appendage to be so prominent, Caleb stumbled to fall over Molly on hands and knees, body covering Molly’s own.
“Exactly where I like to see you,” Molly said, heart beating up in his throat. He rolled his body once, sighing rapturously as Caleb exhaled sharply and leaned in even closer, pressing their bodies together.
Molly stared up at him with lidded eyes, feeling a magenta flush flood his face. He wet his lips, staring up at Caleb hungrily. “There’s more, if you’re still curious, but I’m afraid I have a price,” he said as alluringly as he could. “It’s a small price. Barely even a question of cost, and one that I think would be freely given anyway…”
“You are babbling,” Caleb said, laughing softly, even as he looked overwhelmed. “What do you want me to…?” Caleb still looked unsure, but all Molly had to do was place one hand on his cheek, stroking gently along the line of his jaw, then curve his clawed fingers around to the back of Caleb’s head and tug him down—
Caleb’s mouth was soft on his own, gentle and unsure— and they couldn't have that. Molly pressed their mouths together firmly, pressing soft kiss after soft kiss to Caleb’s tense mouth until Caleb relaxed, his mouth opening against Molly’s own and— ah, there, the gentle press of a warm tongue against his own, slickly petting into his mouth. Molly sighed, and pulled Caleb closer against him so that they were pressed body to body, the line of them warm and tangled like a weaving gone awry.
It was impossible to miss Caleb’s interest at his hip, the hard line of him tantalizing in the best way. Molly sighed, and Caleb groaned softly. They pressed closer and closer, fabric rucking up between them. They ground against each other for long minutes, Caleb’s hand wandering over Molly’s chest and shoulders as if unsure where he should settle it. Molly wasn’t going to complain either way. Every place Caleb rested his hand was warm, skin sizzling at the contact like a sparkler. Molly sighed when Caleb squeezed his waist, shifting them on the couch so that they fitted together more easily.
Molly wrapped one leg around Caleb’s hips, pulling him closer. A wicked idea rattled in his brain. If Caleb wanted to study him, then he’d better give a good lesson. He guided Caleb’s hand up to one of his horns, encouraging him to take a hold of it. Caleb seemed to intuit what he was thinking, his rough palm wrapping around the curve of it, tilting Molly’s head back so he could duck down and tentatively suck marks into the curve of Molly’s neck. His teeth worried against Molly’s throat, dragging up lurid marks that Molly hoped wouldn’t show under the ink that colored his skin.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Molly purred. “You can be rougher than that,” he encouraged Caleb breathlessly. “You looked like you were going to bite me earlier. Do you want to bite me?” he asked curiously. Caleb made an interesting noise at that, one that Molly might have called a squeak if he was being ungenerous, and shoved his hand over Molly’s mouth while Molly cackled. But what really silenced Molly was the way Caleb’s grip on his horn tightened, the pad of his thumb stroking along the keratin ridges with all the reverence he’d normally reserve for a new spell scroll. Molly couldn’t feel it in the horn, exactly, but he could feel the echoes of the movement, could feel the pressure and vibrations of human nail on tiefling horn like the scratching of a divine itch.
Caleb groaned and pressed one more light kiss to Molly’s neck, then slowly— almost hesitantly— opened his jaw wider and nipped sharply, blunt teeth digging hard enough to bruise. The pain bloomed exquisitely, startling a “Mmmph!” out of Molly. He moaned, rolling his hips as pleasure ran down his spine like hot wax, flooding his gut until he felt like he could burst. Gods, that was good. Caleb rocked against him, cock a hot line against Molly’s hip, clothes a kerfuffle of useless fabric that Molly tried to push out of the way. All he needed was—
Caleb’s questing fingers rubbed at the skin at the base of Molly’s horn, where it was thin and flooded with blood vessels. His blunt nails dragged against it ever so gently, with a tenderness that did nothing to squelch the sizzle of delight that snapped through Molly’s body. It rocketed all the way down his spine, down out the tip of his tail and the clutching grip of his hands on Caleb’s shirtfront.
He bucked up against Caleb, cock pulsing in his trousers as he groaned into Caleb’s mouth, kissing him for all he was worth. Fuck, fuck—
“Shit!” Molly gasped into the stiflingly hot air of the library, hips bucking as he shuddered through orgasm, Caleb’s weight over him barely enough to keep him grounded. The bright tension of his horn and tail being gripped with sharp fingers was enough to make him throb, a sob breaking out of his throat as he spilled in his underclothes, not even close to enough shame to be embarrassed lingering in his mind.
Caleb kept kissing him through the aftershocks, sucking on Molly’s neck and scratching at his horn until Molly pried his hand away, shuddering and trying to make his brain focus through the fuzz of pleasant static that buzzed at the back of his skull.
“That’s...that’s enough, I think,” Molly managed to pant, a final shudder racking his body. His eyes didn’t want to uncross, so he closed them instead, blindly pulling Caleb into another wet kiss. All the heat of his blood was cooling now, from warm syrup to cool molasses, making him sluggish and sleepy. But Caleb was urgent against him, and wasn’t that another good type of joy?
Molly blinked his eyes open, willing away the sweat that caught in his eyelashes. Caleb’s expression was frantic, his hair a curling halo of fire, strands sticking to his face as his eyes flicked over Molly’s face like he was searching for something.
Permission, maybe?
Oh, Mollymauk could certainly give that.
Molly grinned and leaned up to nip at Caleb’s jaw, fangs dragging ever so faintly against his pulse point as he reached to unlace Caleb’s trousers. It was easy to pull him out, already a firm weight in Molly’s hand, throbbing and wet. Molly let his hand slick over Caleb’s cock a few times, enjoying the weight in his hand, the way it pulsed wetly in his grip. He grinned when Caleb’s ducked his head down as if bracing himself, his eyes squeezed shut as he seemed to tremble with the attempt to stay still.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Mollymauk murmured. He wrapped his legs around Caleb’s waist again, pulling him closer, so that they lined up perfectly. Molly could no longer give a shit if he was going to have to peel these pants off. If he was going to be a mess, he wanted to be a proper mess. “Against me,” Molly murmured, tugging Caleb back down to kiss him again, lips as soft as his hand was mean. He jerked Caleb quickly, digging one heel into Caleb’s backside to press him closer, to urge him to rut against him. The pressure was divine, exactly what Molly needed, and he arched up against Caleb with a shiver of delight. A few pillows fell to the floor as they rocked on the couch. The fire crackled, the wind pounded against the walls, and Molly’s ears strained to hear something, anything from the man above him.
He could just about make out small whimpers falling from Caleb’s mouth, muffled into Molly’s shirt front. Well, they couldn’t have that. Molly leaned up to tug him into another kiss, swallowing each quiet moan into his mouth, petting his face with his free hand to keep him close.
Caleb came not much longer after with a shudder and a whine, hips stilling as he shook with each pulse of come splashing over Molly’s front.
Molly let him go with one last firm, lingering kiss, smiling sleepily as he stretched like a satisfied cat on his end of the couch. Caleb only blinked at him, red from his ears all the way down into his collar. His hands fluttered gently in the space above his knees, like he didn’t know what to do with them but was just too full-up with energy to keep them still.
“You look like you want to flee,” Molly said, even as a purr rumbled its way out of his chest. “Might I suggest you do the opposite? I very much enjoyed myself, before you ask.” He looked at his front: come was splattered over his shirt, and the front of his pants wasn’t doing much better. He grimaced “I could do with a little prestidigitation, but other than that...stay with me?” He swept sweaty curls out of his face, trying his best to look enticing— and he knew from experience he could do that one very well.
“I...alright,” Caleb said dazedly, awkwardly tucking himself back into his pants. “I, ah. I am not quite so good at that one, but…” He flicked his fingers, and with a slightly unpleasant tingle Molly felt somewhat clean again, if still a bit sticky. Caleb collapsed at the other end of the couch, stiffly angular in the disarrayed pile of throw pillows at the far end, where he’d begun.
Molly frowned, sighing exasperatedly before sitting up and reaching over to grip Caleb’s wrist. He tugged at Caleb’s arm until the wizard lay down on top of him, their bodies pressed up solidly against each other just the way Molly liked.
“There we go,” Molly said with a satisfied sigh. He closed his eyes and let himself resume purring, the rumble in his chest as comforting as Caleb’s weight on top of him. Caleb rested his head on Molly’s chest with a sigh of his own, shifting carefully to get comfortable. Molly pet his poor anxious wizard’s hair, combing through the haphazard whorls of copper with his fingers, scratching lightly at Caleb’s scalp. Eventually Caleb relaxed against him, his breath evening out to match Molly’s own steady rise-and-fall.
“When you purr like this, you really are just like one big kitty cat,” he said with a tired laugh after a long few minutes basking together, his voice heavy with sleep and satisfaction. “One might almost call it cute.”
“I’m very cute,” Mollymauk agreed. “It’s one of my many talents.”
And so they dozed off, the sound of the dying fire in the grate and rain drumming on the ceiling counterpoint to quiet breaths and the occasional sigh.
—
Molly awoke alone, but not abandoned. He had been gently tucked in, an afghan spread over him and one of the cleaner frilly pillows pushed under his head. He stretched, cracking his bones all along his neck and back and down into his tail with a satisfying series of pops, and shuffled into the kitchen, blanket draped over his shoulders like a cloak. It always seemed like midnight in this strange city, but their kitchen was a cozy one, with plenty of magical lights to keep the place glowing warmly. And there, sitting alone with his teacup and his thoughts, sat Caleb, sipping at a fresh pot of tea.
“It’s not as good as when Caduceus brews it, but you’re welcome to a cup,” Caleb said, his cheeks pink as he took in Molly’s rumpled form. Molly looked at him in return, a wiggling worm of caution whispering in his ear that this might be the moment Caleb asked him to forget about the evening entirely.
So Molly poured himself a mug. It was indeed a little oversteeped, but that could be made up for with a lump of sugar and a little cream to soften the edges. He plopped himself opposite Caleb at one of the trestle tables, allowing himself to relax in the soft lights of their beautiful home.
He sipped sleepily, still waking up, and cracked his jaw on a yawn before smiling at Caleb. He let his tail slink around under the table to curl lightly around the human’s ankle. Caleb, to his credit, did not flinch or pull away, and only ducked his head shyly to slurp at his tea.
Molly allowed himself a minute to admire the man in front of him, sleep-rumpled and kind, his busy fingers tapping away on his cup as he thought about whatever it was that most occupied his mind this morning. Molly suspected that at least a little bit of it was about him.
“A pleasant morning to follow a pleasant evening,” Molly said with a happy sigh, allowing his tail’s grip to tighten lightly on Caleb’s ankle. Caleb looked up at him through those fine, reddish-blond eyelashes of his, his gaze unsure. “I’d like to do that again,” Molly said as plainly as he could. “Preferably somewhere more private— or not, if that’s your thing— and with fewer clothes on.”
“Ah...I see,” Caleb said diplomatically, his face definitely pink now, the tips of his ears nearly glowing with it. Molly fought the urge to reach out and tweak one, just to feel the heat of it under his fingers.
“I rather like you, my dear,” Molly said, leaning his chin on one hand. He put his teacup down, laying his other hand on the table just far of center.
“O-oh?” Caleb looked started, his eyes finally flicking up to meet Molly’s own.
“And I think you like me too, only you’re afraid it won’t last.”
Caleb frowned, a guilty look coming over his features. His grip tightened on his cup.
“While I can’t promise forever— we all know how those sorts of promises fail in our line of work,” Molly said, trying to sound confident but not glib, “I can promise you a very enjoyable now.”
Caleb looked at him earnestly, blue eyes clear and bright as they searched Molly’s face. They flicked down to the table, to the pot of tea, to the two empty cups. To Mollymauk’s hand resting gently between them.
“Would you have me?” Molly carefully turned his hand over, scarred palm neutrally facing upwards.
And slowly, to Molly’s extreme delight, Caleb placed his own warm hand over Molly’s, squeezing once and rubbing his thumb over Molly’s wrist bones. He smiled, and it was like looking into the rising sun.
“I would like that.”