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A deep rumble startles Barcus from his sleep. Something large is pressing down on his chest, and with another startle he realizes that it’s someone’s arm. In a panic, he pushes the arm off himself and tries to quickly escape the confines of an unreasonably large duvet. While trying to hold his eyes shut to keep out the acid-like sunlight burning his retinas, he tumbles off the side of the bed. What should’ve been a short fall is a rather long one, and after hitting the ground in an undignified sprawl of limbs, Barcus realizes that he is not in the Iron Gnomes hide out. Although the sunlight should already have given that fact away. At least he’d landed on a plush carpet. With a groan, he pushes himself up to a sitting position and instinctively holds his pounding head in his hands. As if he could contain the pain. It was not the fall that had caused it, judging by the state of his thirst and the incredible over-sensitivity to the sun. It could only be the effects of alcohol.
“Oh, magga cammara…” He mutters hoarsely, blinking the grit out of his eyes and trying to get some sort of bearings on where in the world he was. The sunlight made it near impossible, but he spotted what seemed like the dark fabric of curtains on a far wall. He rose laboriously to walk over to them and draw them shut, stumbling over unidentified objects as he did. As he draws the heavy fabric shut he feels a rather alarming breeze under his tunic, and reaches down to confirm that he is, for some reason, not wearing neither trousers nor underwear. In the blessed darkness, his now panicked eyes start to make out the shapes of his surroundings, frantically searching for the rest of his clothes.
The room is circular, or somewhat rounded, with a high ceiling and great curved bookshelves lining most of the walls. The red curtains he’d just drawn shut covers a large window along one of the shelf free ones, otherwise allowing for the whole room to bathe in sunlight. The entire room is a mess, by Barcus’ standards. Strewn across the floor and on every surface are books and strange objects, vases and collectibles, instruments and flasks, scrolls and parchment littering the lush carpets. The bed he’d fallen from is massive, and not only by his deep gnome standards. It had high bedposts and an intricately carved headboard, with a canopy of different fabrics creating a colorful weave above. Growing ever more confused as to where he is and how he had ended up in that bed, the rumbling that had awoken him shakes the room once more. His eyes seek the source of the sound, deducing that it’s coming from the person who’d had their arm on Barcus’ chest as he woke up. A white beard is all he can identify peeking out from under the covers. With a great frown and disbelief on his face, Barcus realizes that it belongs to a man he’d met the night before.
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They’d been tavern-hopping in the lower city, desperate to relieve the grief and confusion shaking their whole group after Wulbren’s death a few days prior outside the Steel Foundry. Everyone had silently agreed that Barcus now ought to lead their sorry convoy, though he himself was starting to question the sensibility of that. Even though their accomplices had managed to deactivate the Steel Watch with minimized bloodshed, their victory felt small in the shadow of their now dead leader. Alcohol and comforting company was in its place, Fulguro and Nickels had declared, and Barcus had indulged them. He’d had a hard time finding much fight in himself to deny them.
After two bars with minimal attendance, they’d been drawn to the bustle of an event taking place at the Sharess’s Caress, conveniently close to their hideout as well, allowing some of them to slip away and call it a night. Barcus however, felt it his duty to stay and make sure he kept up appearances of some sort of morale. At least that’s what he thought he should do, as a supposed leader.
Somehow they’d gotten a table in one of the Sharess’s bar rooms, luckily timing their arrival with the simultaneous forced expulsion of a group of disruptive red caps supposedly travelling with the circus. The entirety of the Sharess’ was otherwise packed with lustful and thirsty people, as there was some offer of discounted brew and excitant dancing to be ogled at. Dulbers had bought the first round of ale for the Ironhands, but when their cups quickly emptied, the toll fell on Barcus to fetch a new round.
He had quickly realized that he’d drunk too much sitting down, and as he rose, his worldview shifted like he was aboard a capsizing ship. He subdued a hiccup, clutched his near-empty beer mug and made for the bar. But despite his best efforts to walk straight, he stumbled on the two steps leading up to the main room - falling headfirst into someone’s colorful robe. Beer splashed everywhere as he dropped his mug and he braced himself, flailing his arms for purchase, but an impact never came. He felt a gentle tug of an invisible force righting him upward, and looked up with confusion. An older, bearded face with bright blue eyes looked down at him with gentle surprise.
“Svirfneblin!” The taller man exclaimed. Feeling immediate discomfort at being labelled by his appearance at first sight - and so correctly at that - Barcus’s intoxicated brain replied with the first retort that came to mind.
“... Hoon.” He muttered, hardly imagining that the man would even understand. Barcus tried to get his bearings and realized with a drop to his stomach that he was levitating off the ground. Not by much, but his feet would not take him anywhere. He looked up at the man again, realizing that he had been kept from falling by magic and that this bearded man was still holding him up with help of some suspension spell.
“Now, now, what unnecessarily crude language, dear boy.” The man said, and with a slight wave of his hand gently set Barcus down on the ground again. From seemingly nowhere, a handkerchief appeared from the same hand, and he extended it to the deep gnome. Bewildered that this man would have understood what he said, Barcus received the handkerchief in stunned silence and tried his best to wipe the beer from his face. He wondered if the man would accuse him of sullying his robe with beer. He had been the one to stumble, after all. Immediately feeling somewhat guilty and moderately grateful, Barcus handed the handkerchief back.
“My apologies, and gratitude for this, sir…?”
"Well, some of you might say ator or mious, but formally I am known as Old Mage Aumar. Or Elminster. And never you mind that at all." He said and took the napkin back and snapped his fingers, effectively evaporating all traces of beer from both the handkerchief and his robes.
Barcus gave a nervous laugh, at first thinking that he must be jesting. But then it hit him. Long white beard, hawk-like nose, blue eyes and a pointy hat. And the ease with which he used magic. If it wasn’t the Elminster, it was certainly a good impersonator. But Barcus didn’t intend to test his claim or benevolence.
“Well, I’m terribly sorry about your robe. Although not anymore, since you… fixed it. So if you’ll excuse me… “ He said, and made to walk past the man, but a long-fingered hand descended on his shoulder.
“Tell me, my friend, is that your conflicted company over there, so intent on swilling away their woes yet seeming awfully in the mood for.... dollymopping?"
Barcus looked back at the direction the alleged Elminster indicated, and much to his embarrassment, it was indeed his cohort that was draining the last of their cups and engaging in vulgar endeavours. Fulguro seemed to have made good on his commitment of acquiring some more ‘fulfilling’ company and was leaning back in his chair as a well-endowed working girl shrouded his face in the shadow of her breasts as she towered over him while dancing around the chair. The others clapped along to the music and laughed at Fulguro’s amazement at the wiggling and wobbling of soft body parts in his face.
Barcus cringed and sighed, wishing that he could deny any and all relation to the people supposed to be under his command.
“I assure you she has been… incentivized for her troubles.” He said, referring to the working girl.
"Oh, in this fine establishment, I've never heard differently.” Elminster said, rather effectively soothing Barcus’s anxious concern about being perceived as sleazy.
“Say, my good fellow, would it trouble you terribly if I were to join your…”
Elminster pauses to observe how the girl shakes her bosom in Fulguro’s face, to the sound of encouraging whoops and shouts from the others.
“...passionate patrole? We seem to be all out of seating and, scatterbrained as I am, I failed to make a reservation in time."
Barcus felt himself growing more distraught with his crew and his situation by the minute, wishing more than ever for alcoholic oblivion. Spurred, by a thirsty soul and a voided coin purse, an idea formed in his mind.
“Why - yes. But you’ll have to reimburse us for the, uhm, reduced privacy. We are a careful folk. And thirsty.” He said and pointedly indicated to the bar with his head, hoping that his rowdy entourage wouldn’t make the supposed Elminster question their supposed private nature. But the man just nodded. Barcus thought he could see a glint of something else in the wizard's eye, but it was gone in a moment's passing.
“Certainly, certainly. I’ll be back in just a moment then.” He said, and wandered off to the bar with a remarkably quick and easy gait for someone his age. Pleased with having turned a mishap into what he hoped would become free drinks, Barcus returned to his friends.
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Another loud snore brings Barcus back to reality. As the memory of last night fades, it’s replaced by a sinking feeling in his gut about what had happened next. Trying to focus instead on the task at hand - finding his trousers or at least some underwear - he quietly traverses the cluttered bedroom, trying not to stumble over tomes or large geodes. He supposes there is some organization to the chaos; most of the books are stacked on top of each other and there is some semblance of a path in between all the junk - but no trace of his clothing. As he bends down to look underneath the comically large bed, his headache ambushes him with the sudden rush of blood. Holding his head and suppressing a rising nausea, he wonders what in Gaerdal’s name compelled him to drink so much. Most unwillingly, he prods his mind to recall another fragment from the night before.
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Barcus has a vague memory of someone challenging the long-bearded wizard to drink the burly bartender's special brew and despite that he ought to have a considerable constitution, Elminster quickly gave in to the strong effects. Barcus almost suspected that he did so on purpose. And not long after, he was no better than the rest of them, drinking and laughing, but with significantly more interesting stories to tell than the rest. The Ironhand Gnomes, Barcus and some of the Sharess’s staff included, quickly found themselves enraptured with tales of the wizard’s adventures. Though, to everyone’s delight, he seemed to favour the misfortunate ones. Barcus listened with only half an ear, but was happy to see his friends forget their woes, if only for a short time. He himself, however, secretly wished that Wulbren was there. Although if he had been - they would have been working, not drinking. Not unless they had actually succeeded in blowing up the Steel Foundry and the Gondians with it. But Barcus couldn’t even say if he would’ve stuck around to see it through. None of the outcomes of Wulbren’s plans aligned with his own morals and he had failed every attempt at talking Wulbren out of his misplaced thirst for vengeance. If only he could’ve been more convincing. If only Wulbren had cared to listen. If only Wulbren had cared for him at all.
Barcus was torn away from wallowing in despair as Elminster lowered his voice for dramatic effect, pulling him away from his dark thoughts to catch the end of a fabled treasure hunt.
"And here it is. Here, my fine fellowship, is a kerasine pipe in more ways than one. Induced, nay, laced with the finest distillation of incubus essence, this pipe makes smoke akin to inhaling the sweet breath of a yearning lover.” Elminster professed, and held out a beautiful long-pipe made of horn, carved with intricate swirls and patterns and exhuming a sweet-smelling tendril of smoke. Fulguro reached for it then, greedy in his drunkenness, wanting to be the first to try.
“Ah, but be warned! It has the effects of just that." Elminster admonished, but surrendered the pipe all the same, leaning back and watching the gnomes pass it around. Barcus wasn’t sure whether he ought to intervene, and figured it was surely fine for them to smoke some rare tobacco. Though perhaps he should’ve thought twice about letting them smoke a wizard’s pipe as the Ironhand Gnomes’ faces grew increasingly red, and the conversation quickly turned to topics that made Barcus rather wish that Wulbren would have succeeded in razing the Foundry - and the whole of Baldur's Gate with it. He tipped his mug back and wished for the brew to drown him.
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Barcus curses himself and feels his face contort in regret of not having paid more attention to what kind of drug had actually been offered to them. He paces around in circles at the end of the bed, holding his head to keep it from splitting and tugging his tunic down to hide his nude lower half. He wonders what has become of the rest of his crew. He must get back to them. He figures that the best way of going about that would be to first of all figure out where in Baldur’s Gate he is. He walks back to the curtains he’d drawn shut, and prepares his sore eyes to withstand the glaring light. Carefully pulling one curtain aside, he peeks out through squinted eyelids. At first, he thinks the glass pane is fogged up, as all he can see looks like mist. Then it hits him. All he can see outside are swirling clouds and open white skies. In a panic and rush of vertigo, he quickly draws the curtain shut again. How on Toril has he ended up here? Is he even on Toril anymore? Shutting his eyes once more, he forces his head to recall another scene from the night prior.
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An image of the Chionthar swims into Barcus’ mind, of the dark rapids flowing far below as he looks out from the ledge of one of Sharess’s Caress’ balconies. The starry night sky is reflected in the swirling currents - but the whole image is blurry. With a cringe that makes his toes curl, he recalls that he was crying. And not a little at that. At his refusal of smoking the pipe, the others had urged him to drink more to make up for his abstinence and it had gone too far. He’d gotten up to get some fresh air as his head had started to spin and his stomach lurch. The wizard must have followed. Barcus can’t recall exactly how it had started, but he must’ve started talking about Wulbren one way or another, because he recalled how wet his face had been from sobbing. And that he had been holding the wizard's handkerchief yet again.
Exactly what he had told Elminster about Wulbren eluded his memory, but he had to have talked for quite some time. At one point, he must have said all there was to say, and all he could hear was the muffled sounds of music and people talking inside the Sharess’, paired with the low crackle of Elminster’s pipe burning. Until the wizard broke the silence.
“There are only two precious things on earth: the first is love; the second, a long way behind it, is intelligence. It seems you possess a great deal of both, dear Barcus, to not let the first get the upper hand on the latter.” Elminster encouraged. In hindsight, Barcus appreciates this sentiment, but in the moment he thought little of it. It even angered him, momentarily. So much so, that he snatched the pipe from the wizard’s hand.
“To the Hells with my intelligence.” He said harshly and uncharacteristically for himself. Perhaps he was channeling his inner Wulbren. He took a long drag of the pipe, not thinking of just what pipe it was. It tasted wonderfully sweet, and didn’t bother his lungs at all. He was used to coughing when smoking, not inhaling whatever vaporized raspberry jam this was. In his bewilderment, he took another drag, before the wizard snatched the pipe back.
“Careful now, boy.”
Barcus scoffed at being called boy, but supposed that in the wizard’s century old eyes, he must seem quite young. And in the same thought, he was taken aback by a sensation that quickly spread through his body. It was a warm and surging feeling, like being washed away in a tidal wave, or like being longingly embraced by a lover. Elminster chuckled low, and Barcus felt - with minor panic - a strange attraction to the sound. It must have shown on his face. He hoped it was just the panic.
"Ah, there it is. Like a secret caress under a table, or an inviting gaze across a room. The nudge of a hand, a sensation so alike the weave - yet even more elusive and entirely uncontrollable.” The wizard looked Barcus up and down.
“Desire. Do you feel it, dear Barcus?"
Feeling his panic rising along with the arousal, Barcus swallowed hard.
“Oh, yes, I think so.” He mumbled in response.
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Barcus suddenly feels incredibly naked and shakes his hungover head in woes of toe curling embarrassment.
“No, no, no…” He mutters, and walks the path back to the middle of the room, intensifying his search for the rest of his clothes.
Avoiding all thoughts of the man snoring in bed, he hastily walks past it and continues to the far end of the room where a chair, a dresser and mirror tell of a place where clothes should be. A side table stands between the dresser and an archway with strands of a beaded curtain that conceal the next room. On the side table he spots his jacket thrown across, as if in a hurry. He snatches it up, but feels it will do little to conceal his… situation, if he were to put it on properly. Instead he ties it around his waist, at least letting it cover his behind. Encouraged by the start of what he hopes will be a trail leading to the rest of his clothes, he pushes some of the beaded strands hanging from the archway to the side, peeking in. Indeed, his clothes lay there on the floor. But the haunting familiarity of the scene that meets him almost inhibits his ability to function, the shock of what he sees stupefying him.
In the immediate middle of the circular room, on top of a plush round carpet, sits a large round purple divan, its shiny velvet now dull where it had been glimmering in candlelight the night before. Rounded glass cabinets line the sides of a large window, its deep blue curtains drawn shut to the bright world outside, only letting in tendrils of light through a small crack. To the right side of the divan, pushed up against the wall, is a large armchair with an accompanying round side table. Bizarre and sensual items and statues line the rounded walls of the room, either in display cases or on small tables, or simply standing tall on the stone floor. Half-burned down candles stand on tables now, though they had been floating in the air the night before. The glass cabinets by the window are filled with vials and flasks containing liquids in all colors and shimmers, lined up beside scrolls and crystal items. On the side table beside the armchair lays a white pipe.
Barcus eyes are drawn back to the round divan and the light blue crystal rod laying on it, as it brings back a whirlwind of memories. Every new one is worse than the previous. He has to lean on the side table by the archway for support, eyes wide open, taking in the debauched evidence strewn and stained across the room.
Then it hits him. The faint smell of incense and sweet smoke from the night before.
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Incense tendrils rose along the walls and a scent of arousing musk filled in the air. An enchanted sitar played a lewd tune by itself in a corner, as if the atmosphere wasn’t salacious enough. And then he recalled a vision of himself, suspended in the air, floating upright in front of Elminster as the wizard undressed him, pulled off his shirt and tugged off his trousers. And Barcus had… assisted him. There had been a drunken urgency in the both of them. But Elminster had kept his own clothes on, and Barcus cringes as he realizes that he liked it that way. Liked the imbalance. Gods, what a depraved man he is, underneath it all. And Elminster had encouraged it, had let him get it all out.
It comes back in fragments to Barcus, like flickering apparitions. The wizard had placed him naked and face down on the divan, but hadn’t done much to touch him at first. He’d fetched some oils, picked out some… supplies from a glass cabinet and then returned. Barcus recalls being handed a beautiful glass vial with a potion that tasted like cherries as it went down, and made his body feel warm, at ease, and loose. After that, the images are blurry and tinted with a warm orange glow. Elminster’s encouragement echoes in his mind.
“That’s it there, very good, Barcus, slowly now.”
He was pressing a light blue crystal rod further inside himself as the wizard watched from an armchair. Tingling lubricant helped Barcus push the crystal in all the way until its widened base kept it in place. Elminster was giving him instructions in a low, husky voice while smoking lazily on his white pipe, growing increasingly aroused with every drag. Sweet smoke mingled with the dark incense, turning the whole room hazy.
“Stand on your knees, dear boy, and face me.”
With the crystal deep inside him and his body already trembling with pleasure, it was hard for Barcus to move without it overwhelming him. But he did his best to first get on all fours and then slowly stand up on his knees on the velvet surface, facing the wizard. Barcus' arousal showed clearly as his hard cock was all exposed for Elminster to see. The wizard nodded approvingly and lifted a hand to snap his long fingers, commanding the crystal inside Barcus to start vibrating. With what Barcus assumed to be thunder magic, an intense hum overtook his senses, sending strong waves of pleasure like lightning throughout his body. He moaned in surprise and quickly grew desperate for relief. It was all he could do to keep himself upright. Elminster seemed pleased.
“Good, good. It's a simple concept, in truth, but with most gratifying effects. Let the sensation conquer you, Barcus, let it overwhelm your senses, let it channel your pleasure entirely - infinitely.”
Barcus remembers that he at least had the decency to blush and feel exposed, being so vulnerable and completely at the wizard’s mercy. That’s at least what he has to tell himself now, because nothing in his sobered state can explain why he then asked Elminster for more, as if what had already transpired wasn’t scandalous enough. His attempt at speech was broken with several moans.
“Ah, I need, mm, more - please…”
“Oh, all in due time, dear boy. Worry not, I am not one known to withhold or deny desires of the flesh. But before we do anything else - move the crystal in and out for me.”
Barcus had done as he was told, reaching around himself and leaning back, slowly moving the vibrating crystal in and out. He could feel himself twitch and throb with every push in, but whatever he had either smoked or drank kept him from reaching a climax that he otherwise surely would’ve reached by now. Instead, he was kept steadily on edge, release threatening to swell over - again and again. It was maddening. Barcus can only recall strong sensations for a while, until something new was introduced.
Still in his armchair, the wizard recited an incantation that Barcus didn’t recognize. But it revealed itself to him soon enough, as two small circular portals appeared. They shimmered and swirled as Elminster moved his hand to make them move in turn. One approached Barcus’s crotch and the other hovered above an armrest on Elminster’s chair. With aroused fascination, Barcus realized what they were for, as the one closest to him approached his cock and swallowed it, making it appear through the other simultaneous dimension door. It didn’t feel like anything, and Barcus looked down in slight drunken shock at his disappeared cock in the shimmer of the portal. Nothing could have prepared him for the sensation then, of Elminster gently grabbing Barcus’ cock in his hand from the other portal. It was implausibly strange for him to feel a sensation that he couldn’t immediately comprehend, before he looked up at Elminster, to see him slowly stroking his cock. It was obscene, to see it appearing through the other portal, but arousing to see and feel the wizard touching him. Elminster was leaning back and smoking his pipe with one hand and stroking Barcus’ seemingly detached cock with the other. His hat cast a shadow over his face, but the candlelight reflected a gleam of want in his eyes.
“Does that satisfy your wish for more, dear Barcus?” Elminster mused, a slight smile playing on his lips under his white beard.
Feeling overwhelmed from the crystal vibrating inside him and the confusing but addictive touch of Elminster’s warm hand from the other side of the portal, Barcus thought that, surely, the wizard couldn’t possibly have much more to offer. Still drunk and emboldened by a mix of fumes and tinctures, he decided to test this hypothesis.
“It… ah, will have to… suffice.” He taunted innocently, prompting a deep chuckle from Elminster.
“Oh ho - I see. Well, if you think yourself able to withstand more, I might have an evocatory addition in mind.” He said low, and it was clear to Barcus that whatever he was about to evoke greatly amused him. Barely having time to regret his teasing, Elminster had already put his pipe down on the side table beside him to free up a hand for whatever somatics Barcus was in for. With a flurry of finger movements and words that sounded vaguely familiar, Elminster evoked three small floating entities and sent them Barcus’ way. As they got closer he recognized the spell. They were magic mouths, lips and hidden tongue floating in shimmering magic, and Barcus had seen them in use before. But only one at a time, used to relay messages over great distances from the spellcaster to the receiver, however, whatever function Elminster had in mind for his multiple mouths now was likely all but verbal.
“Collum et auris.” He said with an elegant move of his index finger, and one of the mouths closed in on Barcus, nearing his neck but hovering just a few inches away. He held his breath, realizing that the wizard was giving the mouths instructions on body parts.
“Papillae et corpus.” Elminster continued, and the last two remaining mouths floated to hover close to Barcus’ chest. He wasn’t sure whether he was imagining their cold breaths on his skin, but it prickled up nonetheless.
“Initia.” Begin.
Elminster commanded them simultaneously, and all at once the mouths were set to work on Barcus’s body. He inhaled sharply as the mouth by his neck closed the distance and caressed him with its cold lips. Elminster regarded him steadily, blue eyes watching his reactions intensely as he started to stroke Barcus’ cock through the portal once more. The other two mouths closed in on Barcus' chest, both set of lips closing over a nipple each. Barcus couldn't help the moans that escaped him, the sensations were really beginning to overpower his body and mind. The cold lips of the mouths felt so good on his warm skin, the crystal inside him vibrated relentlessly and Elminster’s hand kept stroking him. He felt himself start to move and sway, leaning into the sensations and wanting to reach the limit that was magically kept at bay. It was all he wanted right now, all he could think of, and when the mouths on his body parted their lips to reveal cold tongues licking in between sucking and caressing, he really felt as though he would come.
But it was impossible, the edge that he wanted to cross felt impossibly far and close at the same time. He was starting to feel frustrated, and it must've shown on his face.
“You're insatiable, dear Barcus. Whatever more could you need?” Elminster taunted, and slowly rose from his chair.
Barcus swallowed in anticipation and shifted in place. His mouth felt dry from all the heavy breathing and his body was tired from holding him upright while on his knees. He wondered if the wizard was going to make him say it, and hoped not, as he wasn't sure he'd like to beg for anything. As if Elminster could read his thoughts, he walked up to him and put a gentle hand under his chin, looking down at him.
“I will take care of you, worry not.” The wizard promised, and Barcus could sense a debauched plan already being put into action, as Elminster let go of his chin and instead traced his long fingers along Barcus’ arms, taking hold of his wrists. Mumbled words conjured golden seals around each of them and Elminster let go to wave his hands, gently letting the seals lift Barcus’ arms above his head. Barcus shifted gratefully, as his muscles could readjust to the new points of tension. But that wasn't all, as Elminster snapped his fingers and made Barcus levitate yet again.
“Ah, what are you…?” Barcus breathed, but felt the invisible support allow his tired body to relax. The magic mouths followed him into the air, the one kissing his neck moving up to his ear and the ones on his chest taking turns sucking his nipples and licking up and down his torso.
He was spun around, and Barcus felt silly as he blushed when his backside was exposed to the wizard. As if the rest hadn't been embarrassing. He wondered to himself if the alcohol was wearing off, but was proven wrong as his head struggled with regaining balance and perspective after being spun around. He was quickly brought back to the situation as Elminster hummed a command that made the crystal inside him pulsate. He moaned loudly and whimpered, arching his back automatically and trying to pull his arms down - but they were held fast in place by the seals around his wrists. He realized their purpose then; to keep him in place despite levitating, as whatever activity Elminster had in mind intensified.
“Very good, my boy.” Elminster encouraged, and Barcus felt a surge of arousal at being praised.
The crystal kept pulsating, waves going up and down the rod, hitting every nerve inside and pushing Barcus' senses to their limit again and again. A wave of a hand, invisible to Barcus, made the crystal slowly move in and out of him, eliciting a series of low whimpers that Barcus tried hard to hold back, not wanting to seem as desperate as he felt. But suddenly, the crystal was slowly pulled out completely. The empty feeling left behind was maddening, and Barcus whined in complaint before he could stop himself. Elminster chuckled in response, and Barcus turned his head back to get a glimpse of what the wizard was doing. The now still crystal lay discarded on the divan and Elminster himself had gotten onto the velvet, stood on his knees and reaching into his robes. Barcus’ heart pounded as he realized that Elminster was getting ready to fuck him. He turned his head to the front again, eyes widening as he heard the wizard mutter an enlargement spell.
As he felt Elminster’s enlarged cock pressing on his hole, he suddenly started appreciating the relaxing potion he had drank earlier even more. But Elminster didn't rush him, and Barcus felt that it was easier to take him on than he had thought, in no doubt thanks to the potion and the crystal rod having loosened him up. Barcus assisted Elminster’s entrance, pressing himself against him and wiggling his hips. Elminster took ahold of them then, large hands gripping below Barcus' waist with gentle force, pulling him toward the wizard and pushing his cock deeper inside. Barcus moaned loudly as Elminster filled him up completely, and closed his eyes with intense pleasure as Elminster started moving in and out while moving Barcus’ hips back and forth to assist the full repeated penetration.
In a last addition to Barcus’ bliss, he was shocked into an open mouthed silent moan as he felt a wet warmth around his cock. It took him a moment to realize that Elminster had beckoned the portal with Barcus' cock in it to float in front of the wizard's face, allowing him to take Barcus in his mouth at the same time as he was fucking him.
The mouths moved their tongues in swirling patterns on his nipples now, and Barcus was being pumped into with increasing speed at the same time as his cock was being caressed with a warm tongue. It was hard to tell where he ended and Elminster started, or where all of the pleasure was coming from. Barcus could feel Elminster's increased desire in the intensity of his movements, and when he thought it couldn't get better, Elminster thrust harder into him. Even with closed eyes, Barcus felt then roll back in his head and he realized that he was finally, finally, about to come. Elminster’s breathing increased behind him, signalling that he too was close. Barcus arched his back as he felt Elminster swirl his tongue around his tip and plunge deep and hard inside him at the same time. His muscles tensed and it took all he had to speak.
“I'm going to.. I'm going to-...!” Barcus’ words were cut off with a moan as Elminster thrust even harder into him in response, urging the orgasm out of Barcus body.
It shook through him in waves, causing him to fall forward, the seals around his wrists the only things holding his upper body up. It lasted much longer than he was used to, and it felt wonderful to have it received by Elminster's mouth. He felt himself cascading, and when he started to relax he was overwhelmed by the wizard's final thrust, filling him up even further than he thought was possible, causing him to convulse from oversensitivity. Elminster sighed hard and snapped his fingers, closing the portals as his own orgasm shook through him. Barcus breathed hard as he took Elminster's last addition to his pleasure, letting the lingering sparks of sensation flicker and twitch all over his body. He could hardly catch his breath. Elminster recovered faster however, and snapped his fingers again to dispel the magic mouths and seals around Barcus’ wrists, only supporting him with levitation.
“Very, very good, Barcus.” He breathed, before slowly pulling out of him.
｡･ﾟﾟ･:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧・゜゜・
In utter shock, Barcus stumbles back into the chair behind him, slowly hopping up on it and sinking his head into his hands. His unseeing eyes look down at the carpet.
He can’t tell how long he has been sitting there, contemplating every misstep of the night before - when a yawning Elminster in a long white nightshirt appears in front of him.
“A dreadfully good morning to you, dear boy. Do the throes of swill and indulgence also plague your head?” He asks, but walks past Barcus, not stopping to hear an answer. Barcus is grateful for this, as he has no idea how to find the function of his tongue.
“I will be just one flight of stairs down, my boy. This headache will not cure itself without a draught and a hearty breakfast. You are well advised to join me.” Elminster says, and his white shirt flaps around a corner as he disappears out of view.
As if in a trance, Barcus collects his clothes from the other room and dresses himself. The promise of breakfast is the only thing keeping his sanity from slipping away.