A/N: Wheee! I got me a beta! Unfortuantley, Sturms character came up to me twords the end of the chapter, tapped me on the shoulder and threated to punch me right the hell in the face if I didn't start writing him a little bit more IC. So I did, and this has a angsty ending. Then Raistlin in turn demanded HE be IC, and now this little fliclet is looking more and more depressing as I write it. But I still have a new beta!
Special thanks to: Inka Lakhala (my new beta! Squee!)
Raistlin Majere had had quite enough. In the past week he had been shoved against a wall, tied to a tree and just a few minutes ago, shoved against a counter and kissed unexpectedly. All by a self-righteous Solamnic who insisted that he wasn't, in fact, interested. Not, Raistlin fought a blush, that the kisses weren't nice. They certainly felt very nice, but Raistlin simply wasn't inclined to be the pounce-target of a repressed knight. If Sturm was going to keep this up he was damned well going to admit it; Raistlin was very tired of being left flushed and panting and alone, it was an affront to dignity...and damn distracting.
So Raistlin had made a list in the back of his spellbook. He recorded everything that had happened and why, and he wrote down all the pertinent information (mourning the loss of study time all the while). Then he had carefully taken stock of his situation and been left with one, and only one possible solution. He was going to have to force Brightblade into admitting his attraction by actively becoming a tease. And he was going to have to do it without missing time to read his spellbook.
The only problem with this plan was that Raistlin had absolutely no clue as to how to bring it into action. Usually it was Raistlin who came up with how to win, and Caramon who used the strategies to bring about their desired results. Raistlin rather had a feeling that asking his twin to seduce the Solamnic would require awkward explanations, and ultimately be a bad idea.
So Raistlin proceeded to make another list. Everything he had found himself distracted by, when Caramon's various conquests came over. But none of the things he wrote down seemed helpful, as Raistlin was certain he would look silly in a dress, and rather unwilling to try one on regardless.
Raistlin sighed in disgust, ripping the wasted pages out of his spellbook. This was too much. He had actually wasted the precious paper on a worthless Solamnic who couldn't keep his hands (and other parts) to himself. His back still hurt from being pressed to the counter, and his lips were swollen. Torn between embarrassment and anger Raistlin resolved to work on the issue later, and buried himself in his studies.
Raistlin peered around the tree carefully, staring at Flint's house.
Sturm was in there, alone for a moment. Just like the first time they had, erm, yes.
Raistlin was going to seduce him.
He had a mission. He had a strategy.
He had no clue how to do any of this.
Before he could lose his nerve, Raistlin took a deep breath and stepped onto the road, walking purposefully towards the door. No! Wrong walk. Raistlin stopped and took another calming breath, doing his best to imitate the swaying walk he had seen used by some of the pretty girls his brother liked to captivate the attention of all males present. It was a great deal more difficult than it looked, keeping your hips moving side to side in such an exaggerated fashion. Raistlin almost overbalanced and tripped, but managed to right himself and get to the door. He stepped inside and heard the small sounds of another person in the room. Gathering his courage he prepared to step around the corner, and caught his foot on a protruding stone.
()
Sturm looked up quickly at the sound of a sharp cry, only to have a small figure in disheveled white robes land directly at his feet. He stared, bewildered, into the face of a violently blushing Raistlin Majere.
A Raistlin Majere whose white robes were slipping off one slim shoulder, reveling a slight tan line and unblemished, cream colored skin along an alluring collarbone. The flush the mage wore so well on his cheeks softened the hard angles of his face, and paired with his small stature and delicate build gave him an adorably and wholly misleading look of innocence.
Sturm gulped audibly and attempted to summon up an expression that resembled hostility.
()
Raistlin cursed silently and pulled himself up quickly, straightening his robe, completely oblivious to Sturm's small noise of protest. He threw himself against the nearest piece of furniture, attempting to salvage his cool with a sexy nonchalant pose...and promptly slipped, almost falling at the confused and aroused feet of the Solamnic in front of him for a second time.
But something caught him, something warm and hard and decidedly Sturm- like. Which was good, because it was Sturm, and if had felt un-Sturm-like that would have been strange and worthy of further investigation.
Raistlin looked up at Sturm, who was looming over him, gripping his upper arms tightly. Raistlin tried a last ditch effort at seduction and looked up at him through his lashes, licking and then biting his lower lip. Sturm's breath caught and he leaned in – just to have Raistlin smoothly disentangle himself and step neatly to the right. Sturm fell forward and bashed into the table, tumbling onto Raistlin, who swore rather violently.
Things were not, Raistlin thought, going to plan. He was trapped, without a way to escape, under a Solamnic who was eyeing him in a rather predatory manner. It didn't work, being a tease, if you were always caught and kissed. Raistlin decided to give up and regroup... which meant he had to get Brightblade off him, which didn't seem likely. Raistlin smiled weakly at Sturm, and fell back on his usual method of getting out of trouble: complaining.
"Eheh - Brightblade. How about getting off me? You're, ah, crushing my spine."
Sturm looked dazed, and nodded - and then didn't move.
"Oh for - stop this," Raistlin said, shoving rather violently at the form on top of him. Sturm seemed to snap out of his daze and jumped abruptly off Raistlin and to the other side of the room.
"I wasn't doing anything," he said, in a rather panicked tone. "You put a spell on me!"
"Yes, Brightblade, I make all of my most hated enemies pin me down and kiss me. It's traditional for us evil magic folk." Raistlin said, glaring, before marching over and poking Sturm in the chest with one long finger, "Now see here; I'm tired of this. In the past week I've been pinned to a chair, a tree, a counter and now a table because you cannot keep your stupid hands to your moronic self." Raistlin began poking Sturm's chest to emphasize his words. "Fine, but you had better bloody well admit that when you pin me down it's exactly what you want to be doing."
Sturm opened and then closed his moth with a snap, looking rather gobsmacked. Then he straightened and something that looked remarkably like desperation flashed in his eyes.
"I can't want you, Majere."
Raistlin sneered, "Is perfect Brightblade afraid of being attracted to a man? How incredibly precious."
"It's not quite like that," Sturm said quietly. "I - I believe in nobility and honor. I believe in being moral, and accountable, and respectable. I won't allow myself to be driven by lust and I won't allow myself to participate in something sordid. It's not that I can't love a man, but rather, Majere," Sturm paused and met Raistlin's eyes, "that I can't love you."
Raistlin stepped back, looking as if he'd been smacked. His cheeks turned a dull angry red and he looked at the floor. "You needn't worry about loving me, Brightblade. I just wanted to remind you to keep your hands to yourself. You might be a pervert, but for all my supposed shortcomings, I am not."
Turning abruptly on his heel, Raistlin walked quickly out of the house, shutting the door silently behind him. He didn't trip on the way.
He was nearly home by the time he realized he was crying.
A/N: One, Two, Three –AWWW. Poor pitiful little magelet. I do so love torturing him. I was going to have this be pure fluff, but that's gone down the drain now (waves sadly to her happy fuffy ending) I love rejected Raistlin almost as much as I love hopelessly ineffective seducer Raistlin. I read my last chapter, and the descriptions of Raistlin during the kissing scene seem more appropriate adjectives for a gelatinous dessert for all the trembling he was doing...eheh. In honor of that I think the first sex (R rating safe naturally) I write for these two in this timeline will involve pudding. I do hope they have pudding in the Dragonlance universe.
Special thanks to: Inka Lakhala (my new beta! Squee!)
Raistlin Majere had had quite enough. In the past week he had been shoved against a wall, tied to a tree and just a few minutes ago, shoved against a counter and kissed unexpectedly. All by a self-righteous Solamnic who insisted that he wasn't, in fact, interested. Not, Raistlin fought a blush, that the kisses weren't nice. They certainly felt very nice, but Raistlin simply wasn't inclined to be the pounce-target of a repressed knight. If Sturm was going to keep this up he was damned well going to admit it; Raistlin was very tired of being left flushed and panting and alone, it was an affront to dignity...and damn distracting.
So Raistlin had made a list in the back of his spellbook. He recorded everything that had happened and why, and he wrote down all the pertinent information (mourning the loss of study time all the while). Then he had carefully taken stock of his situation and been left with one, and only one possible solution. He was going to have to force Brightblade into admitting his attraction by actively becoming a tease. And he was going to have to do it without missing time to read his spellbook.
The only problem with this plan was that Raistlin had absolutely no clue as to how to bring it into action. Usually it was Raistlin who came up with how to win, and Caramon who used the strategies to bring about their desired results. Raistlin rather had a feeling that asking his twin to seduce the Solamnic would require awkward explanations, and ultimately be a bad idea.
So Raistlin proceeded to make another list. Everything he had found himself distracted by, when Caramon's various conquests came over. But none of the things he wrote down seemed helpful, as Raistlin was certain he would look silly in a dress, and rather unwilling to try one on regardless.
Raistlin sighed in disgust, ripping the wasted pages out of his spellbook. This was too much. He had actually wasted the precious paper on a worthless Solamnic who couldn't keep his hands (and other parts) to himself. His back still hurt from being pressed to the counter, and his lips were swollen. Torn between embarrassment and anger Raistlin resolved to work on the issue later, and buried himself in his studies.
Raistlin peered around the tree carefully, staring at Flint's house.
Sturm was in there, alone for a moment. Just like the first time they had, erm, yes.
Raistlin was going to seduce him.
He had a mission. He had a strategy.
He had no clue how to do any of this.
Before he could lose his nerve, Raistlin took a deep breath and stepped onto the road, walking purposefully towards the door. No! Wrong walk. Raistlin stopped and took another calming breath, doing his best to imitate the swaying walk he had seen used by some of the pretty girls his brother liked to captivate the attention of all males present. It was a great deal more difficult than it looked, keeping your hips moving side to side in such an exaggerated fashion. Raistlin almost overbalanced and tripped, but managed to right himself and get to the door. He stepped inside and heard the small sounds of another person in the room. Gathering his courage he prepared to step around the corner, and caught his foot on a protruding stone.
()
Sturm looked up quickly at the sound of a sharp cry, only to have a small figure in disheveled white robes land directly at his feet. He stared, bewildered, into the face of a violently blushing Raistlin Majere.
A Raistlin Majere whose white robes were slipping off one slim shoulder, reveling a slight tan line and unblemished, cream colored skin along an alluring collarbone. The flush the mage wore so well on his cheeks softened the hard angles of his face, and paired with his small stature and delicate build gave him an adorably and wholly misleading look of innocence.
Sturm gulped audibly and attempted to summon up an expression that resembled hostility.
()
Raistlin cursed silently and pulled himself up quickly, straightening his robe, completely oblivious to Sturm's small noise of protest. He threw himself against the nearest piece of furniture, attempting to salvage his cool with a sexy nonchalant pose...and promptly slipped, almost falling at the confused and aroused feet of the Solamnic in front of him for a second time.
But something caught him, something warm and hard and decidedly Sturm- like. Which was good, because it was Sturm, and if had felt un-Sturm-like that would have been strange and worthy of further investigation.
Raistlin looked up at Sturm, who was looming over him, gripping his upper arms tightly. Raistlin tried a last ditch effort at seduction and looked up at him through his lashes, licking and then biting his lower lip. Sturm's breath caught and he leaned in – just to have Raistlin smoothly disentangle himself and step neatly to the right. Sturm fell forward and bashed into the table, tumbling onto Raistlin, who swore rather violently.
Things were not, Raistlin thought, going to plan. He was trapped, without a way to escape, under a Solamnic who was eyeing him in a rather predatory manner. It didn't work, being a tease, if you were always caught and kissed. Raistlin decided to give up and regroup... which meant he had to get Brightblade off him, which didn't seem likely. Raistlin smiled weakly at Sturm, and fell back on his usual method of getting out of trouble: complaining.
"Eheh - Brightblade. How about getting off me? You're, ah, crushing my spine."
Sturm looked dazed, and nodded - and then didn't move.
"Oh for - stop this," Raistlin said, shoving rather violently at the form on top of him. Sturm seemed to snap out of his daze and jumped abruptly off Raistlin and to the other side of the room.
"I wasn't doing anything," he said, in a rather panicked tone. "You put a spell on me!"
"Yes, Brightblade, I make all of my most hated enemies pin me down and kiss me. It's traditional for us evil magic folk." Raistlin said, glaring, before marching over and poking Sturm in the chest with one long finger, "Now see here; I'm tired of this. In the past week I've been pinned to a chair, a tree, a counter and now a table because you cannot keep your stupid hands to your moronic self." Raistlin began poking Sturm's chest to emphasize his words. "Fine, but you had better bloody well admit that when you pin me down it's exactly what you want to be doing."
Sturm opened and then closed his moth with a snap, looking rather gobsmacked. Then he straightened and something that looked remarkably like desperation flashed in his eyes.
"I can't want you, Majere."
Raistlin sneered, "Is perfect Brightblade afraid of being attracted to a man? How incredibly precious."
"It's not quite like that," Sturm said quietly. "I - I believe in nobility and honor. I believe in being moral, and accountable, and respectable. I won't allow myself to be driven by lust and I won't allow myself to participate in something sordid. It's not that I can't love a man, but rather, Majere," Sturm paused and met Raistlin's eyes, "that I can't love you."
Raistlin stepped back, looking as if he'd been smacked. His cheeks turned a dull angry red and he looked at the floor. "You needn't worry about loving me, Brightblade. I just wanted to remind you to keep your hands to yourself. You might be a pervert, but for all my supposed shortcomings, I am not."
Turning abruptly on his heel, Raistlin walked quickly out of the house, shutting the door silently behind him. He didn't trip on the way.
He was nearly home by the time he realized he was crying.
A/N: One, Two, Three –AWWW. Poor pitiful little magelet. I do so love torturing him. I was going to have this be pure fluff, but that's gone down the drain now (waves sadly to her happy fuffy ending) I love rejected Raistlin almost as much as I love hopelessly ineffective seducer Raistlin. I read my last chapter, and the descriptions of Raistlin during the kissing scene seem more appropriate adjectives for a gelatinous dessert for all the trembling he was doing...eheh. In honor of that I think the first sex (R rating safe naturally) I write for these two in this timeline will involve pudding. I do hope they have pudding in the Dragonlance universe.