Jarlaxle's Thinking

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When Jarlaxle returned to the room, the room was dark, and Artemis was peacefully slumbering in the bed. His black hair was beginning to become ragged as he grew it out longer, and now it was drying against the pillow in matted little spikes under his head. Jarlaxle stood in the doorway for a moment, content to smile at him. The mercenary watched Artemis as he slept with a comfortable feeling of protectiveness.

There was nothing to keep him from Jarlaxle, and Jarlaxle knew there were no opponents to overcome, least of which Artemis himself. It was done, then. In a strange way, he possessed Artemis now, and he knew that Artemis would be incapable of taking himself out of Jarlaxle's grasp without good reason – Which I'll never give him, the drow mercenary vowed silently, moving his gaze along Artemis' body, mostly covered by the down comforter on the bed.

We'll have to get back to taking missions soon, Jarlaxle thought. We've been jobless far too long. I wonder what this town has to offer. Perhaps they will only be small jobs, but that might be a nice change; give Artemis time to adjust. Yes. Perhaps we can build our reputation here. I wonder what Kimmuriel will turn up on the subject of 'love'. He might just learn something while he's at it.

Then Jarlaxle's thoughts were drawn back to the discussion he'd had with Artemis before he slipped away to consult Kimmuriel.

They were in the bathtub, warm water lapping around them, the soothing heat seeping into Jarlaxle's exposed muscles. "I think I love you."

"What does it mean?" Artemis said. The look in his gray eyes was lost.

"I don't know."

Artemis drew strong, wet arms around him. Their bodies slid against each other. The Calimshite pulled him, turning, changing positions until Jarlaxle's back was pressed against the side of the tub where Artemis had been. Artemis drew close, tilting his head, and his mouth opened slightly, questing. Jarlaxle tilted his own mouth up to meet the assassin's, and they kissed slowly, feeling each other's mouths with a new kind of exploration.

They lay in each other's arms for a long time. Neither one of them spoke. The water was slowly turning cold.

"Jarlaxle, what does Tyr want from me? I've gone back and forth from hating him to wanting him to come down and explain everything to me, from not caring who or what he is to wanting to make him listen by doing anything I can to get his attention. No matter what I do, I can't escape him," Artemis said. He closed his eyes.

"Even in my worst moments, when I'm tempted to turn back on myself and everything I've done and obliterate it, something stays my hand, and I think it's all those things he said to me. Even when he was beating me, he told me what was right and what was wrong. He showed me how to be honorable. The reason I know the things he did to me are wrong, the reason is that he taught me the difference between justice and cruelty."

He shut his eyes more tightly against his impulse to start weeping again. "You must have seen worse things than that. You must know about why people do these things; tell me. What was he doing? And why? I don't understand. I'll never understand. What he did was wrong, and so is anyone that would do that to a child…Or anyone."

"I can't say," Jarlaxle said. "I never met the man." He held Artemis and tried to think, but all he could think about was a little boy almost being beaten to death every day until no more resistance was left. He sincerely hoped that the man that Artemis was talking about was dead, or else he would have to kill the man to still his aching conscience. "Some…do it because they are mad. Others, because they see children as objects and not as the people they someday become if they survive such rough treatment. Sometimes…people enjoy it for no other reason than that they thrive on violence."

"Does it happen to everyone down there?"

By 'down there' Jarlaxle assumed that Artemis was talking about the Underdark. "The society is different there," Jarlaxle said, making an awkward attempt to cushion his answer. "It seems like a violation of rights up here, but down there, you don't have a choice. The weaker are subjugated by the stronger. It's…natural down there." He hated saying it like that; it wouldn't make Artemis feel any better. "People are raped to varying degrees in that society because that is how we have learned to have sex." Explaining it rationally somehow made it sound worse. Jarlaxle winced at his own words.

"Then you have been…"

"For most of my life," Jarlaxle said, resting his hand on Artemis' shoulder, trying to judge his companion's reaction and shove down the sickness in his stomach at the same time. "As you can see, consensual sex is a novelty to me, which was one reason that I began…ah…taking in as much of it as possible upon my arrival on the surface."

"And here I just thought you were cheap," Artemis said, smiling as though it hurt and trying to make a joke, chuckling, but the sound wouldn't quite work.

"I am possibly the worst choice for a lover you could have made," Jarlaxle said. "When it comes down to it, I don't really know anything about consensual relationships."

"Well, you're doing a pretty good job," Artemis said, leaning in to nuzzle Jarlaxle's cheek. His right eyebrow was raised, and that, along with the glint in his eyes, gave the impression of a sardonic expression. "For someone who doesn't know what they're doing." He wrapped one arm all the way around Jarlaxle's thin waist. His eyes darkened. His other hand slid inch by inch down Jarlaxle's stomach; the assassin smirked, savoring every ripple of muscle that made up Jarlaxle's abdomen. "After all," he said. "You've consummated your relationship with me two times since we began, and it's only been a matter of weeks."

Jarlaxle's breath was hitching in his chest; he was struggling to keep calm as he stared straight down at Artemis' hovering hand. "Have I been going fast, going too fast for you?" he asked, breathlessly. He tried to maintain his detached air of friendly concern.

Artemis leaned in and kissed him; again the slow exploration of tongues. Artemis shifted against him. When the assassin parted their mouths from each other, he came away smiling. Then he placed his hand on the delicate instrument Jarlaxle considered to be the source of his manhood.

Jarlaxle twitched. The drow mercenary's back bumped against the wall of the tub, and his eyes were startled wide, staring into those of his companion.

Artemis smiled with an expression of dark enjoyment on his face. He raised an eyebrow, and ran his fingers over it as if to reassure his companion that he had nothing sinister in mind.

Jarlaxle leaned back, draping himself over the rim of the tub. Due to his flexibility, when he relaxed and closed his eyes he leaned far enough back that his head was entirely upside down over the edge. His arms were draped loosely over the rim on either side of him. He let out a small, shuddering sigh. Artemis' hand was moving back and forth, slowly and gently. The water now cooled to the point where it was noticeable, but not chilly, soothing.

The world faded out into a series of pale, blurry dots. There was a feeling almost like pain that Jarlaxle would do almost anything to get rid of. In a small corner of his mind where the world retained its sharpness he knew what that feeling was, and so he knew it wasn't anything dangerous. A warm tingling spread throughout his body along with the uncontrollable sensation to move, twitch, thrash, anything to escape the warm paralysis, the inability to move that he was encased in. His mind was filled with different images and sensations of him touching and kissing Artemis. His overwhelming impulse was to enact them.

He struggled back to awareness in order to reach Artemis, but he hit a wall of warm sensations, and his vision was clouded. The only response he could muster from his body was the feeble twitch of an arm, and unbending his knee, his leg flopping out straight with a splash in the water. Artemis was grinning at him.

Jarlaxle, standing in the dark room, shook his head at the sleeping Entreri and grinned. He rubbed his neck somewhat self-consciously, feeling embarrassed. He was blushing, and he thought that if Artemis woke up, he'd make quite a sight, milling around and staring foolishly. He wasn't reluctant to get into bed with Artemis, it wasn't that.

He imagined Artemis touching him again, and before he could really think about it, he reflexively skittered backwards, inching away from the bed.

Why was he so embarrassed? What did he have to be embarrassed about? He hadn't done anything unusual.

He hadn't not been touched that way before; he'd been acclimated to touching everywhere on his body. He couldn't be embarrassed that Artemis had done it, he'd let Artemis do it before.

Why? he mouthed silently into the darkness of the still room. Why did I react so strongly when Artemis touched me this time? He…I never felt that into it before. I'm always detached. Always. I never get so close that I lose perspective.

There was a strange feeling, like lightheadedness, that he felt in his head. He frowned. He'd heard from other mercenaries who'd joined his group that there were various plants which made them feel pleasurable sensations when smoked. Some of his mercenaries were strange, foolish misfits who in spite of their obvious skill at what they did somehow needed ways to escape. Jarlaxle's Bregan D'aerthe was one of those ways, but where he failed, his mercenaries found various therapies to improve their moods. He never objected, of course. After all, they knew better than to let it interfere with their job.

But he'd never had a very high opinion of false happiness. Something real was always better.

"And this is real," Jarlaxle murmured, confused, gazing at Artemis again and stroking his chin.