Forbidden Tastes by Moonlight
(Censored)
A Minthara and Dark Urge Romance
By
The Viscount Vampy
…
A huge thank you and shout out to Falling_Phoenix for beta-reading
Your suggestions and help were deeply appreciated!
…
Author's Preface
Hello Boils and Ghouls,
This short story is an odd, porn-with-plot, between Durge and Minthara, because I really love the ship.
I consider this a one shot, but I do intend to write additional stories set in the world of Faerûn, when the muses and fates allow.
Please, feel free to leave a comment, and any suggestions or critiques you might have. I struggled with this one and I hope it is good, or at least enjoyable.
If you liked this story and my style, please consider checking out some of my other works or leaving kudos. If you really enjoyed it, I hope you may consider hiring me, lol.
As for content disclaimers, this is a story about a romance between an albinic Dragonborn Bhaalspawn and an exiled sociopathic Drow from House Baenré, idk what else to tell you, it's probably going to be weird.
So, consider yourselves warned.
Without any further ado, please enjoy and happy reading,
VV
P.S. This version is censored for Fanfiction, but if you would like to read the original uncensored version please check it out on Ao3.
...
Introduction
After their victory over the disgraced General Ketheric Thorm and purging Moonrise towers of the Absolute's influence, the Heroic survivors of the Nautiloid have travelled out of the shadow-cursed lands and now make their way towards Baldur's Gate itself.
But it will take a few days of travel before they reach the friendly gates of Rivington.
At the first stop of their journey, the former Nightwarden Minthara Baenré, seeks the simple pleasure of a comb at the day's end, little did she know Durge had read her mind.
…
Forbidden Tastes by Moonlight
…
Minthara stooped beside her tent while she searched through her affects.
The Drow furrowed her brow and narrowed her keen eyes. She overturned folded garments, pushed things out of the way, and mentally catalogued her few personal possessions. She was searching for a comb, but there were only so many places it could be, and she still hadn't found it…
They'd travelled far since defeating Ketheric and they were getting closer to Baldur's Gate, but the night was now upon them and everyone needed their rest. When the party had found a suitable enough glade, the tents were raised, and a fire was sparked.
To no one's surprise, Karlach began cooking as soon as she was able. The resulting sounds of the Tiefling-turned-chef attracted Lae'zel, Shadowheart, and Wyll. Now, the four chatted together, adding a lively ambience to the evening's cool mid-summer air.
Minthara glanced over, a brow raised, and watched as Lae'zel sat down. She carefully laid her silver Githyanki great sword beside her, having honed its edge to her satisfaction. With her tent erected and sword re-sharpened, Lae'zel's interests switched from the martial to the personal as she slowly raked her fingernails through her hair.
Loudly exhaling, her nimble digits began carefully untying her topknot. Sighing quietly once the bulk of her hair became loosened, Lae'zel began brushing out the strands and minding any small tangles or knots she found, her face one of focus as she groomed herself.
Minthara couldn't help but view the alien woman with envy. How deeply she too wished for such a reprieve. After the indignity of raising her tent on her own and carrying her packs without aid of a servant, Minthara's irritation this evening was only growing.
Upending her previously well-ordered bag and unfolding her nightclothes vainly, she turned everything over at least twice, but had yet to find her treasure.
As she continued to search, a pang of hunger rolled across her abdomen, coincidentally just as Karlach made a show of adding wine to whatever was in her skillet. The resulting noise and pleasant aroma seemed to tease Minthara further. The Drow was famished, she was sore, and at this moment, she truly wanted nothing more than the simple relief of letting her hair down without incident!
Continuing to search for her comb, her mind began to foment suspicion, until it rose to the fore and Minthara quickly began to wonder; had someone pilfered it?
'But then again…' she thought, 'who would dare?'
She shared company with an odd cadre to be sure, most of them were spiritual strays and vagabonds, if not literal ones, and thievery was something the whole party seemed to practice with varying degrees. But to go so far as to root through her things? To take her comb?
Her brow furrowed, and she repeated her own question, 'Who would dare? The spawn?'
She glanced towards where Astarion had set up. He pulled one of the strings of his tent taut and seemed rather pleased with himself. For a surface-born city-dwelling dandy, he had a disgustingly novel attitude whenever they made camp.
Minthara looked him over, till he seemed aware of an observer, then effortlessly darted her eyes away.
'No… he'd not do something so brash.'
She chuckled, shaking her head, 'Cowards are typically predictable enough. Perhaps, the child Shadowheart?'
The newly blonde half-elf stood to the side of the fire, sharing smiles and words with Karlach. Again, Minthara shook her head.
'She's clearly found herself a nice collection of combs and hair oils, along with her new piety. Mhmm, a presumptuous little half breed… I'm sure she'd have at least one to spare, but damned if I'll be beholden to her for something so trivial. No.'
Minthara had yet to divorce her Menzoberranzan conception of a favour being worse than an actual debt, and her envy rose like bile before eventually dismissing the younger half-elven woman.
Now, her frustration was reaching a head; her hunger and discomfort, coupled with the fruitless searching was becoming too much to bear. All but throwing her pack to the side, Minthara looked instead towards one of the larger chests which the party had been using communally and her focus shrunk.
Wrenching the lid open, her search became more impassioned and agitated before her keen elven ears heard the approach of distinct footfalls behind her.
Durge.
Minthara knew who it was instantly, even without turning to see; his heavy gait was deceptively quiet, and each step was darkly purposeful, indicative of an assassin's training. Yet she also noticed a difference to his pace - there was a tentative character to her lover's approach.
Still, eager to have a distraction from her current mood, Minthara smirked, and a flutter of excitement filled her chest. Her eyes widened, surprised at herself, before she quickly stiffened.
As she turned, she saw him stop mid-stride. The Dragonborn's ruby eyes widened as he realised he was caught. Clearly, he had hoped to get closer to her before revealing his presence, but his trepidation had removed such advantage.
Minthara all but clucked her tongue, 'This fault had to be pointed out…'
Raising her voice and trying not to let her earlier agitation poison her words, she 'playfully' teased him,
"If you had hoped to sneak up on me, you'll have to do better than that."
A chuckle rolled in her throat, and her lips began to form a smile as the Dragonborn laughed politely, motioning penitently with his hands. Then his cool, smooth, voice offered an apology, "Old habit I suppose, I didn't intend to. Aha, my mind was elsewhere, but I saw you…" He directed his eyes to her upended affects, "Are you, looking for something?"
Minthara grit her teeth, her jaw tensing visibly, as the focus shifted to her now disorganised quarters.
"Indeed I am. Perhaps your wandering mind was off with my comb!"
Her voice was sharp, made more so by their long march and her lack of a recent meal, instantly she felt awkward for it and tried to change her tone conciliatorily, "Before alantha, sorry,that is midnight, I was hoping to at least get some… relief."
She glanced towards Lae'zel, and her voice trailed off. Then she waved a hand in dismissal, "Ah, it matters not, an idle fancy. I was searching for a luxury this evening, which can, and seemingly must, wait."
Returning her gaze to the Dragonborn she searched his features, and in a rare show of affinity, motioned for him to speak. Her curiosity had outweighed her agitation and disappointment, "You, however, seem consumed by a more interesting dilemma."
Minthara's eyes searched Durge's gaze and he offered an awkward smile in reply. He subtly moved his weight. It was unlike him to be so unsure, but he gave the appearance that he wished to confide in her.
Immediately intrigued at the idea of secrecy, Minthara's voice dropped to a raspy whisper as she stepped closer,
"Reveal what ails you, and we may exorcise it together. Cleaving and cutting to our mutual satisfaction, if necessary…"
She punctuated the boast with her familiar growl-like chuckle and Durge's expression flashed bashful approval before he nodded and came closer.
He glanced over his shoulder at the others again, minding their proximity, or perhaps their gazes, and Minthara's expression intensified. His actions oozed conspiracy, and the Drow's eyes widened with delight, her earlier fancy at finding a comb almost wholly replaced by the ever-titillating prospect of scheming.
Her chest again fluttered, and her mind raced. Though Minthara was still learning and plumbing the depths of her companion, she couldn't help but feel ever more drawn to the albino…
"Well?" she whispered, "What is it? I assure you; you have my rapt attention."
Then Minthara cringed; her eagerness betrayed her interest more earnestly than she'd hoped. However, Durge seemed oblivious. His mouth opened, but only a syllable escaped. As quickly as the noise came, he quieted.
Minthara narrowed her brow, some of her familiar irritation returning,
"If you saw the whole of my efforts earlier, then you'd know I am in no mood for games. So, either tell me what is on your mind now, or I -aha!"
Durge's hands moved with surprising speed; all Minthara ended up seeing were two blurry flashes of white and red before she felt his fingers against the exposed skin of her biceps and shoulder.
With animalistic need, Durge's head shot towards the left of her neck, just below her tattoo. Minthara gasped sharply as he pressed his scaled lips to her flesh and began leaving hungry, bite-like pecks and a wet trail of kisses. The tip of his tongue pressed against her purposefully while he tasted her sweat.
Her eyes widened and she shivered.
The gesture was impassioned, primal, and Minthara's voice caught in her stunned throat,
"Ah, aha, I didn't, gah! Ah-ah, ho, ohh…"
Temporarily unable to form more coherent words, she was only able to mumble and stutter pleasantly at the sensation across her skin. Durge's breath was icy cool after every warm motion of his tongue, and he let out a bassy chuckle at her involuntary series of moans.
"Y-you little w-wyrm…" Minthara hissed.
Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she could only stare on as Durge's kisses rose higher and higher up the line of her neck. Now he was above her tattoo and clearly on a path towards her left ear.
Minthara let out a breathy moan, her voice lowered with uncertainty, as her eyes glanced towards the others,
"Wait, here? Now?! Don't you- dare! Ah-ah-hmm, mhmm!"
Minthara heard the wet slicking of his tongue as it reached over his teeth to contact the proud tip of her elven ear.
A shudder and full-body reaction came over her, not only at the sensation against her skin, but the sounds, slick and wet. The sudden, unexpected, raw sensuality as Durge gave her ear several licks, and then a firm, loud, kiss.
In response, Minthara bit her tongue, suppressing any further moans. Instead, she released her pent-up breath in a spiteful grumble. She wouldn't allow him the satisfaction. Lightly, Durge nipped her cartilage, giving her a sudden shock, before exhaling a low growl to Minthara's grumble. It was more overt and vibrated strongly through him and into her, briefly matching her own tone before overpowering it.
Minthara pursed her lips as hard as she could.
'Oh, my…'
The noise elicited a far stronger bodily reaction than she was prepared for.
Slowly, Durge released her ear from his teeth before then licking her down the side of the lobe. Minthara could hear and feel each breath, each sniff and savoured taste. His motions almost mimicked a Draconic mating call.
Then when his teasing reached a peak, Durge moved backwards, his hands lowering from her shoulders, and eventually sliding down to clasp hers in his. He punctuated the action and the sudden intimacy of the moment with a tilt of his head and a wide smile.
Dumbstruck, Minthara's thoughts raced, and she swallowed uncomfortably, her mouth suddenly dry.
She regarded his self-satisfied expression with narrowing eyes. He hid his dangerous fangs well, but the snap-quick lunge and the skilful aim of his mouth made it so all Minthara could fixate on was the dangerous potential of his more predatory inclinations.
If he had wished, he could have easily buried that ivory smile into her throat or bitten her ear off. Durge had moved so quickly and so purposefully Minthara would not have been able to react in time. Rarely was she ever on such ill-favoured footing, and she chilled at a certain recollection.
Why did she have to be drawn to scarlet and ivory?
Even before the falseness and horror of the Absolute's chosen Orin, Minthara had been drawn to paler shades, and the dramatic contrast red made across them. She wondered briefly on her greatest mistake.
But then there was him, and the negativity faltered, it had to. She was too tired, too hungry, and too denied for wasting the day's remaining energy on it.
Minthara exhaled and stood still, her pulse thumping strongly.
The unexpected kisses, the embrace, the neediness he was showing, it rolled from supplication to purposeful agitation. And the more she thought about his barely contained bestial qualities, the more aroused she became at the fire with which he wanted her to play.
His expression and the coy swishing of his tail made her want to leash him.
Quick flashes in her mind envisioned straps, clasps, and bonds. The clang of chains and the sudden pulling of a lead. She saw herself as a powerful matron, teasing and torturing him till he roared her name and fought at his bondage.
She also began to picture unlocking those same restraints and setting him loose.
Minthara shuddered and looked down towards the scaled, pale hands holding hers. Again, the Drow noted how soft his skin was. How warm it seemed when pressed against hers. She expected him to have been colder, but unless he had just cast a chilly spell, his hands were always warmer than she thought.
"Y-you, ah-ha…"
Minthara didn't want to admit it, but she was excited by more than the Dragonborn's prowess. His ferocity in battle and merciless bestial nature was well-hidden when he spoke, walked, and strategised, when he sang and laughed at camp, but every now and then Minthara saw something more unique.
Durge would do, say, or even glance a certain way which belied deeper passions. Something more hiding… Scratching, clawing its way to get out, or to reveal itself. When he conjured his sorcery, when he handled his knives, when he stood over a foe. There was a terrible beauty to him. And she was enthralled by it.
She wanted him to show her his Draconic heritage in all its glory, if that was what it was. But she was beginning to suspect that even among the rare Dragonkin, Durge would have been considered a breed all his own.
Then she recalled their conversation at Moonrise.
'We make a good team you and I…'
He sounded so coolly charming; his tone was a mixture of admiration and approval, and he approached her with deference whilst she sat Ketheric's former throne. In that moment, Minthara felt like a true Baenré again. When he looked at her, he did so with respect and desire. Even though they'd already made common cause, Durge still sought and courted her favour in confidence.
For once, Minthara was at a loss for a smart or quick remark and her earlier shock and surprise were giving way to deeper and more sordid feelings. She looked again at his mouth, and, rather quickly, realised that she didn't fear the danger it hid.
Instead, she was thrilled by it.
Amid melee, she had watched on as he ripped and eviscerated their enemies with his claws and fangs, throwing their bodies to the side with ease. Minthara had seen him break bones with a simple flex of his hand, but she felt no compulsion to remove herself from his grasp.
Her eyes cast downwards, and she scoffed at how diminutive her violet-hued fingers seemed in his wider palm. The milky-white scales and unique splashes of carmine made her own complexion shimmer strongly in contrast.
After a beat Minthara looked up. Durge's expression was deep and expectant, almost naïve.
Almost.
Wryly she denied him any praise, her voice a semi-scold,
"That was a rather adolescent display."
Durge smirked, before chuckling in agreement. Then he glanced over his shoulder before shrugging,
"Sure… But you must forgive me for it."
Minthara raised a brow, "Oh? Must I?"
He nodded enthusiastically while he grinned, "Of course."
She side-eyed him, trying not to let his dumb expression wear her down. Then he changed tack, his features becoming more serious.
"There is, aha- I do have something I'd like to discuss. That is, if I may show you?"
Durge blinked slowly and Minthara stiffened at a sudden, familiar, brushing against her mind. The psionic touch became a caress, and wordlessly he asked her permission to enter.
Minthara's expression softened, and she let out a pleasant noise.
"I see. Haha, well if you'd rather show me then, you may."
As soon as she acquiesced their minds joined, swirls of latent energy pulsed between them, and Durge felt it, power, authority…
Minthara watched Durge's features, noting his restraint with approval, before he slowly began sharing with her. She had no idea what she should have expected, but rather than a conversation or some hidden scheme, he was only using the opportunity to tease her further.
Slowly, like wading through fog, she realised what it was he wanted to 'share' and the scene was revealed; Minthara was shown herself in the throes of passion, from his perspective.
The Drow tried not to audibly gawk at the novelty, but she was impressed at the sudden voyeurism and his unpredictable boldness.
Durge's recollections of their last intimateevening together showed Minthara arch quite clearly in the moonlight. His eyes longingly drank in the details of her skin and the curves of her body. His emotions of the night were raw and savoury.
Minthara stuttered aloud, mumbling while her cheeks darkened, and the former Nightwarden flustered.
"That's… Ha, aha! That's an interest- ahem. An interesting quirk of the tadpole. I… I never thought to… When did you discover t-this?"
She darted her eyes worryingly towards the others as the memory continued and Durge's expression deepened, relishing her reaction.
The memories began to gain sound, and Minthara saw herself throw her head backwards as she adjusted and rode him harder. Her voice rose and she widened her eyes at her own tone and words. The sight from his perspective, made her begin to recall her own experience faster, until the two sides of the event began mixing in her mind.
His pale hands moved up from her hips, eagerly feeling her flesh in one motion. His palms seemed to savour the smooth transition upwards. Teasing along her belly, and lingering across her ribs, rising slowly to press and cup and softly squeeze her breasts.
His hands caressed and his thumbs circled, teasing her nipples before reluctantly moving back down to grip either side of her hips again. In reply, Minthara's inner eye began gravitating towards her own hands, pressed against his broader chest.
As he began holding her more firmly, his thrusts became shorter, deeper, and faster. Minthara began to rake her nails across his collarbone and pectorals in response, scratching at him for purchase as he moved up with each pump and brought her down tighter.
His white and red scales were so soft in some places and yet so hard in others… Minthara delighted at the visual and physical stimulation and Durge's smile shifted to a smirk as he made the realisation. He ignored the opportunity to point it out, but Minthara's suddenly half-flustered, half-embarrassed expression was giving him satisfaction enough.
With their minds still intwined, Durge decided to push forward and swap positions. He wanted to watch the evening through her eyes and Minthara's expression worsened at the realisation,
'Wait! I didn't, I didn't say you could!'
Her breath became quicker, her heart throbbed in her ears, and she felt her cheeks burn as the memories exchanged.
Minthara let out a near-petulant growl, mindful of the eyes and ears of their nearby party members, but Durge continued undeterred, feeling what she felt, seeing what she saw, smirking and tacitly approving all the while.
Eventually, Minthara was forced to exhale a slow, uneven, breath,
'What are you getting at? You, aha! You grr…'
She let slip a gasp, and tried to hide it, as the vision changed. Combining the past with a desired future, Durge chuckled as he answered her.
'Tonight.'
The connection between them pulsed. Minthara felt her tongue dry as her chest thumped.
'Tonight?' she repeated.
Durge nodded, 'Oh, yes. Tonight…'
Minthara's eyes glowed and her inner voice maintained a haughty tone, she was still in control,
'We shall wait till the others are abed. Aha, ha, and then… we might continue this.'
She darted a brow upwards. Seemingly satisfied, Durge nodded and psionically withdrew. Minthara scoffed once she felt his presence was gone from her mind, and her voice returned, irritated, but still aroused,
"How dare you put such distractions in my mind."
Durge's nostrils flared, and he drew in her scent while laughing falsely. His head swayed rhythmically, tilting from side to side, as his eyes narrowed,
"A thousand apologies… However, mere 'distractions' really?"
His voice lilted effortlessly, taking on a confident, but purposefully blasé, tone,
"I haven't any idea what you mean. I recall no distractions. Only something…"
Minthara furrowed her brow, and Durge gently clasped his right hand around both of hers. Raising them and giving her a half bow, he kissed across her knuckles and smiled, "I hope never to forget."
Minthara's blush intensified before she sternly collected herself. She hated that he'd succeeded with such a line. She hated it… But at the same time, she wanted to enjoy the simplicity and smiled.
Durge motioned towards the fire and the rest of their companions, "Now, my lady, would you care to sit with me?"
Minthara's expression contorted with confusion before she finally laughed in disbelief and shook her head.
"You are a vile, slick-tongued creature indeed. You had me guessing earlier, toying with me like a…"
Her thoughts stumbled and Durge's expression seemed to flash sadistically as he teased her further,
"Like what?"
Minthara shook her head and grumbled, "Like a…"
She blanked; her mind unable to provide an adequate response. Then she growled, "Oh, you are lucky I am hungry and tired!"
Durge's features seemed delighted that he had succeeded in making her flustered. Standing backwards he all but tittered like a youth. Then he furrowed his brow, suddenly serious. Clearing his throat he shrugged, "Oh, by the way! Minthara, I found this earlier. It was in my tent bag… Must have been left there the other night. It wouldn't happen to be yours, would it?"
Opening his left hand, Durge revealed an elegant, mother-of-pearl inlay, ivory comb.
Minthara was so focused on his words that when she looked down and saw the item, she merely blinked. Then in a furious second, she raised her hand and struck at Durge's arm. Punching his naked bicep as hard as she could muster.
"You!? You had it?! You, hair-less, tail-swinging, reptile! You, you had it this whole time?!"
At this Durge let loose a rare, loud, teasing laugh, doing nothing to help his cause, he falsely protested all the same, "I swear, I only made the connection after I saw you making such an effort to look for it! I just finished putting up my tent and making my bed when it sort of… rolled out of a sheet."
Minthara reeled, "You only made the connection?! How many trollops are you having in your tent when I'm not looking that you only just made the connection? Who else would it have belonged to!"
Durge laughed before he tossed the comb in the air and tried scampering from her reach.
Shooting her right hand upwards, Minthara quickly caught her prized comb before she hissed and growled, then her left hand snapped downwards and towards the end of Durge's tail. Though his body had slipped her grasp, his long, swaying, appendage proved vulnerable indeed.
Now she began to roll with a deep laugh of her own, "Ah-ta-ta, oh no you don't. Perhaps I should take the tip as a lesson, hmm? You did make mention to me before it'd grow back, yes? Ahaha, now that was a mistake."
Stopping abruptly, Minthara yanked Durge backwards, as he continued to laugh. Eventually he shook his head incredulously, "Oh, come now! You charge a high tax for such a trifle tease."
But the Drow's voice darkened, utterly devoid of mercy, "You had me searching, in vain, like a fool for far longer than I needed to."
Durge looked towards his fellow party members for support, officially acknowledging and including them into the situation.
He called for aid and sympathies aloud as he groaned, "Minthara, you charge a hefty price! Right? Right? What say you? Lae'zel?"
Durge sought the Githyanki's support first, and Lae'zel's eyes narrowed. She looked from Durge to Minthara a few times before she smirked deeply. "You will find no contest here, mark him Minthara. He is yours after all. I know I would, were he to have employed such a foolish tactic unto me…"
Lae'zel raised an eyebrow, a knowing expression across her features. Durge's eyes widened as he realised; perhaps looking to a previous bed mate for such sympathies, regardless of how casual their former arrangement had been, was not the most calculated move.
Now Lae'zel had a distinct smile erupting across her lips, as if she read his mind, and she added, "In fact, Minthara, should you require extra hands in holding him still, you only need ask."
Minthara tilted her head to the Githyanki approvingly, "Should that need arise, I would gladly call you sister."
Then she raised her brow and stared back at Durge. The albino tried to turn, as his laughter faltered, "Aha, oh, come now Lae'zel, Minthara, it wasn't that poor a jest! Was it? Shadowheart, surely…"
The cleric's cheeks reddened as she raised her drink to her lips. She looked around at the eyes now on her while she tried to take a sip. Swallowing awkwardly and raising her free hand in dismissal she chuckled, "Sorry friend, but I choose to abstain from this, specific, quarrel. You're the one who tried to play a prank on a Drow." She trailed off, mumbling under her breath, "much wisdom there was in that…"
Durge scoffed, "It was hardly a real prank, now… Karlach?"
Karlach broadly grinned and shook the pan in her hands. Upon hearing her name, she looked up from the fire a moment before shrugging,
"Aye soldier, eh for what it's worth, I thought it was a bit funny! But takin' his tail for it?"
Minthara resisted the urge to growl and settled for giving the Tiefling an unappreciative glare.
Immediately, Karlach looked back down, avoiding the issue altogether, "Ah-ha, b-but then again comedy is subjective o' course!"
Durge looked next at Wyll, who was pointing at him accusatorily. Tilting forwards and giving a knowing glance, Wyll's voice rolled with subtle sarcasm, "Minthara's right Durge. You could have spoken up a little sooner. It would have been the right thing to do… For your sake, if nothing else."
He smiled and chuckled, enjoying the moment. Before his expression changed, "But surely that's a bit of a steep fine to charge your lover, don't you think Minthara?"
Her eyes widened in indignation, and she was about to retort when Astarion finally sauntered away from his tent and towards his favoured seat at the fire. Everyone looked to his arrival and wordlessly demanded he weigh in. Astarion's eyes widened, and an uncomfortable smile grew across his pallid features at the attention.
He forced out a chuckle before looking at the semi-captured Durge. Then Astarion merely offered a false pout of his lips, "Oh, my dagger-happy friend, this particular misadventure is all yours."
Before anyone else interjected, Durge's features shifted, and his lean towards escape became abandoned. He stood so that there was now slack in his tail before curling it upwards and drawing a dagger.
Durge's voice was low but rumbled with subtle excitement, "Alright then…"
Shadowheart spit some of her drink out and Wyll's eyes widened. But neither was fast enough to let Karlach know and potentially intercede.
Durge locked eyes with Minthara as he smiled.
Without looking down, his hands moved, deftly feeling along his tail, until he reached the second-last segment. Then he offered her a raised eyebrow. Quickly Minthara's gaze intensified. She didn't bellow a command. Her voice wasn't deep and authoritarian. Instead, she lilted upwards, mixing her curiosity, and passion, with a lover's challenge,
"Do it."
Without hesitation, Durge tightened his grip opposite Minthara's, and with an upwards, saw-like motion, removed the prominent, spear-like tip of his tail in a single cut. Immediate groans, cringes, and noises of surprise erupted from the party members present.
Astarion jumped to his feet, gasping, "Oh, good gods he actually did it!"
Lae'zel's eyes widened, and she opened her mouth in awe, whispering approval under her breath.
Shadowheart shook her head and grimaced, before recalling aloud; "When I first met him on the Nautiloid he barely even had a tail. It's certainly been a while since I last saw that party trick."
Karlach shook her head as well, her face contorting in disgust as she cringed audibly; her own tail began flicking behind her wildly in sympathetic distress, "Oh gods, that's always… eeugh. Ugh whew."
Beside her, Wyll shuddered while averting his eyes. His voice was uneven as he stuttered, "Th-that's not- Oh, oh, gods. Purposeful self-dismemberment… That'll never be right to watch."
Now free of his lover's grip, Durge moved his now tip-less tail with care; mindfully sparing Minthara's clothes from any potential bloody spatter. At the same time, he slowly bowed his head. His horned, crown-like crest, rose in salute as he dipped his snout, yet his eyes maintained an unblinking, trance-like, gaze with Minthara's.
Every heartbeat made the bloody stump ooze and glisten. The fresh wound visibly throbbed, painfully twitching from the unexpected trauma. When Durge's voice did return, it was cold and deep, like wading into a bottomless pool. "I hope you consider this… sufficient penance. I have heard Drake-skin makes for wonderful leather in the Underdark. Perhaps you may yet make use of mine."
Minthara all but grinned as her cheeks again flushed with colour. She looked down, studying and turning the sizable piece of her lover's tail over in her hand. It was already losing its warmth, but she savoured the sensation, greedily absorbing the heat from his now limp, pliant cartilage.
Again, this amnesiac Dragonborn had surprised her.
Tilting her head, Minthara suppressed her approval at the display. Her curt response and complete change of expression assured Durge of his successful, if grotesque, show of devotion.
"I shall relish this gift, and I intend to keep it close."
Mutilation, self-mortification, and making a public spectacle of both were commonplace in Menzoberranzan, and Minthara was as pleased for the reminder of her home as she was for her lover's token.
Looking Durge over, she smirked, continuing to shake her head in disbelief. He bore the pain exceedingly well; not a trace of it showed in his features. Though his arms and legs did subtly shiver, and his tail swished back and forth more emphatically than before.
After Minthara looked him up, she finally remarked, "You are exquisite…"
Durge parted his teeth and drew in a breath, the sound hissed deeply down his throat, and he all but purred,
"As are you."
Minthara couldn't help but let slip a laugh as she nodded, "Mhmm, I know."
All her earlier frustration was forgotten.
Astarion looked towards Wyll, and the latter shrugged. Then he glanced to Shadowheart who also offered a bemused, albeit stiff, reaction. With an eyeroll and his typical sarcasm, the vampire chuckled falsely, "Well, aren't you two just peas in a bloody, gory, pod. Gods… Any memories of time spent in the Underdark coming back to you now Durge? Yeesh… were he a Drow I think he would have fit right in."
Flicking his fingers in anxious disgust, Astarion eventually sat back down, but eagerly turned his back towards the couple. The others too, eventually turned their attentions back to Karlach and coming dinner as the Tiefling awkwardly cleared her throat, "Well! Uh, food's comin' along nicely! Wyll, be a darlin' and would ya mind helping me? I think I need some more of that, that sauce there."
Showing the state of the bond now between former hunter and hunted, Wyll nodded eagerly at the distraction and moved to assist,
"Gladly Karlach."
Beside him, Shadowheart's shoulders rose as she shuddered, "Perfect sight just before we all eat, I suppose."
She kept her lips pursed as long as she could, but her affinity and concern for her companion compelled her to speak. But not before rolling her eyes, "Durge… you should probably dress that wound. Sooner, rather than later. Gods know I'm not fixing your sordid self-harm, but the last thing we need is you doing something that stupid and a limb becoming gangrenous."
The Dragonborn smirked, and dipped his head towards the cleric, "I shall, thank you Shadowheart."
She pursed her lips and raised her drink in reply.
Awkwardly Karlach cleared her throat and her voice rose, directing the attention away from Minthara and Durge. "Okay! Yeah, he'll clean and bandage that, and we'll just casually ignore that all just happened! Lae'zel, would you please tap a barrel? Please?"
The Githyanki laughed and rose to her feet enthusiastically, "With pleasure."
Stepping back from Durge's presence, and ignoring the others with ease, Minthara eventually knelt back down at her tent's entrance, wrapping her precious, bloody, token in a cloth.
Her voice was even, and she allowed herself to be honest with him, "You know, you continue to surprise me."
Durge had taken a step backwards, and perked with a smile, "Haha, I'm glad. I'd hate for you to ever think me dull."
Then he made a showy half bow before pointing at his tail. "Though I probably ought to wrap this now."
Minthara nodded, "Yes, by all means. Actually… Perhaps you'd allow me?"
Durge's expression shifted, and he quietly admitted, "I- I'd like that."
He trailed off as some of his original unique 'bashfulness' seemed to return, despite the throbbing pain of his new wound. His voice lowered to an intimate whisper and Minthara realised this was his true secret.
"Oh, and when you do reach the fire… Aha. Perhaps I… Hmm. May I brush your hair?"
A moment passed and Minthara slowly rose back to her feet. Her brow began to furrow. His eyes were looking away before glancing at her, expectantly.
Minthara swallowed hard, hiding her joy, 'Of all the things this creature could have said…'
Then she nodded, "Of course."
…
Dinner was satisfying, with fresh ingredients, strong spirits, and the particularly reassuring knowledge that nothing had been tampered with or poisoned.
Minthara was even able to tolerate the rest of her traveling companions without the usual effort required; in fact, she'd found the night's conversation had been surprisingly lively and entertaining, giving a strange ambience as she cleaned and dressed Durge's wound.
Now it was an hour or two after they'd all eaten, and the evening lulled.
Minthara closed her eyes and cooed contentedly. She was seated on a plush, comfortable pillow, with a blanket draped across her lap. The warm campfire sat ahead of her, and Durge sat behind her, humming.
All the while that he sang, he drew the ivory comb through her hair.
Reaching beside her, Minthara gripped the stem of a silver chalice and brought it to her lips. The wine she drank had been liberated from Moonrise and was a perfectly aged bottle of genuine 'Spider Blood Wine'.
Though she had broadened her palate since leaving Menzoberranzan, the familiar Drow wine seemed just right for the evening, and she gladly shared it with Durge, pouring them both ample servings.
With the taste of home on her tongue, victory so sweetly recent, and the comforting crackle of the glowing fire, Minthara all but moaned. The fact that Durge was skilfully and pleasurably scratching her scalp, reverently handling locks of her hair, pushed it over the edge.
This night, Minthara Baenré felt more elated and exalted than if she'd suddenly been made House Matron and First Matriarch of Menzoberranzan…
Initially, she feared that Durge's large, bestial, hands were going to be clumsy, but instead, as soon as he began, she noticed a skilled deftness to his motions. He touched and groomed with a focused care. He never pulled a painful tangle, and he immediately remedied any knot he found. His hands were as good with her hair as they had been with the rest of her body.
Minthara positively vibrated with satisfaction. And all of it was accompanied by Durge's low-toned humming. It was sensual, it was relaxing, and she was relishing the indulgence to its full. Eventually, Durge finished. Caressing Minthara's shoulder and kissing her neck to punctuate and conclude the act.
He remained with his head leaning into the back of hers while he spoke,
"Lay backwards, on to me."
Then he tapped her shoulder and waited. Minthara straightened, lolling her head from side to side and feeling her hair freely swish left and right.
She chuckled and exhaled, "Gladly."
She justified the quickness of her compliance to the disarming state provided by the wine, and slowly eased herself backwards as Durge moved to accommodate; laying on the grass until Minthara became flush against him.
The two now gazed skywards, and the great dome of the heavens spread out above in all its wondrous beauty. Suddenly, she began to laugh and enjoy the awkward position a bit more than she otherwise would have. It was nothing like the Underdark, but it felt good.
She began to realise that this was an evening she never could have had there. There had been no verbal Drowish games for supremacy. She had no worries about needing to save face for fear of Lolthian judgement. Their party operated without any such trappings. And there was no oppressive voice of the Absolute tainting her mind.
It was all strangely liberating…
Minthara took another greedy sip of wine as thoughts dwelt on her former home. There, pleasure was always underpinned by some level of suspicion and anxiety. But here? She slowly looked around at their camp, unbothered by schemes for once, and felt at ease. Without another Drow's ambition to be wary of their goal and mission was truly, quite simple, revenge.
The cult would fall. Orin would die. And everyone else that got in their way would be removed.
Taking another long sip, Minthara hissed in satisfaction and began to speak. "Before those imbecilic members of the Absolute challenged me, I had never spent much time on the surface. And even then, I had ill time for distractions, such as this. However, I must admit, I find an interesting solace in the night. It at least provides a welcome reprieve from that damned sun!"
Durge chuckled and bumped his snout below her left ear, his voice a knowing tease "I refuse to believe that you didn't have a moment of awe when you beheld your first sunrise."
Minthara's eyes blinked, and she swallowed before lowering her voice, "What? I did not waste time indulging myself in such sentimentality."
Durge clucked his tongue and nodded, "Of course, sure, sure."
She grumbled; it was a lie, and he knew it…
As painfully blinding as it had been, Minthara had been awed that first morning on the surface. The sheer size and breadth of the open world was indescribable at daybreak. Its blazing colours and shades changed the sky like a sorceress' spell, and all that was dark became bathed in warm shafts of orange and gold.
It felt like a lifetime ago now, but the recollection still pleased her, despite her subsequent trek to Moonrise and 'recruitment'. Suddenly reminded of her journey before the siege of the grove, Minthara waved her hand in half-hearted dismissal before continuing,
"Any way, I was just saying that… nighttime makes me feel better. That's all." Minthara nodded to herself, her voice quieting as she spoke into her wineglass, "I can also actually see."
Durge chuckled incredulously, "You can't see during the day?"
She paused, stiffening against him as her voice protested, "I didn't say that. I just said I can… I can see better at night!"
Again, Durge nodded as Minthara defended herself,
"I kept myself to nocturnal operations and raids! My retainers from Menzoberranzan and I moved at night and camped during the day. Then, when I… when I fought under Ketheric's command, you saw that I kept my operations' full might, in waiting, and reserved, underground during my search for the Prism. It was simply, a- a better strategy that way!"
She nodded, and repeated a martial proverb, "Use what you know."
Durge pursed his lips as she continued, hiding his sadistic pleasure at her sudden rush of words.
"I can fight during the day, it's just, it will take years for me to grow perfectly accustomed to such conditions. As I have said before about you surface dwellers and your globes, pah! There's far more to this world than what's merely on it. And a Drow who can walk, fight, and invoke her magic in the sun? Well, she's more than a mere foe to be reckoned with."
At this Durge emphatically agreed, "You are quite right. You are much more than a mere foe… But is that why you're always reading so eagerly as soon as the sun goes down?"
Minthara opened her mouth but faltered. Her voice lowered as she begrudgingly admitted, "Yes."
Durge smiled but did not tease her further. Instead, he took her left arm in his hand, softly raising it, and began pointing towards the stars with her fingers, changing subjects.
"You know. If the sky is not too polluted by our fire, though the moon is not full, I think, aha, yes. I think we can still see… Yes. There, just off the darker edge of Selûné, see those glittering stones?"
Minthara followed her own fingers, squinting a moment before she saw several of the asteroids which circled the moon. They were making an orbit and just coming around the waning edge of the moon's silver crescent.
"I do."
"Those are Selûné's Tears. Among them, one which glitters blue I've been told, is Crèche K'liir."
Durge smirked as Minthara scoffed incredulously, her slightly inebriated voice lost much of its earlier edge.
"And our Lae'zel is from there? Ha. Imagine that…"
She felt Durge move against her as he agreed, "Imagine then, how many lands, how many other worlds, lie out there? Waiting…"
He reached his hand out, past hers, and slowly closed his fist.
"If all one had to do was tighten their grip."
Minthara smiled impishly, "How right you are."
Clearing her throat, she began to recall aloud, "I read a story once, of two great fleets which fought amongst the stars… Were that it was so, for I would gladly sail the heavens."
She looked around the glittering sky and allowed herself a small smile as her imagination wandered.
Durge's voice lowered as he narrated, "Minthara, Drow-Queen of the stars."
Her raspy chuckle returned, "Now there's a fitting title."
Then the two sighed and laid together in silence, staring at the stars, clouds of nebulae, and storied constellations. The quiet only held for a few more minutes before Durge mumbled, reluctantly,
"I fear this position is not as comfortable as I had hoped."
Minthara all but snorted before draining her goblet. With the silver chalice now empty she tossed it towards the discarded spider-decorated wine bottle and purposefully dug her shoulders into Durge, rotating her elbows painfully against his pecs and abdomen.
Durge groaned in response, gritting his teeth as Minthara shrugged obliviously.
"I don't know, it seems rather plush to me. In fact, I think I found the perfect spot on this lizard-shaped bedding."
She laughed as Durge held his breath. Then Minthara lifted her weight off him, granting reprieve. Durge saw her teeth flash in a smile as her voice danced lyrically,
"However, as future star-queen, I suppose I could be merciful to my more loyal subjects."
Durge dipped his head, "Many thanks, mighty matriarch. Of course, you know, I am not a lizard."
Minthara let her voice drop, hiding her mirth, as she eyed him over.
"Aha, no, no you are not, that is for certain."
She raised a licentious brow and Durge returned the expression as the two shared more intimate glances.
She didn't dare say it aloud, but Minthara could barely contain herself as she mentally affirmed, 'You are far from a belly crawling vermin… You are a dragon, tagnik'zur, in mortal form.'
Oblivious to her thoughts, Durge looked around the campfire, taking stock of their companions in a clockwise arc.
Wyll and Astarion were distracted in conversation together. Beside them, Karlach was fading fast. Having cooked herself a double portion she also drained a roundlet of ale and was now yawning often as her head dipped and lolled, struggling to stay upright. Karlach had been chatting with Lae'zel and Shadowheart, but both had since left.
Lae'zel marched off to patrol the perimeter, while Shadowheart had retired to her tent. The two women on either side of the Tiefling had now been replaced by the dog Scratch and the Owlbear cub, their heads pressed on either one of Karlach's muscley thighs. She savoured the connection, and both her hands were affectionately buried in fur and feathers.
Everyone else was asleep.
Slowly, Durge looked back at Minthara, and his red eyes seemed to glow.
He leaned forwards and pressed his nose to the side of her head. Closing his eyes he drew in the scent of her hair and began rubbing his snout into the long, white, locks; feeling them tickle and smoothly glide against his face.
Minthara let out a noise, tacitly approving of the feeling, but surprised all the same.
"What are you doing?"
Durge took another longing breath before he wrapped his arms around her. His hands pressed on either side of her ribcage and squeezed in a firm, suddenly intense, hug. His voice tried to sound nonchalant, but his actions bordered on worshipful.
"Your hair is so soft. It's, ah-heh, it's pleasant. And tonight, like this, it… it looks like silver thread."
Minthara pursed her lips as her cheeks warmed and a smile deepened.
Then she raised a brow while scoffing, "Is that the best you can do?"
She turned her head enough to see his face again and he blinked. Then he seemed to catch on, and he smirked. Slowly, Durge brought up a hand and grasped several strands of her moon-pale hair. He stroked it with his thumb contemplatively before letting it fall lightly from his fingers. He chuckled.
"Alright."
Durge narrowed his eyes and let a sensual breath escape his mouth. He lowered his voice to a whisper and approached her ear, a sudden growling emphasis placed on his vowels,
"Your scent makes my blood yearn for you. When we are closest, I can think of nothing else."
He began wrapping his left hand around hers.
"I want you. Tonight, I want to bend you, and hold you. I want to push you to the edge of want, and feel you break in need. I want to hear you mewl and moan and snarl as you come. I want you to bite me, and I want to bite you. Mark me, and I shall mark you in kind…"
Minthara's eyes widened, her chest thumped, and she delighted as Durge continued,
"I want you to break the skin and taste my blood. To feel you rake your nails against me, again and again, digging them in as hard and as deeply as you may."
Minthara swallowed as his right hand moved across her side, touching her waist, before stroking across her abdomen. He pressed into her flesh possessively, his own lust barely hidden under his voice.
"I want to lick you. Taste you. Savouring every detail, watching as you lay and writhe in ecstasy. Only to lick and taste you all over again."
Minthara blinked mutedly several times before she finally swore in her mother tongue under a shallow breath, "Olathurl-Lolth… fuck."
Her own want ached, and she felt the alcohol in her blood warm the whole of her body as her arousal deepened. Several seconds passed, and the fire continued to crackle and snap as she sat there in silence; Durge's words rolling over and over in her mind.
With her chest rising and falling, Durge's hands began teasing over her clothing. Edging lower and lower on either side of her waist now, he parted his lips and exhaled. It would have been clear to any who looked what the two were preparing for, but neither Durge, nor Minthara, cared.
His voice was barely audible above the ambience now, but Minthara had heard him clearly.
"Would you like to go to bed?"
She agreed wordlessly and rose to her feet.
…
To be continued…
…
This constitutes about 2/3rds of the original story, the rest, uncensored and featuring the lemon and smut is available on Ao3 if you'd like to check it out.