Chapter Text
In hindsight, Tav should’ve known surrounding Raphael with luxuries would put him in a good mood. Though the dark circles under his eyes are still there, he seems to carry himself with pride again, not to the extent he did when he followed them around their quest, but he’s getting there.
It suits him. Way better than the moping she’s put up with the last tenday. Not that she would say that to his face, she’s not sure she’d survive the smugness.
Instead, she watches him through the corner of her eye as the tailor shows him different fabric swatches, chin resting in his hand, eyebrows set in a slight frown as he compares two different nuances of navy blue.
“Do you only wear red, blue and gold?” Tav asks, running her fingers down the velvet of a lavender doublet with silver embroidery.
“I know what I like,” Raphae says absentmindedly. “Though, I dabble with black sometimes. If the occasion calls for it, I might even wear white.”
He pulls his eyes away from the swatches to the doublet in her hands and purses his lips in disgust.
“ That would wash me out completely. And, dear, must you be so predictable?”
“I know what I like,” Tav says, grinning. “Humour me.”
Raphael rolls his eyes, but brushes off the tailor with a quick wave, grabs the doublet and slips behind the curtain to the dressing room to humour her .
The curtain opens and Raphael steps out with a flourish, arms spread in front of him, though his face is very much set in a ‘I told you so’-manner. And he did tell her so, the fit is terrible, somehow too big at the shoulders while the sleeves are too short at the same time.
And while Tav thought Raphael was the kind of man who’d look good in just about anything, the colour washes him out in a way that has him look almost sickly pale, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes in a way that has Tav almost feeling sorry for him.
The fussing tailor only adds on to Raphael’s discomforts, suggesting adjustments to the garment, but is quickly shot down with a glare from Raphael. Tav does her best to keep a straight face, kicking the devil while he’s down hasn’t brought her much progress this far.
“I think it’s got potential,” Tav says, biting the inside of her cheek.
“Your lies are nothing but insulting,” Raphael mutters before his eyes land somewhere behind Tav. “Would you hand me that?”
The tailor acts before Tav’s even spun around, grabbing the set and almost pushing Raphael back behind the curtain.
This time there’s no flourish, just a confident man stepping out from behind the curtain, his head held high, and shoulders pushed back. It’s embarrassing, the gasp that leaves Tav’s mouth when her eyes wander across Raphael’s body.
The black silk of the vest hugs around his waist in the best way possible, not to speak of how the trousers fit like a second skin around his…
“Mouse?” Raphael interrupts Tav’s wandering thoughts and looks at her expectantly. Tav blinks twice before she realises he’s looking for her verdict.
“It’s perfect.”
“I know.” Raphael grins.
“We do have something matching for your wife,” the tailor tells Raphael.
“Excellent,” Raphael says without missing a beat, shooting Tav a smug look.
“Oh no, we're not shopping for me today.”
Tav’s grievances fall onto deaf ears as she’s forced into the dressing room and provided with a dress in a similar black silk to the set Raphael tried on. She sighs. Fine , he humoured her, let’s humour him.
While Tav’s got nothing against a good corset, keeping everything in place, the tailor’s assistant tightens this one to the extent that she’s not sure she’ll be able to breathe once they’re done. She’s quite sure her breasts are pushed so high upon her chest, if she were to take a nap, she could comfortably rest her chin against them.
The sharp inhale from Raphael almost makes the suffering somewhat worth it when she steps out from behind the curtain, at least it has her feeling a bit more confident in her new confinements.
She stands in front of the mirror, taking in the expensive fabric, the intricate golden embroidery. The whole situation reminds her a bit too much of when her mother had her dress up for one of many soirées back in her childhood home.
“Don’t sulk, straighten your back, smile more.” She hears her mother’s voice in the back of her head.
Raphael snakes up behind her, half of him covered by her silhouette in the mirror. His hands rest gently on her shoulders, his palms sending small tingles of fire into her skin.
“We look like we rule the world,” he says, voice low and sultry.
They do, but Tav’s frown stays in place.
“We look boring,” Tav says. “Like all that matters is the gold in our vaults and the power we hold.”
“No, look closer,” he says, adjusting a stray lock of her hair. “There is nothing boring about us. We can do anything we want. The only limit is the extent of our imagination.”
“I suppose we would throw some outrageous parties,” Tav mutters, trying hard to resist falling into Raphael’s luring tales. “Though I’m only inviting people I like. And none of that expensive, dry, sparkling wine, I want the cheap and sweet stuff.”
“Whatever you desire,” Raphael says, his words sending not completely unpleasant shivers down Tav’s spine.
~*~
When they exit the shop, two shopping bags in hand and just as much waiting to be adjusted and sent to her home, a thick layer of clouds has descended upon the sky. The air stale with a faint hint of ozone, and Tav’s physically buzzing with anticipation. It’s about time the city has a proper thunderstorm to wash away the hot summer’s dust and filth. It’s just typical it’s about to start when they’re at least a half an hour walk away from her house.
Tav’s eyes dart between the sky and Raphael, and she curses the city for not having a proper carrier service.
“Got your running boots?”
“I currently only have one pair of boots,” Raphael says, seemingly oblivious to what she’s getting at and the change in weather. “Though if you know of a good shoemaker, I’m not against taking a detour.”
“No time for detours, I fear.”
As if on Tav’s command, the thunder roars and raindrops large as marbles fall from the sky. She shoots Raphael a grin, but the former devil is distracted with eying the sky as if the weather is working against him personally.
“We are not running through this,” he states firmly.
“We are not standing here in the rain!” Tav shoots back. “If we make it to Heap Gate, there’s a tavern we can hide away from the rain in. C’mon!”
Refusing to let Raphael come up with any more inputs on whether to stay and get flushed away down into the Chionthar, Tav grabs him by the wrists and runs. Perhaps there are words falling off his lips, perhaps some of them even sound as close to insults as the man is capable of with his awfully refined vocabulary. It’s hard to tell, all Tav can hear is the smattering of raindrops landing on tiled rooftops and feel how Raphael adjusts his grip to have his fingers encircle her wrist.
She’s happy he’s behind her; she wouldn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how her cheeks burns from his touch.
They pass a few others caught in the rain, most of them moving at the same pace as they to seek shelter.
Tav has never been a particularly fast woman, but she’s always been very determined. Breathing heavily and soaked to the bone, they make it to the small tavern and almost stumble through the door.
She twirls around quickly to face Raphael, his hair wet and dishevelled. Without thinking she reaches out to adjust a stray lock, placing it gently behind his ear, her fingers lingering while she fights the internal battle of leaving them there, or behaving like a reasonable person.
Raphael’s eyes widen for a split second, before his expression shifts into a curious smirk. And gods above, it works like a godsdamned charm. She lets her fingers run down the contour of his chiselled jaw, his lips part ever so slightly as she stops by his chin.
She just has to lean in, close the distance and lose herself completely.
“Oh, look at the two of you.”
The voice from the innkeeper pulls Tav out of her trance and she withdraws her fingers as if Raphael’s skin is on fire before facing the innkeeper. Tav can’t decide if she wants to strike the old lady with lightning or get on her knees and thank her profusely.
“Don’t let me interrupt you lovebirds,” the innkeeper snickers.
The former devil chuckles softly behind Tav. She feels her ears going hot and suddenly striking herself with lightning seems like the best possible course of action, judging by the puddle forming underneath them, she might even bring Raphael down with her if she’s lucky.
“But,” the innkeeper continues, pulling Tav away from her ponderings. “Please, have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”
Tav has only been to this tavern once or twice before, it’s mostly popular among merchants with business in the Upper City who do not want to spend Upper City prices on lodging. The low murmur of the other patrons is almost completely wiped out by the heavy rain smattering against the windowsill, as are the soft tunes coming from the tired bard sitting in one of the corners.
Tav takes a couple of swift steps towards a table close to the bar, entrusting the old lady with keeping her self-conscious enough to not fall into another weak moment where she lets her godsdamned pussy take the reins of her body.
Because that’s clearly what it is, it’s been way too long since she’s shared her bed with anyone. And spending all her time with a ridiculously good-looking man is reminding her way too much of that fact. Perhaps she should seek out some old flame and then she’ll forget about it.
Alas, that can’t be done tonight, and part of her knows that won't scratch this particular itch. The bane of her existence sits there, on the opposite side of the table, looking way smugger than she’s comfortable with.
The innkeeper hands them two glasses, which after a closed inspection turns out to consist of something that has the hairs on her arms stand as it goes down her throat.
At an uncharacteristic lack of words, Tav lets her gaze linger at the pouring rain outside and combs her fingers through her wet locks of hair, big drops land on the floor and she makes a mental note of tipping the innkeeper extra for having to wipe up the mess they’re leaving around them.
“Are you not capable of creating and destroying water?” Raphael asks, eyeing the droplets like they’ve insulted him personally.
“I am,” Tav admits. “Though destroying water on a person has led to some, um, complications in the past. We had to carry Wyll’s dried up body to camp to get him resurrected. Withers gave me a judging look, but the Blade took it like a champ.”
“So, you do have a habit of killing the people who try to help you?” he teases, amber eyes sparkling in the candlelight.
It seems that since the little quarrel they had on the bridge, the former devil isn’t holding quite as big a grudge against her as before, thank the gods.
“Careful, little mouse,” he continues. “One might think the Saviour of the Gate isn’t as just and chivalrous as the bards sing,”
“Every rose has its thorns,” Tav sighs out dramatically, earning her a low rumble of a chuckle from Raphael.
“Out of curiosity, what other thorns does this rose possess?” Raphael asks, sipping absentmindedly on his drink.
Before Tav can figure out if this is the kind of question calls upon telling about when she thought she had the constitution to outdrink the undead bartender, or the kind that means spilling what happened with the drow twins, the innkeeper shows up again. She fills up their glasses while giving the pair a look that reminds Tav of the ones she got from her grandmother the first time she brought home a girlfriend.
All that’s missing is a dreamy sigh and a mumble of true love before Tav has to crawl out of her own skin.
“I doubt this rain will be over any time soon,” the old lady says with a bright smile. “There is a room available if you want to wait out the storm here.”
“Oh, that won’t be – “ Tav says.
“An excellent idea,” Raphael interrupts her.
The innkeeper singsongs something about letting her know when they’ve decided and Tav glares at the former devil, a feign look of innocence on his face that she has no way of wiping off.
“How about we play for it?” Raphael says. “You’ve beat me before.”
Following his gaze, Tav finds a lanceboard crammed into one of the corners of the tavern.
“I cheated,” Tav confesses.
“I know.” He grins.
“And you wanted me to win.”
“I did,” he admits.
“So, I’m setting myself up for certain defeat.”
For some reason the thought doesn’t seem as bad as she tries to make it sound. At least now it won’t seem like her idea if they end up sharing a bed. A sound defence. Though she makes a mental note of deducting the cost for the room from the gold she owes Raphael.
“Never stopped you before.”
“ Fine .”
~*~
Raphael has, with almost full certainty, come to the conclusion that the little mouse isn’t playing any games with him at all, especially not after watching the mental fistfight going on behind her eyes when she made her completely uncalculated advancements on him.
He could practically smell the arousal, it had been straight up delicious .
And desire, that’s just one of his specialities.
It’s his turn to be the spider in the web now. She’s still unpredictable, of course, a creature of instinct. As much can be gathered from the moves she makes on the lanceboard. She barges headfirst into every trap he sets for her and then mumbles foul curses as he strikes.
But he can work with this. He’ll be careful, if he pushes too hard, she might shut him out. But just enough, and he’ll have her wrapped around his finger in no time. Then, he’ll… Well, he’ll figure that part out later.
She chews on her lower lip as she watches the board. If his calculations are correct, which of course they are, he’ll have the little mouse in checkmate within five or less moves. He’d have to get almost stupidly sloppy if the little mouse is to take any of his important pieces.
The little mouse’s shoulders slump more and more with every one of her pieces he collects, part of him almost wants to take pity on the woman, now running her hands through her hair.
“You never got the chance to answer my question before,” he says, the little mouse doesn’t look up from the board. “What other thorns does this rose have?”
“Can’t play lanceboard,” she says, moving her only remaining tower and taking one of his pawns, looking up at him to smile widely as if his knight won’t take it out in a couple of seconds. “Can’t play any instrument either.”
“No?” Raphael says, eyes set on the little mouse as he strikes on the board. “I would assume that would be a part of a noble upbringing like yours.”
“You’ve done your homework.”
“I research my investments.”
“Waste of time.”
Raphael chuckles.
“In your case, my dear, very much so.”
“As is this game,” the little mouse mutters, the reality of her demise growing clearer to her as he sets up for his final blow.
“A game between friends and stimulating conversation.” Raphael says, arms spread wide to emphasise his point. “I must argue that your idea of time wasted does not match mine.”
“You wouldn’t do this unless you got something out of it,” the little mouse says, giving him a pointing look.
“And what, mouse, am I getting out of this?” he asks, voice low and rumbling.
The little mouse swallows, before worrying her lip between her teeth. Steady now .
“Something you want, I assume,” she says.
“And you don’t believe it could be mutually beneficial?”
“It could be.”
There it is, hook, bait, and sinker. To put the last signature on the contract, he claims the little mouse’s king. He’s always loved when the opponent puts up a fight, but falls willingly in the end, especially when the opponent in question’s pupils are blown wide with desire.
The innkeeper is delighted to hand over a key in exchange for a handful of gold. In silence, the little mouse and Raphael make their way up the stairs to their room for the night.
The little mouse locks the door behind them and spins around, chest moving up and down with every breath. Raphael doesn’t hesitate to close the distance between them, taking her chin between forefinger and thumb to tilt her face towards him. He searches her face for any sign of hesitation, there’s not a single trace of it.
“I want to devour you,” he murmurs.
“Do it.”
The crooked smile on the little mouse’s face is almost as devilish as his own, and it pulls a growl from his chest as he crashes his lips onto hers, her mouth opening almost instantly to invite him in. She tastes of the awful brew they had downstairs, but beneath that there’s something sweet, almost like sunshine breaking through rain clouds.
He feels himself fall into an uncharacteristic hurry, his hands roaming the little mouse’s body, uncertain of where to touch, as if the only thing deserving his attention is all of her . In the meantime, her hands find leverage at the back of his head, digging her fingers into his curls to pull him closer.
Finally, he’s able to gather enough of himself to settle on her bottom, squeezing into the soft muscle, encouraging her to grind her pelvis against his already painfully hard erection. Grabbing firmly, he pulls her up, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.
There’s not a long walk to the bed, and the little mouse is not a particularly big person, but however much he tries to deny it, he isn’t as strong in his current form, he just makes it to the edge of the bed before she’s unceremoniously dropped onto the sheets.
She lets out an indignant huff, and he takes a moment to take her in. Linen robe half open, lips swollen from kissing, locks loose splayed over the sheets.
Disheveled and absolutely beautiful. He should call in an artist.
From the moment Raphael woke up in that back alley, he hasn’t been in control of a single thing in his life, but now, he can take it . He climbs onto the bed, pulling her legs apart to place himself between them. And the little mouse seems eager enough to give, untying her robe to reveal her freckled chest, plump breasts and soft stomach. His eyes aren’t sure where to land.
The eager little pup reaches out to grab him by the front of his shirt, pulling him back into a kiss with a force that has their teeth clank together. With one arm, he supports himself, the other hand makes its way down to her smallclothes, cupping her mound to find the fabric delightfully soaked.
Seeing no point in wasting more time, he pulls down her smallclothes and runs his fingers up and down the outside of her folds, drawing whines from the little mouse’s lips as she buckles her hips to gain more friction.
The whines are quickly replaced with soft moans as he separates her folds and finds that sensitive little bundle of nerves, circling it slowly.
“More,” she whines.
“What was that?” he asks, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.
“ More , Raphael.”
Benevolent as he is, he obliges. He stops his ministrations of her clit to find her entrance, one finger sliding inside without a trace of resistance, her cunt dripping with anticipation. The second finger slides in just as easily and quickly finds that soft spot that has her moans grow louder and one of her legs shaking.
Oh, to have the Saviour of the Gate reduced to putty in his hands.
He speeds up the pace, her body taut like a bowstring, moans and whimpers floating together in a beautiful symphony.
And just as the little mouse’s body is as tense as it possibly could be, he stops.
“Bastard, let me come!” she all but shouts, chest heaving.
“Tut tut, language, my dear,” he scolds.
“I’ll finish myself,” she threatens, and reaches for her cunt.
“You will do no such thing,” he growls and quickly gathers her wrists above her head, her breath hitching. He leans in, pressing his nose against her temple. “You will come around my cock. Understood?”
The little mouse glares in defiance, and Raphael glares back. If it’s a battle in patience the brat wants, it’s another battle she cannot win. He counts ten seconds internally, before the little mouse realises as much and nods.
“Words, dear, use them.”
“Yes, I’ll come around your cock,” she drawls.
Not the tone he’d been hoping for, but her as with her glare, it’s another attempt at defiance that falls flat when her writhing body begging for pleasure. He releases her wrists.
“On all fours.”
If he’s generous, he can count the times the little mouse’s done as he asks on two fingers, now he can finally add a third as she quickly discards her remaining clothes and gets into position.
What a sight, her soft ass, the dark skin around her cunt glistening with arousal. He unties his trousers quickly, freeing his cock from where it’s been fighting against its restraints. He runs the tip of his cock up and down her slit a couple of times, gathering some slick before he places it against her entrance.
Hells below, he would love to tease her just a moment more, but he can’t stop himself. With one, long, slow thrust, he sheathes himself into her warmth. The moan drawn from the little mouse’s throat almost has him spilling himself into her right away.
Another human weakness, he assumes.
He gathers himself for a moment with a deep breath and a quick thought of the Counting House’s paperwork to avoid any premature disasters, before almost pulling out completely. The next thrust is harder, quicker, and the little mouse’s moan borders on a scream.
The sounds coming from his own throat are almost animalistic as he continues at a rapid pace, his fingers digging into the little mouse’s hips, the sting inside of him growing tighter with every thrust.
He uses the last of his self-control to pull her up against him, her back flush against his chest. He has a moment of clarity to curse himself for not removing his shirt, wanting to feel all of the little mouse’s sweat covered skin against his. His hand gripping her jaw, and his lips against the crook of her neck will have to do for now.
When his other hand finds its way towards the sinfully sensitive bundle of nerves, she flutters and clenches around him. It doesn’t take long until she’s babbling and pleading desperately for her release.
“Come for me,” he growls.
And she does, falling apart completely in his arms, her whole body shaking, moans bordering on sobs.
He’s close behind, and there’s no grace to his release, hips snapping with a desperate speed and loud groans tear from his throat as the string snaps and he spills himself deeply into her cunt before they collapse into a pile of spent bodies and tangled limbs.
Raphael rolls off the little mouse, their bodies catching their breaths in tandem. She raises her head, chin propped in her palm to look at him. A beautiful sight, had it not been for her frown and her eyes filled with contemplation.
Raphael hates it, he much prefers the look of adoration she had downstairs before the innkeep interrupted them. Her jaw works slowly, chewing on words unsaid.
“Save it until the morning,” he says, reaching out to pull her onto his chest.
Her body melts into his, another finger added to the times she’s done as he asks.
He makes a mental note of not getting used to it before drifting off to a peaceful sleep.