Another battle. Another banquet. Another large body count. Another mass grave. Another strange funeral put on by his eccentric lord followed by a large banquet. The paperwork of the dead followed like always. With a hundred or so black names on white paper that were all which remained of those who died.
Watching that morning as yet another mass grave was enspelled before the earth swallowed the bodies. There was always something so attractive in the face of a leader who shed tears over his people. Not the arrogant tears of someone who thinks they know best, but those of someone who truly mourned the loss of life and the agony the brave warriors had suffered.
Throughout it all Randolphus stared with that calm adoration. The next day ended with a feast celebrating the lives of the fallen. Each one followed the same flow. Some wild drink concocted between the dwarves and his eccentric lord who ran around in sprite armor as though it was nothing. The one who fluently spoke and wrote their language as though he had been raised with it where many others struggled with common alone.
That look as the bonfires were lit and he danced with the families and held the crying children. The idiotic laughter as he tried to drink the dwarves under the table. It always ended the same way. He would curl up to the first person he found attractive and invite them to bed. Randolphus always made sure his duties were left in the capable hands of his well trained attendants. From there he would follow his drunken lord and keep him safe from foul plots.
Stealthed as he watched the other eat a star Zinnia to avoid unwanted results. The lucky human or elf would chant his name like a plea. “Richter, Richter, Richter!” They would moan from wherever they had snuck off to. Randolphis would stare dispassionately with pangs of guilt and anger clouding his chaotic heart.
Before long his lord would finish as his chamberlain watched with minor pain he had no right to feel. As the other person would calm down and make an excuse to go grab drinks or when they’d fall asleep. That’s when the the young lordling would look up with those beautiful caramel eyes and softly call to him.
Slowly, carefully the rogue would creep closer at the beckoning call and come out of stealth as he was welcomed. Still tired from the first round but always drunk and eager, he would reach up and grab onto those well toned shoulders. Their mouths would tangle in a lovely bitter dance with a mix of the sweeter mead and harsh whiskey that made up their preferred drinks.
Slowly he would press his lord down into the bed. Slowly he would lose his pants. The other would grab him by the collar of his cloak and pull him down as he slowly ground against the spy. Building pressure, that delicious tension of skin mingling in an intimate dance. Slowly oil poured over fingers with secret herbs mixed in to make everything rise to the next level.
One. Slowly moving in and out as tongues mingled in the soft heat of the summer nights. Two. Twisting deliciously as they stretched out that tight passage. The glamour falling away just a little more so he could run those beautifully sharp teeth along Richter’s shoulder. Leaving small nicks and sensual bruises that he would soon heal with a health potion. Three. Filling the other with all the fingers he could currently fit and slowly positioning them to that magical space which made his lord cry out so sweetly. Four. Snaking his way down that toned chest to play with a nipple using one hand and gently sucking the other between razor sharp teeth as he slipped his fingers free to stroke himself. Five. That sweet whimper of an empty person needing more and filling that need with one sharp thrust deep inside of him.
Randolphus always stared down on nights like these and slowly ran his tongue over his razor sharp teeth while slowly thrusting into the lordling beneath him. His nature was chaos. When in this state, inhebriated by sex and alcohol the fear aroused him. It was a precipice and the thought was usually enough to keep him going for at least another round. His member would stand tall as Randolphis would stroke the flesh in time with his thrusts. Sometimes he would get fast and erratic, an uneven rhythm for the curious adventurer. Other times were slow and melodic, a burning symphony of nerves screaming in harmony. He loved it. The sweet cries of his lord who never knew what to expect during these escapades were music to the rogues ears.
At the peak of their time together, their cries would rise together as they finally found completion. Together they’d pant as they came down. Sometimes he would gently clean his lord’s stomach, all the while humming gentle lullabies. Other times he would leave the traces of pleasure splattered across his lord’s chest.
When the others would find him they wouldn’t question either outcome. They would write it off as him having some more fun either way and none would look back to the hybrid in the shadows. No one would ever suspect the sassy blunt toothed chamberlain who was never anything but professional.