Chapter Text
When Haarlep snuck in Raphael’s room at Sharess’ Caress - Devil’s Den, really? Did he have that plaque installed? - they did so quietly, wearing the likeness of some poor imbecile who’d given his body and soul to them a few centuries earlier.
A useless precaution, as it turned out: the owners of that fine establishment were perfectly happy with having devils on the premises, as long as rent was paid. A high rent, probably, for the luxury of the suite: of course Raphael would settle for nothing less, even though he probably had not expected a weeks long stay.
When he’d departed from Baldur’s Gate, after sharing yet more details of his plan with Haarlep in a grandiose and entirely unprompted monologue, Raphael had been certain this little mouse and her companions would fall over themselves to accept his generous offer and sign his contract.
“They may ask for time to think it over, of course. They may still believe they will find a solution on their own, outsmarting a devil. Mortals are prone to delusions of grandeur,” Raphael had said, with an astounding lack of self-awareness Haarlep could almost admire. “But they will not. They will take my deal in a matter of days.”
The days had turned into a week, two weeks, and then three weeks. Raphael was still in Baldur’s Gate, still waiting for a signature and, from what Korrilla had told Haarlep during a brief visit at the House of Hope, in an increasingly foul mood.
“He rants and raves worse than usual if you give him a chance,” she’d warned them. “I’d keep avoiding him, if I were you. Don’t give him that chance.”
At first, Haarlep had no intention to go see him in the Material Plane. They had taken his prolonged absence as a vacation of sorts for the first week - two weeks, maybe - but soon enough, that too had grown old. There was no power in the Nine Hells of Baator that could compel Haarlep to say they missed Raphael’s presence, but they were bored. Getting under Raphael’s skin was, after all, their favorite pastime.
Well. The second favorite. But still.
Haarlep shifted back into their mimicry of Raphael, briefly stretched their wings, and padded into the next room. Sure enough, Raphael was there. He was fully clothed, sitting at a desk and writing something into that golden book he often had with him. Haarlep grinned, walked up behind him, and placed both hands on Raphael’s shoulders.
“Who--?” Raphael looked up, startled, and scowled when he saw them. “What are you doing here?” he snapped, closing the book despite the still fresh ink on it. “I don’t recall giving you any instructions to follow me here.”
“Oh, I could ask the same. What are you doing, little brat?” Haarlep sing-sang in turn. “I thought you came to this plane for the most important infernal contract of all time, and yet here you are, writing your little fictions.”
“It is a verse epic, you ignorant thing,” Raphael bit back, and Haarlep’s smile widened. There were plenty of things that ruffled his feathers - they had spent long long centuries figuring each of them out, so they could put them to good use - but few things got to him as hearing his literary endeavors described as ‘his little fictions’.
“How curious it is,” Haarlep said, still resting both hands on Raphael’s shoulders, “that a devil of your stature doesn’t have a small army of scribes to write verse epics. It seems unfair, leaving you to write up imaginary deeds all by yourself.”
Only the slightest tensing of Raphael’s back betrayed his annoyance. Still, he made a commendable effort not to let it show.
“With questionable results, I’d wager. I have no need for such cheap flattery,” he replied, like he and Haarlep both didn’t know full well he’d happily take in all flattery, cheap or otherwise. He craved it nearly as much as he craved power, or even more. What was power, what was all his ambition, if not the ultimate bid to be admired? Haarlep knew Raphael well enough to know he had no true inclination to rule, much less any taste for duty.
He wanted Asmodeus’ throne the way he’d always wanted a pedestal, nothing more. Lifetimes since they’d been sworn to him, when he was a young cambion vying for any sort of relevance at his father’s court alongside more half-siblings than anyone could bother counting - some more powerful than him, some more cunning, all looked upon with some scorn by full devils and now mostly dead - he had not changed all that much.
“How odd. I’ve always found you to take in mediocre praise as eagerly as you take me.” Haarlep’s hands went down Raphael’s chest, and they spoke the next words in his ear. “Which you haven’t in a while. You’ve been here waiting for weeks for this little mouse of yours and her companions to come back and take your deal. You must be so very bored.”
There was a shudder Raphael was quick to disguise with a scoff, but not quite quick enough. “They’ll be back crawling,” he growled. “When they realize there is no other way out other than trusting an Illithid. They’ll be begging to take my deal.”
“Oh, of course. I’m sure they will. But now, you’re the one acting like a beggar.”
Raphael bristled, and tilted back his head to glare at them. Haarlep would never not enjoy seeing him look up at them. “What do you think you know? You’re naught more than a glorified bedwarmer. I am not sitting here in wait. I have been making deals, every single day--”
“But not the one you really want.” They leaned over, and spoke only a scant inch from Raphael’s lips. They felt his breathing quicken, dark brown eyes already clouded with want. Raphael had never coped well with frustration, with having his desires denied. When it all got to be too much, well. Either someone unfortunate enough to cross his path in the House of Hope would suffer, or Haarlep would find more pleasant ways for him to release that pent up emotion.
“Maybe they will be back crawling. I’m sure you’d love to see that.” Their hand went down his stomach, stopped barely above his groin. “I for one have missed seeing you crawl. I have half a mind to make you beg before I agree to fuck you.”
A breath, shakier than Raphael probably intended. “Half a mind,” he bit, “is all you have in that skull of yours. You may want to avoid straining it too much.”
Ah, Raphael. Sometimes he made it almost too easy. “You would know, my little brat. I am, after all, fashioned in your image.”
“You insolent--”
Whatever word he meant to utter next - wretch, probably - only came out as a muffled noise as Haarlep closed up the space between their lips, a hand grasping Raphael’s face, fingers pressing firmly onto his cheeks. It was not enough pressure to make him open his mouth, but it was a clear invitation and firm enough that Raphael could later claim, if so he wished, that he hadn’t opened his mouth voluntarily. But he did, he always did. They both knew the truth.
Haarlep pushed their tongue into his mouth as soon as his lips parted, and that was that. He heard Raphael’s low groan, felt the shudder that ran through him as their saliva took effect. They smiled against his lips and grabbed the front of Raphael’s doublet, pulling him up on his feet before pushing him back against the desk. The chair topped and ink spilled on the floor, but their master was already well beyond caring, if the way he grasped the straps of Haarlep’s harness was anything to go by. Oh yes, he had missed this exactly as much as Haarlep thought. That was good. They had very much missed pushing him around.
“Have you gone without all this time, Raphael?” Haarlep’s hand went down to unlace his trousers. Raphael’s thighs parted, offering no resistance. “And to think you’ve taken residence in a brothel. But none here can get you like this.” A light, teasing grip on his cock, already hardening. “None of them has your face, mmh?”
“You’re not here-- to speak,” Raphael ground out. “So keep that tongue of yours still, unless it’s to-- ah!”
“Oh, apologies. I should have warned.” Haarlep grinned, not apologetic in the slightest, and adjusted the ring they’d conjured at the base of Raphael’s half-erect cock. “But after such a long time apart, I plan on making you last, my pet.”
A glare, all indignant outrage. “I did not give you permission--”
“No, you did not. Say the word, and I’ll take it off.” Another kiss, deep, devouring, chipping away at Raphael’s weak show of resistance. “But you won’t.”
A snarl, even as his fingers gripped the leather straps holding Haarlep’s harness in place, even as he tried to cant up his hips to press himself against Haarlep’s thigh. “I despise you.”
“You despise how right I am.”
“You’re not. I am indulging you - you’d do well to remember.”
“Indulging your incubus? My, what a generous master,” Haarlep said, unable to keep the barest hint of mockery out of the word. “Or maybe I’m to be the master tonight. And you’re mine to indulge in. Is that how you want it to be, Raphael?”
“You ought to know what I want. That’s all you’re meant to think about,” was the response, only slightly ruined by the groan he failed to bite back towards the end, when Haarlep gripped his hair and forced his head back, nipping at his throat.
They’d heard that response, many times. After centuries upon centuries as his personal incubus, there was hardly a combination of words Haarlep had not heard fall out of his mouth. And they knew precisely what this one meant.
Yes, it’s how I want it.
A smile against his neck, and they pulled back, still holding onto Raphael’s hair. The skin on his throat was already reddened; so thin and delicate, nothing like the thick, leathery one of his cambion form, when Raphael was only figuratively thin-skinned. Haarlep ran a claw from beneath his chin down his throat, slowly, and felt Raphael swallow.
“It would be so easy to make you bleed when you’re like this, my little brat. Sometimes I wonder which form is really you and which one is the disguise.”
A snarl. “I told you to be--”
“Silence.”
The grip on Raphael’s hair tightened, and he again trailed off with a groan. Satisfied, Haarlep nipped at his throat again before pushing Raphael easily across the room, onto the large bed only a few steps away.
Raphael stumbled against the mattress gracelessly, hair tousled, entirely clothed aside for the open trousers revealing how hard he already was. “Undress,” Haarlep said, the harsh tone already giving way to sheer glee. Raphael glared, teeth clenched, but they spoke again before he could make a noise. “One word of protest, my pet, and I’ll find someone else to satisfy tonight. We’re in a brothel. I’ll find no shortage of willing customers.”
“I haven’t given you permission-- ”
“You have five minutes,” Haarlep cut him off, sweetly, leaning against the desk. “To undress and get yourself ready. Then I’ll fuck you, little duke, regardless how slick or open you are. I wouldn’t waste precious time arguing, if I were you.”
Of all monikers Haarlep had called him over the centuries, that was still the one Raphael hated most. He was no real duke and, although for a time he’d fancied himself an unofficial ambassador of Cania to Avernus, he held no official position whatsoever in any of the Nine Hells. Little dukes had been how some in Mephistar referred to the spawn of Mephistopheles sired upon mortals, or at least the ones who survived long enough in the Material Plane to be taken to their father’s court - where most lasted very little time indeed. It was meant as a jape, of course, the mockery barely even concealed.
Raphael had hated it then, and he hated it now. He hated Haarlep for it, and he still held his tongue, he still went to undress with practiced ease that barely concealed the tremor in his hands. Haarlep smiled, tilting their head, as he reached into a drawer to take a very convenient vial of oil.
“Would you like me to be the Archduchess tonight?” they asked, and were only slightly disappointed when Raphael shook his head no. It wasn’t surprising: Raphael only had them take the form of the Archduchess when he wanted to be utterly ruined, brought as low as one could get. The Archduchess was for when he needed to be ground into the floor, made to crawl and bruise and bleed, reduced to a raw sobbing thing in their hands. It wasn’t a common occurrence, and not an overly rare one either.
But Raphael would never surrender so much control outside the safety of his boudoir, where he was still the master of the house and where, at the end, Haarlep could take him into the restoration pool to heal what could be healed, soothe what could be soothed. Unless directly told to take the form of the Archduchess, there were boundaries Haarlep knew not to cross. Few and far in-between, but there nonetheless.
But that was all right. There were plenty of ways to make him beg in their current form, too.
In an uncharacteristically merciful mood - and perhaps just a little entertained by the sight of Raphael kneeling on the bed, working himself open with oiled fingers, eyes shut and teeth clenched to hold back moans - Haarlep let a little more than just five minutes pass before they strode to the bed, discarding their harness on the way. It fell on the floor in a clink of chains, and it was the only warning Raphael got before Haarlep knelt on the mattress and grasped his face, forcing him to turn for another kiss.
Usually, there would be some resistance - at least the show of it, much of what Raphael did was for show - but oh, their time apart must have taken its toll, because this time there was none. He just groaned and parted his lips for another kiss, sucking on Haarlep’s tongue, and the shudder that went through his body was impossible to ignore.
Raphael’s hands grasped Haarlep’s shoulders; his grip was demanding, the whine that left him sounded like a plea, and Haarlep smiled against his lips. Whether he’d demand or plead, it didn’t matter: what he was, what he’d always be under their touch, was needy and desperate.
That was how Haarlep liked him best. The only way they truly liked him, perhaps, needy and desperate and so very small compared to them. For someone so dismissive of his human heritage, so desperate to be seen as nothing but a devil of the highest order, he used that human form of his remarkably often.
A smile against his lips and they pulled back, still gripping Raphael’s face, claws sinking into his cheeks almost enough to break the skin. Raphael’s eyes found theirs, clouded with want even as he scowled at them. There he was, the son of the Archdevil of Contradictions, the hellfire burning hot beneath the façade of Cania’s Cold Lord. How funny to see that resemblance now, with Raphael in his human form, naked and open and desperate to be fucked.
They almost wanted to point it out, but Raphael would be furious at the comparison and that might just be a little out of line, so they kept the thought to themself. Instead, they gestured to their own cock, still soft between their tights. They willed it so, of course: they had the sort of complete control over their body that Raphael could never hope to have on his own.
“Ah, would you look at that. You might just have to work for it this once.”
A huff. “You’re more than capable--” Raphael began, oh so predictable and wonderfully haughty, before Haarlep squeezed his cock and his voice broke into a cry. If not for the ring, he’d have come there and then.
“On the floor, pet,” Haarlep said, voice sweet as it could get, and shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. “Kneel.”
If looks could kill, Haarlep would have keeled over and died countless times in the past several centuries - but they could not, even coming from a devil. So they remained alive and well, and delighted, as Raphael finally knelt on the floor between their thighs. He glared at their dick - his dick, technically - and liked his lips before looking up.
“You’ll pay for this,” he growled, only to be met with a grin.
“Oh, do you promise, little duke?” Their fingers combed through Raphael’s hair in what was almost a caress before gripping it loosely. He hissed, cheeks flushed, and the scowl wavered. “Don’t make me set the pace, Raphael. You wouldn’t like that. Or would you? Do you want me to choke you again? You feel everything I feel, after all.”
A shudder, then Raphael lowered his gaze, and took them in his mouth at long last. He was not particularly skilled, but the fact alone it was him to do this more than made up for the lack of finesse. A better use of that mouth and tongue, surely, than the endless prattle he’d usually spout. Raphael enjoyed the sound of his own voice far too much, although Haarlep had to admit that it was a lovely voice.
But they liked it best when it was used to moan their name, and nothing else.
“Good boy,” they sighed, and Raphael shuddered again, a whine in the back of his throat. When they casually moved their leg, pressing their shin against Raphael’s groin, he immediately pressed his cock against it, hard and hot and leaking. He couldn’t come with the ring on, but any friction was better than just the phantom feeling of his own sucking.
He knew better than to try and touch himself without Haarlep’s permission. Last time he did Haarlep had been the Archduchess, and it had taken several hours in the restoration pool for Raphael’s fingers to heal.
They wouldn’t go that far now, but they didn’t have to make it too easy either. Haarlep could make it last as long as they wished, leaving him to suck desperately on a limp dick for hours, rutting against their leg like an animal, empty, desperate to come and unable to. They considered it as they tilted up his chin, just enough to make him look at them, lips still around their cock.
“Look at me, sweetling,” they said, a lilt in their voice. “Look at your face.”
He did, eyes half-lidded, looking every bit as desperate as he must feel. He loved nothing more than this, seeing himself sneering and haughty, in command and in full control, even as he was the one being so thoroughly debased.
The best of both worlds, Haarlep thought; who could blame him?
A whine, hands gripping their thighs, and Haarlep decided they wouldn't draw this out too long after all. They allowed themself to harden, and the noise of relief that got out of Raphael was such a sweet, sweet sound. Haarlep laughed, elated, and gripped his hair to pull his head back, to get a good look at him. He was perfect like this, face flushed and jaw slack, eyes dark with lust. Haarlep’s hand let go of his hair, and cupped his face before leaning in and kissing him, slow, languorous.
“Beg,” they whispered against Raphael’s lips.
A shiver, and a last attempt at resistance. “You said you’d fuck me--”
“I signed no contract in regards to fucking you tonight. Beg, or I’ll find someone else and make sure they scream loud enough you’ll hear--”
“Please.”
Ah, yes, that was what they were hoping to hear. Haarlep smiled, brushing a thumb over Raphael’s cheek. “Please what, my little brat?”
A pause, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He could never quite meet their eyes - his own eyes - when he gave in and finally pleaded. “Please, fuck me.”
“Why should I?”
A long, long time ago, Raphael might have answered ‘because I own you’, and he wouldn’t have been wrong. Haarlep was bound to him, and he could enforce his will upon them; it was supposed to be a simple, clear-cut matter of ownership.
Except that things had never quite been that clear cut. Raphael’s boudoir had become Haarlep’s boudoir; Raphael could hide little from them, could deny them next to nothing, while Haarlep could indeed deny Raphael his desires if they wished - and live to tell the tale.
Of course Raphael loathed being denied. He hated Haarlep for denying him. Yet he came back, again and again, because in the end Haarlep knew him better than anyone else, they knew what he needed and how often the two things - his wants and his needs - did not coincide. Devils were never shy about letting others know about their wants, but their needs were a far more closely guarded secret. A need was something that could and would be used against them, after all.
There was no place for trust anywhere in Baator; everyone was suspicious of everybody else, and Raphael had been especially wary of the incubus his father and liege lord had gifted him. He’d questioned them immediately, demanding to know if they were meant to spy on him. He’d hoped that was the case, perhaps, if anything because it would mean Mephistopheles had a high enough consideration of him to think him worth keeping an eye on. But Haarlep was bound to speak the truth to him if asked directly, and that was not the answer they’d given.
“Don’t flatter yourself, little duke,” Haarlep had told him, smiling sweetly over the deed of ownership Raphael had been reading over and over, looking for loopholes that would allow Haarlep to lie to him and finding none. “One spies on a threat, and distracts an annoyance. I was sent to keep you busy, not to spy on you and much less to report. Make of that what you will.”
Raphael had raged over it, of course, because he’d known it to be true. Mephistopheles never saw him as any kind of threat: only an uppity half-fiend, a naughty whelp to keep out of his hair. He’d gifted him an incubus the way a mortal may gift crayons to a toddler, and turned to other matters without a second thought. It had been the most grievous slight, the final insult, and Raphael had departed Mephistar for Avernus shortly afterwards.
But he had taken Haarlep with him. Whatever it was that kept Raphael tied to them - and not the other way around, as it was supposed to be - Haarlep could not say. All things considered, they had landed themself a rather cushy job. Raphael rarely even tried to return any of the pleasure he was given, but selfishness was in his nature and Haarlep had learned how to take that pleasure from him regardless.
They were in the process of doing so right now, after all.
“Answer me, little brat.” Haarlep bit his lower lip, almost hard enough to draw blood but not quite. “Why should I fuck you, when you’re never so kind to fuck me in turn?”
A shudder, but this time there was defiance in the look Raphael gave them. “I’m your--” he began, only to trail off when Haarlep bit his earlobe, breath catching.
“Careful, Raphael,” they murmured in his ear. “Remember who’s the master tonight.”
A shaky breath, a frown. “It’s not as though you ever ask for it,” he muttered, trying to move closer but held back by Haarlep’s grip around his neck. He shifted on his knees, painfully hard, when Haarlep laughed.
“The fact it’s hardly worth asking for doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be good form of you to offer. But that’s not where you belong, is it? You only find pleasure beneath me, looking up at me. Yes, exactly like this.” Haarlep sneered, meeting Raphael’s gaze, and could easily feel the rush of arousal, so intense it bordered on pain. They could smell it, taste it on their tongue, the need and the yearning while he looked at his own face.
“It gets a little tedious, I must say, using no other form of those I collected. Raphael only loves Raphael,” Haarlep had once told Korrilla, and she’d let out a thoughtful hum, sipping from a goblet of wine, looking out of the window at the sunless sky of Avernus.
“Well,” she’d said, no trace of humor in her voice, “I suppose someone has to.”
“Please,” Raphael choked out, and snapped Haarlep from their thoughts. He had squeezed his eyes shut, failing to hide tears of frustration. “Please, Haarlep.”
… Well. Since he was being so polite about it, it seemed only fair to give him what he wanted. Haarlep clicked their tongue, and finally pulled Raphael up, holding that fragile human body against their chest. They felt his cock press against their hip, and chuckled. How pent up he was, from all those days spent waiting for this little mouse to come sign the contract! No other mortal soul’s refusal to bend to his demands had ever worked him up like this - but then again, Haarlep knew there was much more at stake than the usual soul.
“You poor thing,” they cooed. “What would the little mouse say if she saw you like this?”
It was meant as a jest, and they were entirely unprepared for the shudder that rolled through Raphael’s body, the noise in the back of his throat, the way his hands clenched on Haarlep’s shoulders. They blinked.
Oh. Ooooh, this was new and very, very interesting . Haarlep laughed, delighted. They could not recall the last time Raphael had managed to surprise them. “Oh, have we found another body you may be willing to try? You only had to say so, Raphael. I could add it to my--”
“No,” Raphael snarled, pulling back to glare. It was almost convincing, even with the wet cheeks and not-quite-firm voice. “You’ll do no such thing, wretch. She’s vital to my plans.”
“Just the body.”
“I know you. You’d try to take her soul--”
“Surely, she’d know better than surrendering--”
“She holds the key to my future kingdom, and I forbid you to interfere!”
No one stupid enough to pledge their soul to an incubus was likely to hold any key to any kingdom, future or past, but Haarlep knew when to let a matter drop. So they claimed Raphael’s mouth in another kiss, ran a hand down his chest and stomach, and gripped his cock. They swallowed his cry, and smiled. Let him keep trying to come across as someone who belonged on a hellish throne; they knew the truth, what he was, what he needed. Perhaps he would rule the Hells one day - for all their mockery, Haarlep knew Raphael was a more than capable devil - but he would always submit to them. It was a gratifying thought.
“I’ll content myself with your body, then. Turn, little duke, and I’ll make you whole.”
He did turn on shaky legs, but didn’t have to stand much longer. Still sitting on the edge of the bed, Haarlep grasped Raphael’s hips and pulled him down on their lap, down on their - his - cock. He was slick and open, but not quite open enough , and he let out a groan when Haarlep stretched him further. The sensation of fucking himself always drew him to near madness, or at the very least to utter incoherence, and Haarlep always took full advantage of it.
They saw no reason to make an exception now.
“There. It’s the only throne you need,” Haarlep whispered in his ear, canting up their hips and savoring Raphael’s moan like a fine vintage. They latched an arm around his neck, pulling his back flush against their chest. The other hand stroked slowly down his trembling stomach, claws scraping against skin.
“Is it not your proper place? The only thing you wish to be seated on?”
A shudder, but he refused to answer. His hands grasped the arm around his neck, but made no attempt to pull it away. He whined in frustration when Haarlep immediately stilled.
“Haarlep--”
“Say it,” they crooned, fingers barely brushing against Raphael’s cock, and he buckled against the touch, a whine in the back of his throat. Haarlep pulled the hand away, laughing, leaving him to buckle into nothing. “Say that it is, sweetling, and I’ll fuck you as hard as you wish.”
Raphael let out a noise that was halfway between a snarl and a moan, head rolling back against Haarlep’s shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut, panting. “I… yes. Yes, it is, now move-- ”
“Oh no, my pet. Say it properly.” Haarlep’s claws grazed Raphael's chest, and they watched him writhe, biting his lower lip. His features twisted into something that looked a lot like pain, but he did speak, voice hoarse.
“Yes-- yes this is what I want,” he panted, flushed red, trembling. His fingers clenched on Haarlep’s arm while he uttered words he had never, and would never, let anybody else hear. “This is the throne I need-- please…! ”
The plea turned into a moan, because Haarlep was nothing if not generous. They rewarded his obedience with a sharp upward thrust of their hips; Raphael cried out, tossing back his head against their shoulder, pressing desperately down with all the weight of his human form. Which, to a devil’s strength and size, was not much.
Haarlep fucked him in earnest, easily bouncing him on their lap. Moans filled the room and oh, it was sweet music indeed, the best possible use for that lovely voice of his; they only subsided when Raphael grew breathless, a boneless little doll in their hands, eyes rolling back a little. Haarlep grinned and nibbled at his ear, inhaling that scent of cherries and musk through the ever-present hint of sulfur.
With the ring on, they could keep him like this for hours, fuck him through the night and the next morning. They could keep him like this for days if so they wished, on the edge of madness and unable to come. Maybe they would. After all, what was the rush--
A strangled noise snapped Haarlep from their thoughts. It sounded something like a startled squeak, and it had not come from Raphael. They looked up, a little startled, to see that they were not alone.
Oh, this was delicious. The little mouse had certainly chosen an interesting moment to visit.
“Ah, good evening, little mouse,” Haarlep, who despite Raphael’s claims of the contrary never forgot their manners, greeted her. They were vaguely aware of the fact Raphael had let out an undignified noise and shuddered at the sight of her, but if anything his arousal had spiked and Haarlep saw no reason to stop fucking him. They only slowed the tilt of their hips, and took a better look at this mortal whose troubles Raphael had been following so keenly.
Truth be told, they had imagined something more impressive than the small, skinny thing standing before them in a frankly unflattering leather armor. Tiefling horns were often relatively unimpressive, but those adorning her head were little more than nubs, and something must have cut her right cheek quite badly to leave such an unsightly scar. Yet, this was one of the adventurers Raphael feared, in his nonsensical dreams, could somehow best him in his own game. Interesting; never judge a book by its cover and all that.
As someone who could take many forms, Haarlep probably shouldn’t have needed such reminders. They smiled, tilting their hips in a circular movement that made Raphael whine, too far gone to truly react or maybe unable, for once, to think of something to do or say. It seemed they would have to do the talking for both of them until he recovered. If he recovered.
“Tav, I presume?” Haarlep smiled, and the tiefling startled a moment before nodding. Her eyes were wide and kept moving from Haarlep to Raphael and back, but she stayed where she was. “Oh, a pleasure to meet you, truly. I am Haarlep, Raphael’s personal incubus. Our Raphael here…” A sharp thrust, a shuddering gasp. “... Has been talking quite a lot about you, although he seems to have misplaced his voice at the moment.”
As it turned out, this Tav had misplaced her own voice as well.
“I…” was all she managed before she fell silent again, staring at Raphael. What a difference from how she must have seen him before, oozing misplaced confidence and all the charm of a used carriage salesman, probably subjecting her to some of his questionable poetry at every chance he got! Haarlep breathed in deep and there it was, a change to the taste and the smell of him - shame, curling in his stomach yet hardening his cock, heightening his arousal until it drove him half mad.
And, unless Haarlep was getting rusty - which they were not - someone else in the room was now giving out the very distinct taste and scent of arousal.
This was going to be their most interesting night in a long, long time.
“I assume you’re here to discuss a contract?” Haarlep spoke, and Tav swallowed before giving a quick nod, a nervous jerk of her head.
“... The thing,” she managed.
Haarlep raised an eyebrow, still balls deep in Raphael, who yet again failed to muster up his voice to say anything, or even to move. They grinned and leaned their chin on Raphael’s shoulder, tilting their hips just enough to get yet another broken noise out of him. “You may want to be more specific. There’s a great many things in this place you may have come here to discuss. Interesting outfits, even more interesting toys, a somewhat concerning amount of riding crops…”
“The-- thing to-- I mean, the hammer to-- break the-- things,” was the stammering reply, and that caused Raphael to make a valiant attempt at straightening himself, and pushing himself off Haarlep’s lap, even though their arm was more than enough to keep him in place.
“The crown,” he rasped, face red and voice shaky despite his best efforts. “Leave-- leave, incubus, I have to-- we ought to--”
“Discuss? But of course,” Haarlep crooned, the grin so wide their cheeks almost hurt. “Why don’t you join us, little mouse? Get up close and discuss to your heart’s content. I won’t interrupt. I’ll just be doing my thing.”
“Haarlep--” Raphael groaned, any attempt at sounding threatening fading into another shudder, into mindless lust at their next thrust. Haarlep ignored him and focused on the little mouse, watched the look in her eyes change into something different, more calculating - the gaze of someone looking to exploit a moment's weakness.
She ran her gaze over Raphael’s body, bit her lower lip, and then looked back up to meet his eyes.
“May I, Raphael?” she asked, voice low, and Raphael gave a wordless groan, a wordless plea. She stepped closer, and Haarlep leaned their chin on top of Raphael’s head. They felt him tremble as she approached, watched his chest shudder when she lay a hand over it, and they thanked their lucky star they had chosen that evening to pay Raphael a visit.
This was going to be a very interesting negotiation indeed, and they wouldn’t miss it for the world.