Dragon Harem Quest - Or: Saying You Were Gay Wasn't The Conversation-Ender You Hoped For

Note: This chapter contains non-explicit sexual content. The relevant passage is beneath a spoiler tag for ease of browsing. This threadmark and all future threadmarks containing such content will be tagged '[M]' for further forewarning.

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"I want that," you blurt out. The wind seems to catch your words and hurl them straight off the cliff, leaving only deafening silence in their wake. Belial slowly turns to look at you and just regards you for a moment, as if searching for something.

"You want...?" he repeats slowly, expectantly.

"... don't make me say it," you say with a scowl. He quirks up one eyebrow.

"We're talking about the start of a -hopefully- healthy active sex life here. Being all blushing bride about it like saying the word 'sex' is naughty isn't really endearing or helpful."

"(mumblegrumble being all controlling and setting rules)"

"I mean hey if you don't like how I'm doing things I invite you to stroll into town and ask a guy out," Belial says airily.

You frown at him with all the force of disapproval you can muster. He tries so hard to suppress a snigger at the sight -why is no one intimidated by your glare of fury!?- and gently elbows you in the arm.

"Just tell me what you want and mean it, it's... really that simple," he says more seriously.

"I want to have sex with you," you angrily enunciate.

"There you are," he says. "Doesn't that feel a lot better?"

"Y-yeah(mnehwellmumblegrumblereddumbass)" you trail off petulantly, hunching forward to practice your scowl at the passing fish far down below. The wind whistles softly, flowing between the jagged spars of stone thrust up through the white-foaming seas like broken fangs, promising certain death to any who might lose their footing. Really does have a wonderful ambience, you lucked out and then some to find this place. Tap-tap-tap go your claws on your armoured knees, waiting for the next part of this whole debacle.

"... well?" you blurt out when you can stand it no longer - that is, about twenty seconds.

"I'm thinking!" Belial protests. "There's a great deal of ways we could go about this and some of them are a hell of a lot more helpful than others. Just... gimme a second, alright? I'll take care of it, I promise."

You lapse into anxious silence, stealing sidelong glances at the incubus as he rifles through his thoughts. Your eyes slowly wandering longer and lower, trailing along the contours of scarlet-skinned brawn and the shape of the hips only barely hidden by the- o-oh dear your heart's quite picking up the pace this is not a good look for you. Glad that a dragon can't blush you force your eyes forward, clenched fists pressed against your thighs.

Belial snaps his fingers, freeing you from your reverie. "Got it." He glances at you to make sure you're paying attention - and boy are you hanging on his every word right now. "You ever bunked in Söfnun for a night or two? Have any favourites out of the places you used?"

"Uh... oh, the Hafhim-Inn," you reply, haltingly at first. "I don't use beds if I can help it most of the time but when I've been forced to on occasion I bunk there. The rooms are good and the staff know how to leave you alone."

"Perfect. You head there and- oh hang on." He pauses mid-gesture. "Dooo you want me to cover for you? I kind of assumed but that wasn't great of me."

"Oh. Oh, no that... that was considerate. I'd like this to be private too."

"Sure, sure. So you head there, get us a room and wait up. I'll hang around and tell the others you're in to talk to some contractors about sprucing the place up. I'll hitch a ride in someone's dreams and meet you there, then when we're done you actually go talk to those contractors and we head back. Sound good?"

"That... does," you reply. "Yes. Very good planning."

Belial plants his tar-coated hands against the grassy cliff edge as if to lift himself up and go about his business, but pauses once more. He holds you near spellbound in his gaze - they really are pretty, aren't they? Such a vibrant red they seem to pop even against his skin tone, some would call them offputting but you, you find them s-so... ahem. You really are just going to pieces right now.

"This isn't set in stone, y'know," he says. "I just want you to know that before we split up. If you get nervous while you're waiting and by the time I show up you don't want to any more - that's alright too. Understand?"

"No self-respecting dragon would ever be so unsure and wishy-washy as to go back on a decision made in all confidence," you say proudly, almost literally puffing your chest out. "I haven't second-guessed myself once before in all my years!"

The corner of his mouth curls up. "You're the boss." He hoists himself up with a little 'hup', heel-claws clicking on the solid stone beneath the stubborn grass, and flicks two talons from his temple to you in a lazy mock-salute. "Seeya there, Eldingar."

He leaves, off to go give Jun-ho and Makram your cover story.

You immediately second-guess yourself, then third- and fourth-guess for good measure. You raise your hands high either side of your head and make silent screaming motions because you don't want to alert anyone but it makes you feel even slightly better. What is the matter with you? Why are you like this? Why do you suddenly feel all hormonal and needy? This is exactly what a few solid years of utterly unspeakable events in the privacy of your own cave were meant to get out of your system! You even burned the relevant materials to remove the temptation and yet here they remain, stamped indelibly onto your mind, surging to the surface at the knowledge that Belial just frankly and casually offered to take your virginity. And every time the voice in the front of your mind tells you this is stupid and foolish and you need to call it off, that other voice speaks up. The one caged in the back, feared and fed scraps just like he said, that growls its dissent. Vehemently, intensely, telling you that if you turn down this gift-wrapped silver-platter opportunity now it will never ever ever fucking forgive you even if you should self-flagellate so hard something vital falls off.

You eventually settle on jumping off the cliff. You're pretty confident that was the best course of action.

You straighten out like a bright blue arrow and soar over the rocks, slicing through the foaming surface of the water over one of the deeper parts and scream as hard as you can into the deep. Bubbles full of crackling electricity erupt from your fanged maw and stream to the surface, no doubt creating quite the lightshow if anyone were observing as you kick furiously onward. The chill starts seeping in through your scales, the sound of the sea a dull roar as invisible hands gently slap at your flank. You gather yourself up and let yourself sink until you feel your foot-talons drag through the sand, coiling and springing with lung-scouring yell. You rise from a sizzling geyser of electrified water in your true form, water streaming from your scales and your outstretched wings as you catch an air current, wheel around, and go soaring off in the direction of Söfnun.

You feel better. Slightly.

You make great time, flapping rather harder and more often than you usually do on this particular trip. You're puffing and out of breath by the time you're inside the city in your Lord Elding guise. Wealth comes with certain privileges, such that no one asks any awkward or prying questions once you arrive red-faced to a bank-teller asking for a cash withdrawal, or when you arrive in a different and more generic guise to the front desk of the Hafhim-Inn needing a room. You seesaw wildly between feeling like a criminal on the run and feeling like an utter fool for doing so and back again. By the time you get your room key to work, lock the door behind you and flop down on the irritatingly soft bed you're about ready for a nap - but that would just bring Belial sooner.

It's nice. It's even slightly close to your standards. There's a red and black Sultanate carpet, a writing desk, a window with a view that isn't a few inches of empty air and then the side of another building, its own attached bathroom and shower - shower, yes, one of those would be a good idea, you should do that.

Indoor plumbing and hot water, the two things that make pretending to be a mortal worthwhile. The most wondrous inventions of this age or any other. Once you step into the spray of steaming hot water you groan in abject relief, raking your claws over your scalp and down the back of your neck as it flows and drips down the contours of your overlapping scales. If anything the way your elemental nature reacts to the water is an added bonus, a little electrical 'sweat' sizzling all the way up and down your body like a little private massage. You scrub yourself so hard the washcloth you're using rends itself to tatters against your scales then finish the rest barehanded, scrubbing and scratching at times shocking amounts of accumulated grime free. And all the while your nervously swaying tail smacks and slaps wetly against every wall of the shower, like it's forgotten what it's supposed to do with itself. When you finally emerge and set careful foot upon the tiled floor you feel like you're truly clean for the first time in a hundred-odd years. You drape one of the towels around your shoulders and step back into the room.

Only to squeak in a very high-pitched and shameful fashion when you find Belial already sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for you. At least he hasn't already stripped naked and posed like something out of an illicit magazine like you fantasised feared. You tear the towel from your shoulders and wrap it around your waist even though there's nothing to see yet.

"Hey," he says with a smile. "All cleaned up just for me? You look good."

"... thank you," you reply, glancing between him and the locked door and back again.

"Getting into bedrooms is kinda part of the job," he says with a wry look. "Speaking of which, thought about it any more? Changed your mind, just not sure, ready to go? Talk to me."

"I wish you'd stop being so calm about everything," you grumble, flouncing across the room and sitting down beside him. "You make me feel so melodramatic."

"You kind of are," he says.

"Silence!" you demand. He silences. And he just keeps on being silenced as he waits for you to say something else which makes you realise the inherent flaw in said demand. You angrily fiddle your claws while you try to think of a follow-up to that. The problem with trying to tell someone all about how you can't think straight, you swiftly discover, is that it's hard to think of how to put into words that you can't think, so you're just experiencing double the frustration for none of the resolution.

"Is it alright if I try something?" Belial asks.

"Yes please do!" you blurt out.

He kisses you.

That makes it sound a lot more sudden and shocking than it really is, but it's all your mind can really process for a few solid seconds at first. The way he reaches out and cradles your cheek, gently turning your head to face his with a practised gesture as his eyes drift shut and he leans in close. Ebony talons resting against your scales, not even pinpricks of pressure through the armour, as he presses his soft black lips to yours. Your heart flutters deep in your chest, a jolt so like and yet so unlike the leashed lightning that flows through your body like blood shooting up your spine as you feel him, taste him, smell him. So warm that it even bleeds through the scales, a faint hint of spice to the kiss, his scent as heady as perfume. He kisses you and you lean into it, into him, before you can even think of stopping your rebellious body. You don't know where you should be putting your hands so you hedge your bets, one behind his head and the other at the small of his back. You feel a tremor run through him at your touch - is it uncomfortable? Is it pain?

He breaks the kiss and you remember how to breathe again. He leaves his hand at your cheek and you leave yours on him, swallowing awkwardly in a vain attempt to wet your bone-dry throat.

"How do you feel now?" he asks.

You take a long, slow, deep breath. Your chest shudders halfway through. "I want you, Belial," you say, and you mean it more than anything you can remember.

He smiles at you, this rugged incubus gone soft around the middle that seemed about as confident that this would go anywhere as you were at first. Stroking a taloned thumb back and forth along the line of your cheekbone, smooth one way, catching against each scale the other. You're leaning into it, if only slightly. You notice and so does he.

"Remember," he says softly as he guides you down. "You can still ask me to stop."

You don't.


It might be the first time you've ever slept soundly in a bed.

You awaken on your side, weak morning sunlight filtering through the window before your sleep-heavy eyes. For a moment, just one heartstopping moment, you think it was dream. Not just a dream but a dream-dream, as in completely original fantasy, and Belial never really did all that for you and you never had that conversation by the cliff and you're obviously in town on completely different and...

... and you feel his arms around you. His weight and warmth pressing against your back. He has you held tight in his arms and his horned brow pressed against the back of your neck, breathing the slow, deep breaths of a dreamer in his own right. You cast your eyes around as far as you can, scarcely daring to breathe, much less move a muscle. The sheets are all bunched up at the foot of the bed, kicked to the floor of kicked to tattered shreds or both. The incubus was all the warmth you needed in the night.

You blink blearily and squint at the light. You came here to do something else. Talk to contractors or something?

... it can wait. You're comfy.

And moving would disturb Belial.

That'd just be... a travesty...

When you awaken again the sunlight is stronger, more harshly angled. Closer to noon than anything else. You're being less 'shaken' awake and more gently jiggled, Belial's top hand pressed flat against your chest.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he murmurs in your ear. "Loathe as I am to be doing this, we can't stay in bed all day."

"mneh who says," you grumble, shielding your eyes with one arm. He gingerly tugs your arm out of the way and leans over, locking eyes with you upside-down.

"C'mon you big blue baby, I want something to sit on back at the spire that isn't a rock."

You grumble ambiguously and stay right where you are. He looks at you in silence for a moment.

"Wow, you really didn't jump on that?" he remarks.

"Nah, s'your job."

" 'eyyyy." He carefully extricates himself from you, his warmth lingering a few moments more as he shuffles his way down to the foot of the bed and stretches out his back, striding over to the window as he raises his arms above his head and stretches them in turn. You stay right where you are, cheek on your hand as you watch him go. He looks healthier somehow, like his skin's a shade or two brighter or clearer. The tar-stuff on his limbs definitely grew in the night - when once it barely reached his elbows now his arms are coated to the mid-bicep, and the stuff on his legs is reaching up towards his hips in long, gummy, half-liquid tendrils. There's an unmistakable sway to his hips as he walks, a certain way they 'pop' each time the heel-claws strike the floorboards with an audible clack. It looks ingrained, unconscious and yet selfconscious, like he's walked like that for so long he can't stop even now he's let himself go a little, let alone how odd it looks on someone with his build.

He pauses mid-movement, noticing you notice out of the corner of his eye. "Something up?" he asks, his tone edged in something you can't quite place.

"Nothing, just... heh. You look great today."

"Oh." For a moment, just a moment, he's disarmed. He lowers his arms and looks down at himself, no more than a glance. One half-curled hand hovering by his chin as a smile slowly spreads across his face. "Thank you."

Then he scoops a pillow up off the floor and smacks you in the face. "Now get in the shower and git, you."

"Mmmnneeeeeehhhhhhh!"

But he does manage to drag you out of bed and into the shower. Alone that is, more out of space concerns than any actual resistance to the idea of being trapped in close quarters with the incubus while steaming hot water cascades down your naked bodies. He takes the time to deal with the shredded sheets and whatever awkward questions may arise from such, leaving you alone to your thoughts. It shouldn't be too hard to find what you need in Söfnun, craftsman and labourers are among the many things the merchant house you run apparently trades in. The question is more in what you want of this first-and-certainly-only-no-ifs-ands-or-buts home renovation job. Especially with your current hoard situation.

[ ] Just furniture. Dirt-cheap to the point to where you doubt you'll even notice the loss, and the bare minimum to appease the men living in your spire. Somethingsomething it's like camping or whatever Abzu said.
[ ] An outbuilding. Just throw up a nice, roomy apartment-style thing behind the spire where your current lair-mates can have all the space and privacy they need with room to expand for the other five. Pocket-change, really.
[ ] Spire excavation. If sprucing the place up is part of Mother's stipulations, you might as well kill two birds with one accurately-thrown chisel. Knock through that front door she's always nagging you about and get tunnelling, hollow out some rooms and nooks for everyone. This is where the cost gets noticeable.
[ ] Wizardly bullshit. After that encounter with Abzu's living arrangements and the power they displayed, you're starting to get some ideas. If you can contract out some of that space-folding bullshit then everyone could have exactly what they want without infringing on your precious lair-space. Probably so expensive you will have an actual anxiety attack if you don't immediately replenish your hoard somehow.