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The girl has many remarkable qualities, Gortash has found, but her gullibility is chief amongst them.
Resting his chin delicately in his palm, he schools his mouth into a clever smile, and watches her: his bodyguard, his protege. Karlach Cliffgate.
She’s young. Not yet sixteen and all of the physical awkwardness to go with it: her height is the product of a recent growth spurt and she clearly isn’t used to it yet; her teeth are a little too big for her mouth, and her horns aren’t quite at their adult length yet. She’s got a loud, boisterous laugh and struggles to keep her emotions off of her face, but for all her flaws, she is exactly what he needs.
Karlach is strong; she’s remarkably talented with a weapon in hand, and a quick learner. Not canny or shrewd naturally, but she listens to the things that he says and picks up on them. When he asks for her opinions, she doesn’t tend to find any conclusions that he wouldn’t have come to on his own, but he doesn’t need her to.
What he needs is somebody that he can mold, and she is exactly that.
At her age, Gortash had simply been Enver: he’d left Flymm behind when they’d cast him off, but he hadn’t fashioned a new name for himself either. He was simply Raphael’s property, the damnable man. Or devil, rather.
To school his face, Gortash takes a long drag from his pipe and a sip from his whiskey. He still has yet to master the involuntary look that comes over him when he thinks upon his old master, but it’s easy enough to cover this weakness up with tobacco and alcohol.
Karlach, of course, does not notice the slip of his expression nor the puff of his smoke, nor the sip from his cup. She’s too busy giggling, talking to a half-elf boy that looks to be about her age. He offers to buy her a pint, and in that way of young girls, she tucks her hair behind her ear and tells him sure, of course, even though she has a perfectly good half-empty mug that he’d bought her sitting on the table.
“I’ll be right back, Miss Cliffgate,” he hears, and she grins and says, “Right-o!”
“Karlach,” he says the moment the boy is out of earshot. She turns quickly. He has the distinct feeling that if her skin weren’t already the color, she’d be a very deep crimson.
“Yes, saer! I mean – sorry, saer. He just…” She shrugs apologetically. “He offered to, um, buy me a drink.”
“I heard,” Gortash says, leaning over to brush her messy bangs out her eyes. “And I did tell you we were here to celebrate the deal, hm? I think I can allow you to have a little fun.”
“Really really?” she asks, sounding impossibly juvenile. “I can – I mean, I like being here with you, saer. I’ll tell him to piss off! Don’t even mind, honest.”
He’s sure she doesn’t.
“That’s quite alright,” he says. “Have a little fun, why don’t you? Leave an old man for some peace and a smoke.”
“You’re not old.” Karlach rolls her eyes, flicks his shoulder, he nails running over the rich wool of his new evening jacket. He did just close a deal. “You’re like…like…what? Forty?”
“Something like that,” Gortash grins. “Run along now, dear. Your man is looking for you.”
It truly was a talent, the way she managed to blush so clearly despite lack of visible indicators.
“He’s not – saer!”
“Enver.”
“Ugh, you know I hate calling you that.” She sticks out her tongue. “It’s impolite.”
“Not if I’m asking, is it? Then it’s simply respecting my wishes.” He takes care not to smirk as he said it, thinking again (unfortunately) of Raphael, and that he sounds entirely like him. Despite all of the abuse that Gortash had withstood at the hand of that insufferable devil, he had picked up a thing or several about smooth-talking. About crafting an empire. And poor, gullible Karlach is easily his best piece in the Better than a bishop, perhaps, because she is so, so hopelessly in love with him. It would be flattering if she weren’t so naïve.
He watches as she stands up and flounces to the bar, maladroit with her too-tall height and muscles that are well-honed for a girl of her age. They mark her as scrappy and competent, which marks her as poor. She’s still wearing the leathers she’d worn to accompany Gortash to his deal earlier, a far cry different than many of the girls milling about the Elfsong with their tits heaving and eyelashes fluttering. And still this boy flirts with her.
Well. There is no harm in letting her feel wanted for a moment.
The boy presses a pint into her hand, and she clinks her glass against his, forgetting, of course, about the one that sits at her abandoned spot as his table. Reaching into his pocket, Gortash closes his hands around a vial that had been intended for the man from the arms deal should things go south. But things hadn’t, and there is no reason he should have to waste a potion he had taken such great pains to procure.
While Karlach guffaws too loud, snorting in an unbecoming manner, he tips the vial into her forgotten stout, and picks up his pipe from the ashtray. Puffing on it, satisfied, he closes his eyes and waits.
And he doesn’t have to wait long.
“Hey, saer! I mean, Enver.” He hears, not more than a few moments later. “So, ummm, Alkas wanted to see if I could go take a stroll about the city with him. That okay?”
“Won’t you finish your beer before you go?” he asks, and she gives him a face-splitting grin. He can see it in her eyes: she’s only had two drinks so far, but she’s already buzzed. No appetite for alcohol yet; despite her stature, she’s still something of a lightweight.
“Alright,” she says, and, as if needing to impress him, downs the whole thing in one go and wipes her mouth. “Yum! I’ve never had one of those dark beers before. You really know your stuff, sa– Enver.”
“So I’ve been told,” he says. Then, pausing, he looks up at her. The potion had been meant to work fast by design, of course, but it still gives him something of a surprise to see her eyes go unfocused quite so quickly. He prides himself on his willingness to conquer new territory, but this was a first for him. A first for him to do, rather. Not to receive. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Hm?” she replies. “N– never better. Umm, I think Alkas is waiting. You okay if I – whoa.”
She reaches out a hand and steadies herself on his shoulder. The fabric of his new coat is so fine he can barely feel her claws through it. She should be careful, though, that she hadn’t snagged the fabric or he’ll have to find some way she can make that up to him. Not that she’d never know about the running tab of infractions and repentances he keeps in his mind, of course.
“Steady, Karlach,” he says, letting his tongue curl around her name.
“Whoa!” she says again, and then she hiccups. “M– maybe I had a bit too much…a bit too much to…”
“Ah, perhaps I misjudged,” Gortash says. “I assumed you knew how to hold your alcohol. No matter. Why don’t I bid Alkas a good night and get you to a room?”
She barely manages to get out a nod before slumping over in his arms. He resists the urge to push her off of him like a foul odor, and motions for the innkeep.
“Could you please see her to a bed?” he asks. “My tab, of course.”
“Of course,” the innkeeper responds, bowing. “Too much to drink? Your…daughter?”
He sighs deeply. “Something like that. My wayward charge. I believe the girl forgot to eat dinner before joining me here. She must have come with several drinks in her already. But then,” Gortash says, “you know how the youth can be.”
“I understand,” the innkeeper nods. “We’ll get her upstairs, of course.”
“My thanks,” Gortash says, pressing gold coins into his hands. “I’ll be up to check on her in just a moment.”
He turns on his heel, and goes to handle Alkas.
When he arrives in the room, Karlach is splayed across the bed, laying on her side, out cold. She’s letting out little fluttering snores, her cheek smushed onto her shoulder and her tail waving unconsciously behind her. The innkeeper – good man – had not removed her leathers, leaving that job to Gortash. It can hardly be comfortable. Even so, if he were a better man, he’d leave her here to sleep.
But he is not a man that needs to be good. He is a man that needs a bodyguard who will give her heart for him.
He starts by sitting her up, unbuckling her hard leather pauldron and chest armor. He tosses them on the floor, knowing that if the girl had undressed herself she would not pay the respect owed to the armor that he had outfitted her in, and this needs to look authentic, of course.
Her shirt, next, then bracers, and then her trousers, all tossed aside until she is in nothing but her smallclothes. Her stays lace up the front, and when he slides her arms through the sleeves, he marvels at just how small her tits are for a girl of her build. Perhaps they have yet to come in. Perhaps that’s simply the way they will remain: perky and – he reaches out – perfectly sized to the palm of his hand. Karlach makes a small noise at the touch, but her eyes stay shut and her body stays limp. Her pants are simple cotton, little shorts that cover a modest amount.
When she’s finally naked, he takes a moment to study her. She is good-looking, or at least something that will grow into it. Certainly inexperienced: that much is obvious. Gortash, at that age, had not had the privilege.
Her cunt is neatly trimmed, curly black hair shot through with errant red strands here and there. When he slips a finger between her lips, she’s reasonably dry, which won’t do, but is easily rectified.
He leans down and spits right in her slit, then slides his thumb from top to bottom as if prising open a letter. Her clit’s already a decent size before he even starts pressing on it, poking out from beneath its hood. Shame nobody’s touched her here – well, nobody but herself, presumably; the girl is certainly crass and bold enough to be the type that’s figured out how to bring herself off – but he’s delighted to have the honor of being the first.
The ridged skin of her labia provides a nice amount of friction when he pushes it up against the edge of her clit, rubbing it back and forth and watching as her lips begin to glisten. When he pushes a finger insid – then two – they go easily. And – he peels the hood back – her clit has slowly begun to swell even larger.
Lovely. The somnolent is strong enough that Karlach shouldn’t wake up for a while yet, and pain shouldn’t hasten the process, so he wastes no time untying his breeches and pulling himself out of his smallclothes. He’s been half-hard since he started undressing Karlach, delighted by even the idea of taking her, having her under his thumb.
When he hitches her legs over his shoulders, they’re nothing but dead weight. He has the distinct image in his mind of his father, bags slung over each shoulder as he carried his wares to the market: shoes of all shapes and sizes, a hand-sized cobbler’s apparatus in its case.
Lip curling into an unpleasant snarl at the thought, he shakes his head and puts his thumb and forefinger around the base of his dick. He has half a mind to reposition the two of them so that he can dip his cock into Karlach’s mouth, bring himself to full hardness, but he can’t guarantee that a woman so thoroughly dead to the world wouldn’t unconsciously close her mouth around him, and he has no intention on being on the other side of tiefling fangs.
Just on the other side of tiefling cunt.
Sighing, he lines himself up and begins pressing himself inside. She goes easier than he thought she would, walls parting around him easily. Then, perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. She’s so quick to obey while awake. It stands to reason that her body would be so attuned to his that her pussy obeys just as readily.
Swallowed in her sweet, wet warmth, he feels himself grow, and he begins to move back and forth. One hand on her shoulder, one hand around her waist. For this to work, he needs to at least play the part of courteous lover. A soft touch there, a brush against her cheek there. Thrusting roughly now, while she sleeps, so that when she awakens he can act convincingly as if this is for her pleasure.
It’s not often that Gortash indulges in sex. Too vulnerable, too easy to lose control of the situation. When he wants to get his dick wet, he has a select few to call. And now, he thinks, as Karlach begins to stir, he has another to add to the roster.
She whimpers underneath him, hips rolling involuntarily, no doubt thinking she is enjoying a pleasant dream. He’s already close to finishing, but he must hold out for a while longer yet.
“Karlach,” he breathes out, thumbing at the edge of her lip until her mouth begins to suck, and then, all at once, she opens her eyes.
For a moment, she doesn’t say anything at all. Just stares at him, wide-eyed and shocked, mouth agape while his thumb lingers in between her teeth. Then, she scrambles to kick her legs off his shoulders, shoving herself backward until she hits the headboard of the bed.
“Saer!” she exclaims as he catches her around the ankle. Her voice carries the thickness that comes with a good, drunken sleep. “What – what are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” he asks, gently moving her leg back to sit on his shoulder, and continuing to thrust. “I’m doing what you asked me to.”
“I didn’t –” She tries to push him off, and shakes her head. “What?”
“What do you mean, what?” he asks gently, slowly down his movement. “Have I had you so lost in ecstasy?” He punctuates the question with a chuckle.
“So lost…” She trails off. “No – no! I was talking to that boy! The half-elf boy, what was his name…”
“Oh, dear,” Gortash says. “Karlach, there was no half-elf boy. You came onto me, led me up here, pulling on my hand. Begged me to fuck you.”
“But wasn’t I – oof!”
She breaks off her sentence as he picks his pace back up, unwilling to stop lest he lose the edge he’s cresting, until he finishes inside of her, hot and sticky. Smiling, he bends down to press a kiss to her collarbone, right above her right breast.
“Saer…” She starts as he says nothing, does nothing but breathe and soften inside of her. He watches fondly as his spend leaks out from around him, painting her thighs, cream on red. “Wasn’t I asleep?”
“Asleep?” Gortash frowns, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Are you fevered? Karlach, you’re scaring me. Not a moment ago you were begging me for more. Begging me to finish for you, and I did just that.”
“I was?” she asks, but the words are quiet, and seem to be to herself more than anything. He takes the moment to finally pull out and lay down next to her. “I suppose…”
Ah, and there it is. She is in love with him, after all. He has always known that he can trust no intuition but his own.
“We ought to get you to a chirurgeon,” he says. “If you’re experiencing lapses in memory like this. I can’t have my bodyguard so out of sorts, can I?”
“No, saer,” Karlach says quietly. She chances a look up at him, and he has the thought again about how young she looks. Eyes round in her face, lips pursed, skin closer to maroon with her flush. Hesitantly, she lays her head on his chest, and he rewards her for the acquiescence by brushing a hand through her hair. He doles out gentleness now so that he may take it away when it suits him most.
“We’ll have to stop by the apothecary anyhow,” he sighs. “You wanted to forgo a linen…”
He watches as her lips part in surprise, and as she shakes her head as if to clear it.
“Well,” she says, “with – without that, and all… Was I good? Was I good for you?”
He presses a kiss to her forehead.
“The very best.”