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Molly will blame it on the alcohol, later, because there’s nothing stopping them.
The words don’t trip off their tongue—they’re all too used to propositions, and this is no different in name than any other roll in the hay. Of course, just about everything else is different, because half the point of a one night stand is that it happens for one night, and then generally speaking they don’t see each other again.
Molly has already decided, decided it weeks ago, an eternity ago, that they’ll see these people again. Every day for the rest of their life, if they can finesse it, and then some.
“Do you want to come back to my room?” It’s not a hard sentence.
The way that Caleb looks at them, surprise then wanting then guilt then resignation, it’s a hard answer.
He does say yes, though, which is rather wonderful because Molly had hoped that they were right. He’s gotten more and more comfortable with himself and the group over time, spaces out less when he sees fire, and they think that perhaps, now, they’re allowed their attraction to him. They try and kiss away the guilt over their two mugs of liquor, Caleb’s lips chapped and clumsy in a way that speaks either of inexperience or lack of consistent practice. Mollymauk hopes it’s the latter—taking someone’s virginity isn’t quite the blind leading the blind, but they don’t want this experience to be a first.
The kiss works long enough for Caleb to nod when Molly asks again, “You’re sure?” and they can’t stop the rush of happiness, unexpected and gleeful, getting this out of Caleb.
They haven’t lost him yet, haven’t lost any of them, and it’s a gleeful thing, that, paired with the rush that comes from kissing an entirely new person. A treat that they’re not sure Caleb even knows he’s giving them.
Well, of course he knows he’s kissing them, that much is obvious. He probably doesn’t know what it does for them, though, not really— beyond getting them to lead him upstairs, push his coat off his shoulders, the books thumping heavily on the wooden floor, it’s a happy little reminder of their want, someone they’re now allowed to have.
They love him, is the thing. And they’re used to love—they love everyone they meet, to a certain extent, they loved everyone in the circus, they love Yasha, and Fjord and Jester and Nott, and yes, even Beau, but this love is different.
“First time is always the worst,” Yasha had said. “Ask him into bed, you’ll figure it out.”
And they did, but it’s not the first time. It’s the second, and the fourth, and the seventeenth, and the twenty-eighth, a falling that Molly sees more like a flight of stairs—choosing their own downward path, every little fall a step of kissing Caleb’s forehead, tugging playfully at Jester’s horn, closing a hand over Fjord’s across a gap of two inn beds.
They remind themself that all that isn’t the point right now, because they promised—“Won’t mean anything, I just thought you might be interested, because I am.”
And Caleb said yes then and not before, so they have to keep that promise and conceal the rest of it behind a dirty little smirk and running their hands up his chest under his shirt.
“Can I get this off?” they ask, and Caleb nods.
“Can I take your shirt off, as well?” he replies.
“Wait a minute, because the belts are gonna be a problem,” they laugh, pulling up the hem of the fabric that Caleb’s wearing.
He doesn’t reply, letting Molly take his shirt off, and they can practically see the wheels turning in his head while he works out the logistics of getting Molly’s clothes off. They pause for him, hovering over his lap and counting seconds until they decide that he’s been out of it for long enough, and they settle their weight on his thighs, smiling when he comes back with a bit of a start.
“Sorry,” Caleb murmurs, and Molly shrugs.
“It’s alright, just stay with me. We’ve got time,” they say, stroking through his hair.
Caleb leans into it a bit, closing his eyes, and there’s another step, a short thing, one heartbeat to the next.
Molly kisses him again.
They don’t think after that, not for a few moments at least, careful of their sharpened nails while they bring lazily-exploring fingertips over Caleb’s skin, no preference given to the burn scars on his back and chest over the rest of the smooth, pale skin. They press into it, a few times, appreciating that there’s some give, now, considering how skinny Caleb was when they first met him.
It makes Caleb chuckle a bit under them, his kissing, no longer clumsy, being ruined in the best way possible. “You’re kneading, like Frumpkin does,” he explains in the next beat.
Mollymauk hadn’t considered that. He’s not wrong, though. “What can I say? I’m enjoying myself,” they tell him.
Caleb chuckles again and leans up to kiss them, a show of initiative that shouldn’t be as flattering as it is. But for someone who’s functionally illiterate, Molly reads too much into things. When they’ve seen their family all around them, laughing and drinking and talking all too loud, they’ve seen the rest of their life.
Two years is their whole life, so forever is, they’re sure, too much.
Logically, no, Caleb won’t be happy with this forever, he’s practically said as much, but Mollymauk will be, because times like those, times like these, everything is so warm and alive that they think forever, and no, the rest of them don’t think the same, but maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe.
They kiss every maybe into Caleb’s skin, down the column of his neck and suck into the dip of his skinny collarbone the childishness of it all.
Caleb makes a wonderful noise at all the maybes, and Molly can’t stop the grin when he does.
Fuck maybe. They’ve got it now, for sure, and yes, when they see Caleb in their bed they see the warmth of a forever, but that’s much too long in comparison to Mollymauk Tealeaf’s short life, so they think they’re better off angling for a night.
(That, even, may be too much. But they’re trying.)
“You want anything in particular?” they ask, straightening up before they’re too tempted to leave marks all over, too high for even his coat to cover. It’s the kind of marks that would give everyone pause, that would make Jester give Caleb then Molly an inquisitive, considering look, that would get Fjord to flush and ask questions later that night, that would earn them a quiet high five from Yasha for taking her advice. It would start something, maybe, if Molly grinned and winked in the right way in response to Jester’s considering, if they gave Fjord enough detail as they changed beds and settled the right way in his, if they clasped Yasha’s hand after the high five and didn’t let go.
But they made a promise, and using this experience for other people makes this mean something, if this isn’t their last time with Caleb. And this means nothing, except to please themself and him.
“Anything,” he breathes, and they laugh.
“You’ll have it. But what first?”
Caleb kisses them again, and moves to tug at one of their belts. “Can we start by getting some of these off?”
Molly nods happily, though they’re a bit loathe to slide off of his lap to start undoing the belts around their waist. It’s good for the aesthetic, but it is so bad for these sorts of encounters. They’ll consider changing the aesthetic somewhat specifically to avoid this sort of problem in the future, but for now it’s fine. It’s harder than it sounds, to get pants that accomodate well for tails. Jester may have the right idea in primarily wearing skirts.
That may not go with their coat, though, so they’ll look into it later.
Caleb’s eyes don’t dart from their hands as they quickly as possible undo their belts, and, after a second of hesitation, watching for any discomfort from him, they wiggle out of their pants completely. His eyes still don’t move, fixed on them with a flattering sort of focus that reminds them of how he looks at books he wants.
Maybe not quite so focused, but it’s close enough. Enough to still be flattering.
The coat came off with the boots when they got in the room, so it leaves them in just their billowy shirt. Caleb reaches out when Molly goes to shed that, though, so they crawl back onto his lap, tail lashing a bit in excitement now that it’s completely free to do so.
“Can I take this off?” Caleb asks, tugging at Molly’s shirt, and when they give him a nod he doesn’t hesitate, tugging it off with only a bit of fumbling on Molly’s part to avoid their horns catching on the collar of the shirt.
This leaves them completely naked in his lap, and they very much appreciate this, as evidenced by—well, everything about them. They’ve never been a subtle person.
“You don’t wear underwear,” Caleb remarks.
“Tail,” Molly replies, and that’s enough by way of explanation. They and Jester get away with probably too much with regards to their personal fashion due to the accoutrements of horns and tails. Sure, they could wear it, but there’s no need. Makes things easier.
“Of course,” comes the reply, and the way that Caleb mentally files that information away is plain on his face, a detail that Molly can’t tell is endearing or arousing.
Frankly, they seem to be playing into each other at this point—arousal turns affection with the curve of his smile, and affection turns arousal once their lips explore up Caleb’s jaw, feel the uneven stubble there from his latest greatsword shave, and wonder, of course, how that would feel on the skin of their thighs.
Later, later.
For now, they keep their lips where they are, careful of fangs even as they scrape over the sensitive skin of his neck for a bit of a different sensation.
“No teeth, if you would,” Caleb says, and Molly nods, back to lips in an instant.
“Danke,” he murmurs, and though Molly can’t say that they’re even close to fluent, or even simply conversational, in Zemnian, they’ve got Caleb’s manners down pat.
“Bitte,” they reply, a bit too smug for the ease of the word, and when Caleb chuckles at the newfound smugness, they pull away a bit, to receive a pat on the cheek. Twisting their head, they press a kiss to Caleb’s palm, a little bit of affection that they can’t quite deny themself. He doesn’t seem to react to it in the way that Molly might if he did the same to them, but then again, Mollymauk is much more free with this sort of affection. He’s probably used to it by now.
“Would you like me to return the favor?” Caleb asks, gesturing to Molly’s nakedness.
“Oh, yes, please,” Molly replies, practically purring their reply and pushing themself off his lap for a front-row seat as Caleb moves to unlace and pull down his trousers. His underwear goes next, and Molly decides against the carpet matching the drapes joke. All of his hair is a very nice color, anyway, and from the sudden, if slight, hesitation in Caleb’s body language, Molly isn’t about to make a comment on any part of his body, teasing or no.
Instead, they say, “Look at you,” in a tone that makes Caleb simultaneously blush and chuckle, and they are much too proud of themself for stepping exactly on that line between being flattering and being Too Much.
They move forward on the bed, up to their knees so they can kiss him again while he’s still standing. He slowly moves back onto the bed, and then there’s a minute where Molly just kisses him, not having it go anywhere, thoroughly enjoying the kissing. It’s rather the best part of these sorts of encounters, and if Caleb is letting them kiss him, they’re going to take full advantage of it.
Casual, they eventually tell themself, pulling away a bit reluctantly and giving Caleb a sharp-toothed grin. They were in a circus long enough to know when others are showing their cards. Molly is dangerously close to showing theirs.
“You’re still okay?”
Caleb nods. “Ja, yes. You’re a very good kisser.”
“I know,” Molly huffs along with a laugh and a wink. “Mind if we lie down? Making out sitting up is a little bit of an exercise in bending backs— and you’re a bit more accessible that way, anyway.”
Caleb nods, and they eventually configure themselves so they’re back on the bed, Molly propped up on an elbow so they can kiss their way back down Caleb’s neck.
He seems to be a quiet sort, but his breathing changes enough that they can gather that he enjoys the sensation. “You may leave marks, if you like,” he tells them.
“Not above the collar, I’m assuming?” they ask.
His pause at the question makes their imagination go wild, but he answers quickly after the initial hesitation—“Nein, nothing anyone could see.”
“If you’re intending on hiding by not taking your clothes off for the next week and a half, Jester will be very annoyed at me the next time she starts bothering you to take a bath.”
Caleb scrunches up his nose, looking down at Molly before processing the teasing along with their quirked grin.
“I think the hickies would distract her from the nagging, to be fair,” he says.
Molly snickers. “Oh, certainly. She suggests the baths to see everyone naked.”
“You suggest the baths.”
Molly shrugs. “You’ve caught me. Don’t think she doesn’t benefit, though.”
“You two like seeing the rest of us naked.”
They prop themself further up on their elbow, hovering over Caleb. “I can’t believe the accusation.” They press a kiss to his jaw. “What can I say? You’re a very shaggable group. I’ve always thought so.”
“All of us?” Caleb asks.
More than the other statements, this one sounds like an accusation. Molly thinks vaguely about how they could use this to get into a similar position with the others—curiosity leading straight to Jester, Fjord, Yasha’s bed. They duck their head, feeling chastised and kissing at Caleb’s jaw again. “Most of you,” they amend. “Beau was fairly obviously not into, you know, myself, and I’m very unsure about Nott’s stance on it all.”
“I haven’t asked.”
“Neither will I.”
“Have you…?” He trails off, but Molly thinks they get the gist of what he’s asking.
“No, not before now. You’re the first.”
“I was sure you and Fjord, maybe, since you share a room—”
Molly laughs. “No, no. Though, not for lack of trying on my part.”
They don’t know if they imagine the interest on Caleb’s face. “Trying?”
“He’s seen me naked. Bit too shy for me to proposition, but we’re working on it.”
“He is too shy, and I am not?”
Molly grins, finally meeting Caleb’s eyes again. “You said yes, did you not?”
“Touché.”
“And thank you for that.” They kiss him, again, settling back slightly instead of hovering. He takes the opportunity to smooth a hand down their back, ending at the base of their tail.
Molly’s tail has been swishing and curling without any input from them, and with how intelligent Caleb is, they have to assume he’s made a note of it. They’re hard-pressed to be embarrassed by any of their body’s reactions (their tail is not the only part of them that’s wildly interested in proceedings) and thank their lucky stars that at least hearts aren’t floating over their head.
At least, they assume. Caleb would’ve commented on it.
They hope.
No such thing makes him hesitate, though, in kissing back, leg pressing in between Molly’s thighs to get a quiet groan from their lips. They grind down a bit, but it’s mostly for a bit of fun stimulation. They aren’t looking to get off this early, or at least not before Caleb.
Speaking of.
They’re slow, methodical, hands playing good-cop up and stroking through Caleb’s hair, and bad-cop trailing fingertips down his chest, up, down further, up, rinse, repeat.
By the time their fingers are rubbing over the skin of Caleb’s inner thigh, they’re sucking on his bottom lip, still paying some attention to their fangs. They’ll have to make sure to continue being careful—most people enjoy the teeth, that they’ve slept with at least, and they don’t want to be too distracted by Caleb to forget about his requests and go back to their learned default.
“You okay?” they murmur, their hand hovering over where it will need to go to make this, officially, Sex Territory. They’re hoping that they won’t need to elaborate on the question, being in the position that they’re in.
“Ja, don’t worry.”
It’s plenty enough for Molly, paired with the roughness of Caleb’s voice, telling them quite nicely of how well they’ve done in riling him up. They kiss him, drawing fingertips through the (very affirming) wetness between his thighs before starting to rub at his clit. His hips twitch upon the contact of Molly’s fingers, and Molly is quite pleased with that reaction. Actually, it’s fucking wonderful, to the point that they have to kiss Caleb just a bit harder in order to keep themself from grinning smugly against his lips.
This is something very familiar to them. Jacking someone off is pretty wonderful, especially as they get to feel someone’s change in breathing, or hear the noise they make, or feel them buck into their hands. It’s actually even more wonderful with Caleb.
They’re aware that sex is a form of intimacy. Half the reason they even started having it in the first place was because they missed the contact that came from their family in the circus leading them around by their hands, when all they could say was “empty” and all they could think wasn’t too much more.
Still. This is Sex.
This is intimacy. This is Caleb, this is someone they love letting himself be slowly taken apart by their fingers, this is two days from now when they think about it and have to stop themself from reaching too fast for his wrist. This is kissing Caleb harder just to memorize what he tastes like, in case they can’t do this another time, this is letting themself fall much faster than they usually do, stepping off the staircase right into the void, heart jumping into their throat at the sudden claim of gravity.
Despite that, they find that they like Sex.
Sex gets Caleb’s hips twitching as they rub at his clit, slow and teasing to force this experience to go just a bit longer. It has the added benefit of getting Caleb wetter and wetter, moving just a bit under their hand as he tries to get more stimulation. He doesn’t ask for more, and Molly doesn’t offer quite yet.
Oh, they want to. They’re very much looking forward to getting Caleb to come, multiple times if he wishes it, but they’re rather happy luxuriating in this sort of intimacy, as well. Touching Caleb is wonderful—kissing Caleb is even better. Now that their hand is in between his legs, he’s a bit sloppier in kissing them, but they certainly don’t mind, dropping their mouth to his neck to enjoy his quiet noises he’s making, not enough to be called moans but more than simple quiet breathing. Not that Molly is about to call Caleb anything different, not in a situation like this, but it’s fucking delightful.
Kissing at his neck, hearing the noise he’s making, it does do certain things to Molly. Things that Caleb seems to notice, shifting his thigh in between their legs to press a bit more solidly against them. And, well, Molly is two years old. They really aren’t very patient, after that.
“Would you like me to eat you out, Caleb?” they ask, fingers circling his clit slowly.
“I— I would like, uh, that is feminine,” he says, stammering a bit.
Molly pauses their fingers, and through the haze of arousal, it takes them a second or two to piece together what Caleb is telling them. “Oh! I’m sorry. May I go down on you, then? Suck you off?”
They’re glad to see the relief on Caleb’s face as he nods. “Ja, please, I’d love your mouth.”
Their fingers rubbing his dick circle it one last time before Molly crawls a bit down the mattress, situating themself on their stomach in between his legs.
He spreads them a bit, and Molly pats the outside of one of his thighs affectionately as a thanks. “You can touch the horns if you want,” they tell him, before pressing a kiss to his inner thigh.
He jumps a bit underneath that particular attention, clearly sensitive. It’s enough to have them slow, letting him get used to each new sensation, lips never really leaving his thigh so he doesn’t have to jump again when their mouth leaves and comes down somewhere else. They make their way slowly up to his dick, licking up through his folds a time or two before focusing on it properly.
They learned how to do this on a woman first, but Caleb’s dick isn’t much different. His thighs tense when they lick over it, and they stroke over his skin with a free hand. He relaxes a bit at their slow attention, and they’re gentle. They aren’t surprised that he might be touch-starved, and this is intense for anyone.
It doesn’t last too terribly long, as eventually Caleb gets either impatient or brave enough to take ahold of Molly’s hair, stroking through it before wrapping it around his fingers.
They take it as a signal to press their tongue down a bit harder, and they’re well-rewarded with the first actual moan that Caleb gives them.
The grin it causes on their face luckily does not ruin the experience for Caleb, because their tongue isn’t affected by what their lips are doing. They imagine that the gentle yank on their hair afterwards is because he felt their smugness, though that’s only enjoying the idea of that layer of nonverbal communication. More likely, though, it’s because he’s enjoying himself enough to do so. Both are good.
Molly does enjoy going down on people, and they’re sure this comes through in their enthusiasm. Caleb seems to appreciate that much, and it’s just a few minutes before he’s clutching nonrhythmically at their hair, and Molly holds their hand against his thigh as his hips buck when he comes, mostly quiet save for the way his body reacts.
They don’t pull away, not immediately, not until he tugs at their horn. They give Caleb one last lick, relishing in the way they can feel his thigh tense under their palm at it, and pull away, wiping their chin off, and don’t move up to kiss him. Caleb tastes fucking fantastic, but they’re not sure if he’ll want to taste himself. Some people find it gross.
His head goes back to the pillow, panting a bit, and after a second he starts stroking through their hair again. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I can take care of you.”
Molly hums, tapping fingertips on his thigh and pulling themself up a bit. “Don’t worry. Going down is great for me— take as much time as you need.”
They start trailing idle hands over his hips, and Caleb pushes himself up onto his elbows. “We can continue.”
Molly is very glad that he doesn’t flinch when their eyes flick up to his face. He looks earnest, instead, and they’re very glad for that. They don’t want to insist he take a break or have to prove that they won’t push him, and they do want to continue.
“Do you mind if I kiss you? My mouth’s still kinda wet,” they tell him.
“Ja, that’s fine,” he replies, not hesitating to kiss them back when they practically surge forward to do so. It’s quickly becoming their favorite part of this experience, kissing Caleb.
They shudder a breath against his mouth when he reaches between them to stroke them, enjoying the experience for a few seconds before murmuring, “Little gentler, please.”
“Sorry,” he replies, loosening his grip slightly.
“‘S okay. I just don’t want to— like I said, I really like going down,” they tell him, and he laughs.
“I understand.”
“Thank you for that.” They kiss him again.
Even with Caleb’s teasing touch, it’s only a few minutes before they start getting sloppy, eventually having to break away to gasp, dropping their head to Caleb’s shoulder.
His hand pauses, and while it’s probably better for the longevity of this particular encounter, Molly feels like whining. “Are you close?”
“Unfortunately,” they reply, moving away from his hand. “I’ll calm down in a minute. I suppose I just really like your hands.”
To emphasize this, they take hold of the one that was just touching them, ignoring the slight slick of pre-cum assisting the serendipitous meeting that was Caleb’s hand stroking up and down their cock, and pressing a kiss to the top of his hand. He shakes his head, though they catch a smile that he doesn’t truly bother with hiding. “You say that because they were touching you.”
“That’s only part of it,” they reply.
Caleb looks away. Molly realizes their mistake a second too late. Doesn’t mean anything, right. “They’ve also touched you,” they say, hoping he’ll take it.
He takes his hand back from their lips and their stomach drops a bit, before he looks back to them and smiles, almost-devilish. They could kiss him for it.
Actually, they do kiss him for it.
“Was that a request, Mollymauk?” Caleb asks, after they’ve kissed him so hard that they end up back in his lap, tail swishing and cock brushing against Caleb’s stomach, left untouched but still very, very interested.
“If I say yes, will you fulfill it?” they ask.
“You’ll have to get off my lap first.”
Molly grumbles at that, but does so, not going so far that their thighs aren’t still touching his, but enough that he can fit a hand in between his legs again, two fingers going to rub against his dick. He doesn’t jump at his own touch, and doesn’t tease, and it’s an absolutely gorgeous sight to see. Molly’s always appreciated watching—they very much encourage the edubation that the Nein joke about, both for themself and their partners. Still, it’s possibly more teasing than Caleb was intending, because they kind of want nothing more to either lick him or ride him until they both come on these homely inn sheets.
“May I fuck you?” they ask, and kind of laugh at how polite they sound.
Caleb looks down at them—his eyes had cast up to the ceiling, a bit embarrassed by the intensity of their gaze on him—and blinks, pulling his hand away from his dick. “You may, but—”
“But you don’t have protection?” Molly finishes for him, in the form of a question.
Caleb shakes his head. “Nein, I don’t— Magic, I don’t have the chest and I don’t bleed anymore, but I don’t get as wet, it might be uncomfortable. For, ah, both of us.”
“Oh, is that all? I think I may be able to fix that problem for the both of us, then. Wait here,” they say, leaning forward for a quick peck before clambering off the bed to find the lubricant that they’re very sure they still have in their bag.
About halfway through rooting through it, they pause, a thought occuring to them. (Damn their hormone-addled brain, they’re generally much quicker about sex than this.) “Just double-checking, you’re okay with me fucking you with the lubricant, yeah? That’s not you saying you’d rather not?”
Caleb responds immediately enough to not set off any alarm bells, which is good. “If you have it, I’d like you to fuck me.”
“Alright, wonde— Ah-ha,” they crow, probably a bit too triumphantly, as they find the little bottle they keep. Next time they go shopping, they should probably get more. Especially if (they must remember, if not when) they do this again, with Caleb.
He laughs, beckoning them forward once they turn around to show him the product of their investigative prowess, and they’re all too happy to follow, crawling back onto the bed and handing it over when he grabs for it.
“Oh, yes, this will do,” he says, after a quick inspection.
“Perfect. You want me to prep you, or would you like to do it yourself?”
“I won’t say no to your— no. Actually. I forgot about, ah, these,” Caleb says, handing back the bottle and tapping Molly’s fingers, with their long nails. “I trust you to— but I’d rather they not be inside me.”
Molly nods, opening the bottle and setting the cap on the bedside table before letting Caleb have it back. “Very fair. I don’t mind, it’s all in your capable hands, Mr. Caleb.”
“I’ll try and give you a show, then, Mx. Mollymauk,” he replies, oiling up two of his fingers.
“Pity I’ll be missing it,” they tell him, leaning in to kiss him instead of watching.
Where they’d be making it pleasurable for him, it seems that Caleb is being a bit more utilitarian about it, no heavy change in breathing or gasping against their mouth. They hum after a few seconds, snaking their hand around Caleb’s to rub lightly at his dick with their thumb. It’s a bit of an awkward angle, but it seems to be appreciated, if the way his hips jerk is anything to go by.
It seems to be a bit more of an experience for him, after that, the noises he makes going straight to Molly’s groin. They’re almost relieved when his hand moves away from in between his legs and he pulls away to say, “I think we’ll be alright.”
They’re about to say something in response when he reaches between them to slick them up as well, and the feeling of his warm hand on them after quite a while of absolutely no contact is fucking— well, they moan. Loudly. And their tail, curled around the two of them, thwacks heavily against Caleb’s thigh.
They both look up at each other, and Molly starts laughing. Caleb joins in with them, already having been on his way to amusement, and they bring their hand away from his cock to brace it against his thigh. He wraps an arm around their neck, and after a few seconds of laughing, they’re kissing, sloppy and perfect. Molly appreciates the second of decompression, because this is certainly… something.
Caleb is certainly something.
The nerves they didn’t even realize they’d drummed up melt away, and they indulge in Caleb’s lips for a few seconds more before asking, “You’re good?”
Caleb nods. “I’m ready.”
They have to shuffle a little bit to get an angle and position that works, and they have to reach over Caleb to the bedside table again to get a bit more oil on their fingers to slick themself up a bit more than Caleb had, just in case, but then they’re kissing him again, pushing inside him, and it’s. Yeah. Certainly something.
They at least have an excuse to go slow, because they have to make sure that Caleb is fine, and thank the gods for that excuse because they’ve never been so turned on in their life. They’re pretty sure that they can only ascribe a part of that to the… intensity of the experience that is doing this with someone Important.
The rest is all Caleb.
“Good?” they ask, and the sound he makes is a little wrecked and a lot arousing.
“Perfect,” he replies. “You can—”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” they say, dropping their hand down to start rubbing at his dick again, pulling halfway out and enjoying the way he clenches around them because of the other stimulation.
Yeah, this isn’t gonna last long.
They kiss him, because it seems that they should at least do that if the rest of the encounter won’t last too much longer, and it’s wonderful and hot and messy, Molly pressing their lips to Caleb’s, hard, and he sucks on their bottom lip to bite it, making them hiss in pleasure.
They strike up a rhythm pretty easily, slow enough to give Caleb a bit of pleasure although they know that he’s almost certainly getting more out of the fingers on his cock than the one currently inside him, just because that’s the way this particular configuration of genitalia tends to work. His hips rise up to meet theirs, bucking into their touch as he fists a hand in Molly’s hair and sets the other on their hip, rubbing vague patterns on their skin with his thumb. It’s endearing in the sort of way that Molly will be thinking about a week and a half from now.
But for now, they pay attention to the hand in their hair, keeping them close. They indulge him, though it can hardly be called indulgence if they’re taking his kisses like they remember taking their first breaths out of their grave.
The pace picks up incrementally, because it’s just a bit too heated not to, and Molly knows that they should be dragging this out, but it’s a little bit difficult to do that when Caleb moans, lowly, and they have to press their forehead to his instead of kissing him again because they’re afraid they might bite him for it.
He moves away from them in order to trail kisses up their neck, then, and they can tell that he’s not intending to leave marks. They’re surprised by the disappointment at the realization, but then he moves his fingers up their back and his nails dig in, and then they forget to be upset at much of anything. It makes them lean their head back, a little bit, just in time for him to nip at the bottom of their jaw. Probably coordinated it, the bastard. He’s learning how to play them like he plays with Frumpkin when there’s nothing to do.
If Caleb’s the one playing, then smack their ass and call them a piano, they suppose.
They snicker just once at the thought, but there’s a lot of other shit to focus on, and— well.
They did say it wasn’t gonna last too long.
In their defense, the rhythm they’ve gotten into, meeting each other’s thrusts and Caleb bucking into them, with him clenching around them every time their thumb rubs over his oversensitive cock, it was truly only a manner of time.
The orgasm surprises them, because it’s not overly intense of accompanied with some new bloom of feeling. It comes politer than the descriptions of true lust’s orgasm in some of the smut books that Jester has taken to reading, without Molly being struck by a runaway cart or lightning. They feel it approaching, thrust a bit slower, deeper, dragging out their few last moments as much as they can, pulling away from stroking Caleb so they can help hold themself up, on the pillow next to his head. Their fingers brush the tips of a few strands of his hair.
They come with a quiet gasp and the sound of quiet ripping where their nails punctured the pillowcase that they were gripping at. The sheet underneath the arm supporting them is unharmed, though their arm is trembling a bit.
“Caleb,” they say, and they’re surprised that they don’t sound ruined.
“Molly,” he replies, and they kiss him.
They pull out slowly and their hand on his dick resumes its stroking, because they can’t be unfair to him. Besides, two to one is a good ratio. Could be higher, but beggars can’t be choosers. Not always, anyway.
Caleb clutches at their hair even tighter as he comes again, and Molly can feel the little half-circles of his fingernails in their scalp and torso. They wonder, idly, if any of those marks will stay, whether anyone will see them tomorrow morning among their tattoos on their back, tiny crescent moons of dark purple that betray them where their bare neck won’t.
They don’t kiss him through it, but they kiss him as he’s coming down, slow and deliberate in a way that seems to remind him that he can relax his hold on them. He does, very slowly, and they wipe their slick fingers off on their outer thigh to stroke an idle hand over his side. They don’t know whether he needs grounding or if the whole thing was just a bit intense, but either way, he eventually pulls away, breathing evened out.
“Thank you,” he says, breathless whisper breaking into actual sound halfway through the words.
It sounds obscenely loud after their few minutes of no words needed, and Molly nods, trying to find their own voice.
“Don’t need to thank me, I assure you. It was fucking wonderful, Caleb, you’re wonderful.” They keep talking, not wanting the heartbreak of whatever he’s about to say when he opens his mouth in response. “Are you good? I’ll be out of commission for a few minutes, but that doesn’t have to stop our fun.”
Caleb’s mouth closes, and they feel him stretch a bit underneath them, testing his muscles. “I think I’m okay. That was more than I’ve done in quite a while.”
“Clearly you need to masturbate more,” Molly teases, pushing themself up, leaving only a few points of contact between them.
“It’s a bit difficult, sleeping with Nott.”
“I can imagine. Same with Fjord.” They falter for a second, before barrelling through it. “Would you like me to stay?”
Caleb hums rather than saying yes or no, but he reaches up to wrap an arm around their torso, and doesn’t complain when they twist to bring the quilt up around them, so they make some assumptions and settle down. “Push me away if you stop wanting to be touched,” they tell him.
“I will,” he says, snapping his fingers. Frumpkin puts a paw on Molly’s back as he figures out a proper position to settle on Caleb’s chest, curling up. Caleb lets out a quiet breath, and Molly shifts, pressing their forehead to his before tucking their head down onto the pillow next to him. They can feel their own breath against Caleb’s cheek, and it’s only then that they bother with closing their eyes, getting ready to actually sleep with Caleb.
They’re a cuddler at heart. Comes from all the time spent at the circus—if ever boundaries existed, they were cleared away in the first few months of Molly’s existence. They got used to touch, following people around. Mostly Yasha, if they were honest, though everyone and their sister got a turn babysitting them at some point.
They sink down to the half-asleep haze of not quite sleeping but certainly not thinking consciously much too quickly. Quicker than Caleb, it seems, who starts saying something in Zemnian before stopping himself.
“Mm?” they question, not bothering to summon the energy it would take for a full word, or even opening their mouth.
“Never mind. Sleep well, Mollymauk,” comes Caleb’s voice.
Molly falls asleep to that never mind, stopping themself from reading into it for the time being and keeping them up all night. It’s a dreamless sleep, no nightmares to speak of. It’s nice.
At some point in the night, Caleb moves away, quiet mutter of, “It’s too hot, it’s uncomfortable,” causing Molly to blink open their eyes.
He’s unguarded in the darkness, though they can see his face just fine. They’re glad that he can’t see anything but perhaps the hint of their own unguarded smile, and they nod. “‘S okay, Caleb. Come back if you want.”
He smiles, and scoots to the other side of the bed. After a quick pause, he has Frumpkin cross the bed and curl up to Molly’s side. Molly lies a hand on the cat, closing their eyes again and curling slightly around him. They hope Caleb can feel, or at least sense, when they drop a kiss to Frumpkin’s head in Caleb’s stead.
They wake up to an empty bed.
Not quite empty—Frumpkin is still there, though as soon as he registers that Molly is awake he squirms out of their hold. Probably had some instruction from Caleb, then. Molly lets him go, luxuriating in the morning for a few moments before stretching all the way out, tail to tip.
They dress slowly, methodically, letting Frumpkin out of the closed door and following the cat down the inn stairs to where their new family sits eating breakfast.
“Oh, good, you’re awake! Look, we got you breakfast,” Jester says, gesturing to an extra plate that’s obviously been picked clean of bacon. Molly pats Beau’s cheek a little harder than what would normally be affectionate.
“I’ll be picking your pockets for that bacon later,” they warn her.
“Good luck with that,” she replies, and the venom in it gives Molly a weird warm feeling.
It’s this feeling that brings them around the table—from patting Beau to tucking Nott’s large green ear back into her hood, to drum their fingers on Jester’s horn, to ruffle Fjord’s hair and squeeze Yasha’s shoulders before, finally, settling on Caleb, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
Their easy affection leaves the rest of their family smiling, and, as they sit to tuck into the remainder of their breakfast, Caleb’s knee moves to press against their own under the table.
They see their forever one more time, around this table, warm and vibrant as all the Mighty Nein are.
Perhaps it’s just all the reflection on destiny and whatnot, or perhaps it’s their own fortune being read, but when they swallow that first bite of their forever, it tastes just a little bit like blood.