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The moment the words left his lips, he felt a sense of uneasy nagging at the pit of his stomach. Stage fright, he reassured himself, afflicts even the most seasoned of performers.
“Change into her.” It wasn’t a suggestion.
Haarlep did not ask for clarification. Didn’t need to. The incubus knew as well as he did who he was referring to.
A moment passed by as they both remained still as the grave. Beyond the silken curtains, the ever-present audience held their breath.
There was a sound like a soft whoosh of air as Haarlep assumed the form of his favorite-client-turned-nemesis, the long mane of her red hair cascading down their back. The sight of her half-naked body, already flushed with arousal, awakened a torrent of emotions within him. Desire was one of them. Bitterness was another. If breaking into his house and sleeping with his incubus wasn’t enough, the mouse decided to rid him of his much prized possessions in one fell swoop.
The sheer gall of her. He remembered finding a piece of parchment with a lipstick mark on it where her contract should have been. Still warm.
He kept it as a souvenir. Pile up your evidence, as he likes to say.
Oh, he will love to pry her forgiveness from her rouge-tinged lips. Make her beg. All in due time. For now, he would stay his hand and enjoy whatever prizes were left so kindly to him.
“Lie down on the bed,” he ordered. “And don't even think about touching yourself until I say so.”
A poor consolation prize, he added, as he watched Haarlep crawl into his bed, a decidedly not mouse-like grin on their face. But it’ll have to do.
Haarlep had barely laid back on the pillows and he was already on top of them, kneeling between their legs, his own clothes magicked away in his—shameful, he admitted—haste. His greedy eyes ran down her body: her outspread legs, the generous curve of her breast, her inviting pout. Every inch a love letter, excessive in its beauty.
There would be plenty of time to gawk later. This was an act of chastisement, and he would do well to remember.
Slowly, he took a finger down her collarbone towards the valley of her breasts, savoring the little goosebumps that rose on her flesh. The poor excuse for undergarments that still covered her body, no more than a few lace-trimmed straps, melted like sand in an hourglass.
Haarlep wasn’t used to having their lover taking their time in bed, much less tending to their needs. The anticipation was getting to them. They pressed their thighs together and bit their lip until blood welled to the surface, eyes closed.
“Fuck me, master. Make me your whore,” the incubus finally gave in, hoping the blatant vulgarity would be enough to stir his loins.
Raphael’s fingers found the bridge of his nose and pinched, as if he heard a particular keening sound in an otherwise flawless composition. “Sweeter, much sweeter,” he instructed. “Remember, there is release in the act of giving in, but there is also shame.”
A look of fleeting confusion flashed through the incubus' eyes. The meaning of his words was lost on them. Haarlep knew only the invigoration that accompanied the sins of the flesh, and hardly anything else. The act was as new to them as it was to him.
Regardless of their personal judgment, it wasn’t in the incubus’ nature to shy away from a challenge, especially when the promise was such a sweet reward. They closed their eyes, as if reliving the time spent joined at the hips with his mouse.
Raphael straightened his back, jaw clenched. That the wretch would know her so intimately when he had to contend with a facsimile. The idea alone was grounds for the harshest of punishments, and yet, there he stood with his pants around his knees and flaccid cock in hand. What a pitiful sight he must be.
There was a hint of trepidation in their voice when Haarlep finally spoke. “Take me, please…” they said, spreading their legs—her legs—for his perusal. “I long for you. Raphael .”
It was the low whisper of his name that did it for him, that sent a primal shiver coursing through his body. He could almost picture his little mouse beneath him, pretty lips open and hair fanned out on his silk pillows.
“Better, somehow…” He sighed and wrapped a hand around his cock—almost fully erect now—and pumped once, then twice, to take the edge off. To his immeasurable disappointment, it did very little to help him with that.
Raphael turned his attention to her body instead, fingers reaching out to test her smoothness, giving special care to the nub above her nether lips. Pink and glistening with her honey. Just as he imagined.
He rubbed at her with just the tip of his fingers, more to satisfy his curiosity than to offer any real pleasure. The incubus’ eagerness was evident in the way they writhed and moaned softly under him, clutching at the pillows. When he pulled back, she bucked her hips toward him, chasing his touch.
“So impatient. One might think you were looking forward to this.” He laughed, dipping his wet fingers into his mouth. “Tell me, dearest, have you thought about me? Late at night?”
"I… you've been on my mind more than once."
Ah, an impressive show of restraint. He ought to give Haarlep his compliments later.
“Here, mouse. Be a dear then and return the favor.”
He placed her hand—so small and delicate even in comparison to his glamoured body—around his cock. It reminded him he could assume a different form; a larger, more imposing form. But it’s not his wish to scare her just yet.
The feeling of her hand, stroking his length, thumb shyly grazing the head, was nothing less than divine. Only to be rivaled, he wagered, by the feeling of her pretty lips around his cock. But that delight he would save for another day.
“To think I could have been spared the trouble of trying to woo you.” He guided her hand up and down his cock, harder now, letting his anger dictate his words as well as the cadence of his movements. “No, wooing is for ladies and well-behaved girls. Not backstabbing little whores.”
Her curious hand strayed lower, then lower still, seeking entrance between his thighs. He stopped its descent before it could reach its desired destination.
He was many things. Kind, forgiving, charitable. Patient he was not.
Her velvety walls are what he desired. He wrapped one hand around her thigh to keep her open, the other finding purchase on the pillow beside her head.
As soon as he was fully inside, he let out a sigh, bending down to capture a nipple into his mouth, his finger drawing soothing circles on her skin.
“She feels you, master. Your possession.”
“She better,” he gritted out.
“And she loves it,” the incubus continued as if he hadn’t heard him, all too pleased to relay her thoughts. “She loves it more than she’s willing to admit.”
Of course she does, you thrice-damned wretch, he wanted to say. Why else would she have gotten in bed with his doppelgänger for? If her claws were as sharp as rumored, she would’ve made short work of a lesser fiend the likes of Haarlep. And he knew how much those bhaalspawn craved their fill of blood. No, the mouse had no need to get on her back for measly morsels of information: her choice was one born out of lust. The memory of phantom fingers still burned hot on his skin.
The little vixen. Bane of his life. She could’ve come to him. She should’ve come to him.
“That’s a pity.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear, each word punctuated with a hard thrust. “She isn’t supposed to.”
Oh, how exquisitely her moans resounded within the gilded walls of his boudoir! The last shiny piece of an already perfect image.
He’s not immune to her siren call—he grips her chin to keep her steady, tasting her lips and tongue, welcoming the coppery tang of blood as it entered his mouth.
The task distracted him enough that he didn’t realize he shed his human skin, as the fiendish side of him took over.
There she was; small, helpless, her body jolting with each motion of his hips, breasts swaying. She may take the wizard to bed in the mornings, but she would open her legs for him every night.
“Who owns you?” He struggled to get the words out, taking deep breaths to rein himself in.
“You, you godsdamned bastard. I belong to you…”
Raphael hummed in clear approval. His incubus knew he didn’t desire a meek caricature of his beloved mouse. Subdued, yes. Penitent, most definitely. But never meek.
He wasn’t going to last long. Not when she clenched around him like a fist, her lithe legs wrapped around his waist, pulling her to him. The finishing touch, then, before the round of applause.
The sudden swelling of his cock inside her had her squirming and arching her back off the bed. Rarely did he get in the mood to knot a partner, too much of a bother for him to give thought to. In his experience, he found the troubles far outweighed the benefits, but for her, he would make an exception.
Haarlep’s little mewls and pained gasps weren't all just for show. They never had him in this manner before.
“What is the matter, dear?” He relished in her pain, grinning from ear to ear, voice full of faux concern. “It’s just more of me to love.”
Her walls grew tighter and tighter. Her body welcomed him.
“I’m going to spill my seed.” She couldn’t hear him but she could feel him. “Right inside you.” Those last words were whispered in her ear, as if confessing a deed of love.
She chose that moment to look at him, pretty blue eyes lined with tears and, for an instant, he saw himself reflected in those crystalline depths: strong, awe-inspiring, kingly. It was enough to tear his control to shreds, filling her to the brink with his molten essence.
“Eirin,” he faltered, peppering kisses along the column of her neck. “Beautiful. Mine.”
As he rode his high, the incubus feasted on his pleasure at will. Recklessly so. Drinking more than they used to. He felt his strength seeping out of him just as another jolt ripped through his body.
Raphael let them be. He would not dare break the spell with the sound of his voice. Not now. Not when he felt so connected to her.
He held her close as another wave of his release swept over him. That’s when he felt her. Clenching around him impossibly tight, head thrown back in pleasure. He knew then that it wasn’t the incubus’ release he was witnessing, but rather the mouse’s, as it manifested through the bond between them.
This was far from a common occurrence. Haarlep’s bound wasn’t a two-way street, none of their conquests had any influence on their body. But he came to expect the unexpected from his little mouse.
He flicked his finger against her pearl to aid her in her fall. Never let it be said that he was nothing but a diligent lover.
As she came down from her peak, Raphael gently stroked her stomach to help her take every last drop of him. Divine blood may run in her veins but it made no difference. Her fragile human physiology was not made to bear his passion. If she were to be his, and she will be, additional measures would have to be put into place. Not to mention, his heat would render any human contraceptive obsolete.
There's an allure to the idea, come to think of it. He could easily leave her with child and she would be none the wiser.
Eirin, Eirin, Eirin.
Her father would place a tiara of rubies upon her head, a princess in all but name. Raphael liked to think she deserved something more.
He basked in her scent, ignoring the hint of sulfur, rubbing his cheek against hers like a lovesick paramour. He would build the greatest of cages for her soul. An opulent, lavish cage that would dwarf even his best work. Failure was out of the question.
She would come to accept him, in time. Come to love him, even. Hope fared just fine.
Love.
When it came to the matters of the heart, he was a fierce admirer. But the very notion was dangerous. Like taking a wrong turn in a dark alleyway. Too many eyes and many ears, behind every door. Nothing good could come out of this affair, not for him and definitely not for her. His kind did not tolerate weaknesses, whatever form it took. And what need did he have for her love? All he needed was her submission. He required nothing else. Wished for nothing else.
But so must the curtains fall in the end, and he could feel himself beginning to soften inside her.
It always ended the same way. The euphoria, the fervor, and the feeling of walking among clouds. Gone too soon.
He pulled back an inch, just enough to balance his weight on his hand. A mistake, he quickly realized, as he was greeted with the sight of her swollen cunt dripping with his seed. His incubus pleaded for him still, deep in the throes of their own passion.
So easily stirred, the appetites of men.
The play needed not end now, after all.
The raptured crowd begged for an encore. And he was ever so eager to abide.