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They’d barely made it out of that nightmarish creche in one piece. And then just before they could lose themselves in the ominous mire of the Shadowcurse ahead - Elminster of all people (or at least, his simulacrum) came calling.
On Her behalf. With possibly the most ludicrous request of all time.
But Gale does his best not to dwell too hard on the impending doom of it all. At least, for this quiet moment, he can exhale. For the first time in over a year, the crushing anxiety that he might accidentally erupt and destroy everything precious to him in a rather ungodly radius is abated.
The orb is quiet. He is, blissfully, free of the gnawing hunger in his chest. It still aches- no doubt the lingering pain of damage done to his body.
But tonight he can sleep. Peacefully.
And late that evening, when Gale is retiring to his tent for the night after a long evening of discussion on the matter with his companions, he finds a curious package placed carefully on top of his bedroll.
A rectangular, ornately carved wooden box about a foot long and half as much wide. There's no indication on the box as to what it could be. Only a paper note on top with his name on it. Curiosity thoroughly piqued, he sits on his bedroll and takes the box and the note into his hands.
He opens the note to find an almost familiar scrawl.
A meager gift to sate a long lingering hunger. May it lighten the days to come.
Gale's eyebrows raise as he turns the note over, checking for any other clues- but finds none. It’s not signed. And the message itself is rather cryptic.
Inspection of the box itself is similarly unremarkable. Polished wood, carved with a curving nonsensical but aesthetically pleasing design. His fingertips tingle faintly - whether from curious anticipation or some latent magical signature clinging to the package, it's hard to tell.
Because, to his chagrin, no amount of catastrophic consequences has yet been able to reign in his endless curiosity.
"This is either an exceedingly thoughtful gift... or a trap laid by someone with far too much time on their hands," he murmurs to himself, balancing the box in one hand before carefully lifting its lid with the other.
Inside the box is a carefully crafted fit to form, silk lined packaging. And nestled in the groove in the center of the package is a silver, cylindrical tube. The exterior is faintly inscribed with a myriad of inscrutable runes. Old and unfamiliar.
He reaches down, gently lifting the silver tube out of its silken resting place for closer inspection, studying it with a scholar’s fascination. The cylinder itself is solid in his grip - about 8 inches long, the circumference the width of his palm.
Reminiscent of a nice scroll case, though there’s no obvious pull. Gale runs his fingers lightly over the surface - it hums with arcane energy and feels warm to the touch.
"Well, this just gets more intriguing by the second..."
The warm, steady hum that emanates from it reminds him, oddly, of a cat's purr. He can't help the slight quirk of his lips as the sensation thrills through his fingertips. It feels warmer than skin - and the purring almost feels familiar.
"What are you?" Gale mutters to himself as he turns the cylinder over in his hands a few times, trying to find a seam or button by which to open it.
One end of the cylinder is plain and flat - unadorned. The other end has more runes and a shape almost like a heart embossed in the center. There's a subtle notched groove around the cylinder about an inch beneath - suggesting this is perhaps a lid?
He runs a thumb over the runes and the heart-shape, committing them to memory, and notices there’s another groove around the heart. With an inquisitive hum, Gale pushes against the heart shape with his thumb.
To his satisfaction, the heart depresses with a click, and the lid separates from the body of the tube with a faint hiss of air. The sound gives Gale pause and he holds the tube at arm’s length for a breath, just in case.
The faint hum of magic crescendos slightly as whatever's within is exposed to the air.
When nothing happens, he tilts the tube towards him once more and gingerly takes the lid off before peering cautiously inside. Another piece of paper flutters out of the lid - this one purple with deep scarlet lettering.
"Well, that was certainly dramatic," he muses, shaking his head with amusement before finally letting himself look properly into the opened end. "Now then... let’s see what secrets you're hiding."
The interior of the tube is a nondescript, glassy surface. The way it shines is like a looking glass, reflecting colors and images with some distortion. But the way it shifts and ripples when moved looks liquid. Though it doesn't move or pour when the cylinder is tipped.
"Hm." He lets out an inquisitive little hum. He plucks the note from the open lid with one hand, and gently turns the cylinder back and forth, studying the strange, rippling surface.
"Curiouser and curiouser..."
He turns his attention to the little piece of paper, unfolding it to read the gaudy scarlet lettering. The script on this one is different from the note. Looped and romantic cursive with instructions like a spell scroll.
Truest Heart's Desire:
For the wizard with an unquenchable appetite.
A wizard in need should thrice recite the name of his heart's truest love. Then, inserting a ruby into the liquid mirror, perform four clockwise somatics as shown. If the love is returned, the glass shall reflect the truth of desire.
Below the instructions are a diagram of the somatic spell component.
An amused snort escapes him as he reads the instructions. He's about to roll his eyes at the rather dramatic tone of it all - and then the last part grabs his attention.
“If the love is returned...”
His heart stutters in his chest, but he quickly tries to quell the brief flutter of excitement that rises within him. No, no - this is obviously some kind of prank from one of the others in camp.
...Still, there's no harm in trying it, is there?
Just to see what happens.
Outside his tent he hears the heavy plodding footfalls of Miri's lupine form pass by as she heads to her own tent for the evening.
They often set up close to one another - frequent late night conversations and like-minded attitudes had formed a fast bond between them.
A characteristic whoosh of primal weave and a glow of gold he can see through the tent wall is followed by the swish of her own tent door.
Gale hesitates, his fingers tracing the edge of the note as he listens to Miri's now familiar transformation. He exhales through his nose - half exasperation at himself, half nervous anticipation - before shaking his head.
No, he thinks firmly. Don't be ridiculous.
Still, as he lowers the note and stares into that rippling surface again, curiosity gets the better of him.
Perhaps this intriguing little artifact could clarify a thing or two for him. If he could know how She really felt about things… Clearing his throat, he readies himself and straightens his back.
"...Mystra." A pause - then again for good measure: "Mystra." And then once again, feeling almost foolish now- "...Mystra."
His fingers fumble slightly as they search for a ruby (thankfully, always within reach in a wizard’s belongings) before dropping it into the liquid glass with a quiet plink. Then comes the somatic gestures: precise paths drawn clockwise in midair four times over it like some arcane ritual from old romance tales written by lovesick bards…
The moment he finishes, the surface of the glassy liquid turns an angry red and it bubbles.
Before promptly spitting the ruby back out and returning to its inert silvery mirror.
The spell failed.
Gale stares at the ruby now lying innocently in his lap, and the tube in his hand that has- rather rudely- rejected it. His expression flickers between bafflement, irritation, and... something else entirely.
"...Oh."
He blinks once, twice. Perhaps that should have been more obvious. There was no love left between them, after all. She’d made that rather clear earlier today if it hadn’t been already.
Gale sets the cylinder down carefully beside him with a sigh, before picking up the ruby and rolling it between his fingers absently.
"Well," he mutters to himself after a long moment of silence, "I probably should have expected that. How unnecessary as well as deeply unhelpful."
He sighs sharply through his nose before glancing towards Miri’s tent again with an odd tightness in his chest. But he quickly shakes himself out of it and busies himself with gathering up both notes for further study later instead.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. It would bother him for days if he didn’t sort it out, he just knew it. Gale's not the kind of wizard who would miscast a spell...
About to set the items among his possessions, the purple instructions catch his eye once more. The gaudy red script glitters in the candlelight like a ruby all its own.
...heart's truest love...if love is returned...
His grip tightens slightly on the notes, his thumb brushing over that phrase again - truest love, returned.
Gale chews idly at his lip as he thinks, his gaze drifting almost inadvertently toward Miri’s tent once more- listening to the faint rustle of movement inside-before shaking his head sharply and stuffing both notes haphazardly into one of his many pockets. He picks up the cylinder and shoves it back into it’s box with a bit more force than necessary before snapping its lid shut with a decisive click.
"...Best not dwell on nonsense," he mutters to himself before setting it aside rather pointedly and reaching instead for a well-worn book from his pack.
He settles on his bedroll and begins to read - though tonight it does very little to hold his focus.
From next door he can hear the characteristic shuffling and sighs of Miri arranging her furs and bedding before lying down.
Try as he might to read, his restless mind keeps fixating on that vexing tube. The words on the page keep melting away to thoughts of those instructions and the curiosity that tugs at him.
Gale of Waterdeep does not fail to cast a spell.
He simply doesn't.
The ruby is good, his somatics always flawless. Which means there was a mistake somewhere else in his interpretation of the instructions.
Gale sets the book down with a quiet thump and scrubs his face with both hands.
"Fine."
He grabs the box and retrieves the cylinder again, this time defiantly, as if it’s personally offended him (which it has).
His fingers move swiftly. Heart-shaped latch clicked open, runes inspected one more time just to be sure he hadn't missed anything... then a deep breath.
With an almost uncharacteristic uncertainty, he pauses, listening for signs that anyone else might overhear. But the quiet still of the night suggests everyone else in camp, his neighbor included, are asleep. Good.
Three times. A name that isn't Mystra's.
This time, he barely hesitates before murmuring, soft but sure: "Miri. Miri. Miri."
The ruby drops in without protest; his somatics are slow and deliberate, even more perfect than before. And then he waits, breath caught somewhere between anticipation and dread, for the liquid glass to answer back.
The liquid shimmers, dancing and rippling in increasingly larger movements before it starts to shift and change colors. Rapidly flitting through a kaleidoscope of hues before settling on a bright green. The shade reminds him of Miri's own magics. Or perhaps of her eyes.
Then, before his eyes, the glassy surface starts to form some kind of shape, puffing up from inside the cylinder.
Gale nearly drops the damn thing in his shock - but catches himself just in time to clutch it tighter instead. Does it feel suddenly warmer? Fingers pressing into the metal he stares at the shifting, rising shape within.
His pulse is loud in his ears with a curious excitement. He should probably feel some sort of trepidation - unfamiliar magics can be volatile. But curiosity has always been his fatal flaw and he can’t help but watch with rapt fascination.
The shape rounds, elevating from the end of the cylinder first in a dome, and then dipping and molding into something more...complex.
Familiar somehow.
The green color slowly shifts to a golden tan, then in the dipping center of two larger, smooth ridges on the exterior of the shape it becomes a soft pink.
And it's when the color settles that Gale swiftly realizes exactly what this familiar shape is.
For a single, glorious moment, Gale Dekarios - prodigy wizard of Waterdeep, once Chosen of Mystra, and general knower-of-all-things arcane - is struck utterly dumb.
His grip on the cylinder slackens slightly as he stares down at the very distinct shape now protruding from it. Smooth, perfect, and unmistakably -
His ears burn and his face feels like it might combust.
He opens his mouth - closes it again.
Then finally chokes out, "I beg your finest pardon?!"
The tube is promptly set down with more force than strictly necessary as he leans back on his heels, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers in a vain attempt to regain some semblance of composure with little success.
"Someone’s idea of a joke," he mutters fiercely under his breath before daring to glance back at that…thing again.
The unmistakable shape fills the circular opening of the cylinder. Where once was that liquid glass, is now... that.
It's... incredibly life-like. Not that he's seen the real thing, mind you. Not hers, at least.
But it's the right skin tone - just a shade lighter than the places he's seen more regularly exposed to the sun. And it's such a pretty shade of pink inside...
Gale knows he should look away.
He's thrice damned for not doing so immediately.
Because instead, his traitorous eyes linger - because of course they do - on the frankly ridiculous spectacle before him. His throat bobs as his mind unhelpfully supplies just how... accurate it all is (not that he’s been vividly imagining such things since that vision they shared in the Weave, absolutely not).
A strangled noise escapes him before he finally wrenches his gaze upwards and focuses pointedly on the ceiling of his tent instead - clearing his throat with far more aggression than necessary while scrambling to blindly shove the lid back on the cylinder and cram it into a random pocket of his robe where it can no longer taunt him so openly.
Hiding the thing does little to mitigate the torrent of lurid mental imagery his mind supplies.
The image of that thing is practically seared into the backs of his eyelids. Gale has to grip his bedroll to keep from scrubbing at his face like a madman just to try and make it go away.
Gods, even thinking about it is a dangerous game.
A stubborn heat pools in his stomach, quickly growing nearly unbearable. He desperately tries to ignore the persistent, traitorous stirring in his trousers.
"Bloody hells," he mutters through clenched teeth, "Get ahold of yourself, Gale."
Was that…accurate? Is that what she looks like? Had he seen a tiny freckle on the left-
Stop.
Gods he really should not be imagining how it would look between her thighs. How it might look if she were as excited as he is now-
Stop.
Miri parting her legs and welcoming him with open arms-
With a sharp inhale, Gale abruptly stands - pacing the length of his small tent like a caged beast - before stopping dead in his tracks and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes hard enough to see stars.
How might she sound if he were to seal his mouth over her and-
Enough!
This is absurd. He's far too old to be acting like some randy apprentice who's never seen anything beyond an anatomy textbook before.
Yet here he is, half-hard and thoroughly mortified over... that. Over the thought of her.
And isn’t that just the worst part? That it’s her specifically? Or even that it could be?
"Right," he declares aloud with sudden resolve - as if speaking firmly will somehow banish this nonsense from existence (it won't). "That’s quite enough thinking for tonight."
He snatches up the first book within reach - some dry treatise on planar theory that even he finds tedious - and flips it open at random before practically shoving his nose into its pages as though sheer force of will might make him focus on anything else besides Miri spread out beneath him-
"...Bloody hells."
For the wizard with an unquenchable appetite.
Despite the dry text on transplanar anomalies in front of him, he can't help but remember what that damnable purple paper had said.
A wizard in need... of his heart's truest love. ... If the love is returned... reflect the truth of desire.
His thoughts drift - against his will, as they are wont to do - to Miri. Her easy laugh. That sharp intelligence beneath that calm exterior. Her lean, strong form and those damn silver scars like little mysteries he would like to trace with his fingers...
The image only manages to fuel that persistent heat in his belly.
Surely another look would be harmless? It already exists... and if you've seen it once is it wrong to check again? For research purposes, obviously. To see if it changed at all.
An artifact like this probably deserves closer scrutiny from someone who appreciates fine magical craftsmanship when they see it-
It's a flimsy excuse, at best, and the rational part of his brain is quick to point that out. But that reasonable part is rapidly being drowned out. The rational giving way to the curious. The curious to the needy.
His fingers twitch toward the pocket where he’d hastily stuffed the cylinder, then still - waging war against himself in silence.
On one hand: No. Absolutely not. He has standards, dignity, some semblance of self-control -
On the other: It’s already been seen once. It's hardly going to be worse a second time, is it? And really, this is an arcane artifact of unknown origin - wouldn't it be irresponsible not to investigate further?
His fingers find the thick cylinder before he can stop himself. It's warm to the touch despite not being on his person.
He hesitates with an inaudible swear, fingers clutching the metal with a white-knuckled grip. Gods, he should put it away right now. Go to bed, sleep this off, deal with it in the morning like a rational adult -
He's already opening the damned thing, cursing himself the entire time as he does so.
A long, sleepy sigh drifts over from next door and his hands pause. He almost forgets what he was doing - the soft endearing sound of Miri finally settled fully for the night making his chest warm.
Gale's lips twitch involuntarily into an exasperated smile - fond and frustrated in equal measure. He knows her routine by now. The sounds of rustling cloth, the shifting of the furs, the final deep inhale that always precedes those sleepy little sighs... The usual prelude to her soft snoring.
It's intimate knowledge that he would have never thought to commit to memory. And yet here he is, cataloging small details ad nauseum.
Heart's truest love.
...Bloody hells.
And the heat in his chest goes plummeting south when he looks down at the cylinder in his hand.
And there she is.
Just as realistic and life-like as it had been before. Gods, the level of detail would be impressive... were he in any state to appreciate such a thing objectively.
And the thought that it's- could be- hers-
His fingers wrap around the cylinder, his grip tight enough to turn his knuckles white. His throat bobs in a hard gulp as he drags his gaze down what feels like an endless expanse of soft tan skin, then back up again - tracing every dip and curve - memorizing it all.
Gods, it's so convincing... the size, the shape, the color...
He feels like a man possessed, unable to tear his gaze away.
Gale Dekarios, Chosen of Mystra once upon a time, scholar and wizard of renowned self-control - is utterly undone by a goddamn cylinder.
His breath comes unevenly now - short and sharp through his nose as his fingers tighten around the object like it’s some lifeline keeping him from drowning in this frankly ridiculous predicament he’s found himself in.
And yet...
One hand reaches out almost involuntarily - fingers trembling slightly before they dare to brush against impossibly soft skin, just barely skimming along the side like he can't decide if he wants to pull away or sink further in.
His pulse roars loud enough that he's certain Miri must be able to hear it.
It's soft - plush in a way that only flesh and blood can be. Even the best mirror images or illusory magic don't fool every sense of an arch mage. Especially not one so deeply versed in the school of illusion.
Yet this feels unbearably real.
And - gods help him- it- she is-
His fingers twitch against the velvety warmth - and before he can think better of it, his thumb swipes lightly over that pretty pink seam at its center.
A sharp inhale escapes him when the surface gives ever so slightly beneath his touch, as if responding to him.
"Hells." The word slips out in a whisper - rough and unbidden - before he can stop it.
His entire body burns with mortification and something far more primal as his thumb drags lazily downward again, just to see what happens-
It moves with his touch, parting, squishing. And the second swipe his thumb comes back slightly - but quite distinctly- wet.
A low moan shudders from Gale’s throat before he can stop it.
His thoughts narrow down to the slick shine clinging to his thumb - staring at the glistening evidence of his touch with something close to reverence. Gale’s mouth goes dry, and his stomach tightens as arousal coils low and unrelenting in his stomach.
His mind is reeling - surely that can't be anything more than his overactive imagination. A trick of the light and the shadows.
He touches his fingers together just to confirm it's not.
Gale’s breath stills - his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might leap from his chest - as he slowly lifts his thumb to his mouth.
That is real. There is no other explanation.
No other way to explain the feel of it on his fingers. The taste of sweetness and salt and her when he presses his thumb against his tongue.
The taste lingers - a secret, stolen thing. His eyelids flutter shut for a brief, traitorous second as he savors it - as if that alone could tell him everything about the woman sleeping just feet away from him right now.
Gale’s breath stutters when he opens his eyes again - gaze locked on that impossible thing still in his other hand.
He shouldn't do this. He shouldn't. But the temptation is unbearable now that he knows how soft she is, how sweet she tastes-
Gale's free hand drifts down to palm at himself through the fabric of his trousers before he can think better of it with a bitten-off groan.
Gale raises the device, bringing it closer to his face. And he can smell her with every breath - the unmistakable scent of her skin. Pine, honey, and florals - mixed in with that unmistakable musk that is Miri.
And with a new scent that will most surely drive him mad for the rest of his days. Arousal.
Gods, it's intoxicating. His body feels like it's on fire - a heady heat coiling down his spine like a serpent intent on striking something. His breathing is ragged as he draws in another unsteady breath - inhaling that sweet, musky scent like a man starved.
His hand tightens around the cylinder as his other works the laces of his trousers with an embarrassing urgency. How quickly he went from shock to need like a man possessed is almost terrifying.
Gale had been alone too long. Without a comforting touch or warm body to share his bed. Barely even his own touch, for fear of the orb's volatility.
That's what he would chalk this up to.
He'll blame this insanity on loneliness and lust-crazed madness when he looks back on this tomorrow. Blame it on the long-stifled desire of a man half-starved for a warm touch. On how badly he needed a kind word and a kinder touch after being cast off so carelessly.
A weak justification - yet one he clings to with what little shreds of dignity he has left.
It was the only explanation that made any sense.
The only rational explanation that doesn't force him to acknowledge just how deep his feelings for Miri must have plumbed without him realizing. That doesn't make him admit that he wants this - wants her - not just in this desperate, pent-up way but in a hundred others too.
And not that it has become specifically about her and not just any body that could relieve this aching tension.
And he can tell himself that all he wants - but there's a certain kind of honesty that comes from the kind of desperation that has his fingers finally pushing past the fabric of his trousers and wrapping around himself with a groan so quiet it barely escapes through gritted teeth.
If the love is returned... reflect the truth of desire.
His head falls back against his bedroll and he can't muffle the moan that escapes him when he touches himself for the first time in what feels like far too long now.
In the silence that follows, he can hear the faint sound of Miri shifting again in her tent - and he freezes. But it’s followed by a light, snuffling snore and the sound of her steady, even breathing again.
Safe, for now. He lets his eyes fall shut again, trying to focus on this. The heat. The want. The desperate need to come undone like he wants-
...But it's still Miri's face in his mind. It's still her eyes and her lips. It's still that captivating, infuriatingly tempting woman that he can't seem to get out of his head.
Miri's voice in his dreams, whispering "please" and whimpering in his ear.
And gods help him he's bringing that cursed replica up to his lips.
He tells himself it's a means to an end. A way to get release and satisfy that long dormant, primal, desperate need within.
That there's no deeper meaning to the way he kisses these lips gently, just feeling the way his breath ghosts over the soft skin - to how it’s warmth makes him shiver.
Nor to the way his tongue darts out to lick, ever so gently, into the soft pink seam like he's trying to find a flavor he might never actually taste.
Because a man marching to his doom hardly deserves the delight of a true love.
The taste floods his senses immediately - so much stronger directly on his tongue.
It feels real. Tastes real.
His mind supplies him with vivid images of what-ifs - how she might respond to this touch, how she'd feel on his tongue, if she’d press her thighs against his ears, how she'd sound...
Oh, how Gale wants to hear his name cried softly from her lips.
His grip tightens around himself and his hips jerk forward without permission as another quiet groan escapes.
“Miri…”
What would she say if she ever found out what he’s doing right now? If she knew what his desire for her drove him to do with some ridiculous magical replica of her cunt while she slept mere feet away-
The thought of Miri waking up to find him like this is mortifying.
Yet the thought of Miri walking in on purpose, seeing exactly what he's doing with her likeness, watching his mouth move so eagerly over it - with no hesitation, no shame - is enough to send a fresh wave of heat pooling low in his belly.
It's hard not to lose himself in it. Not when it smells so good. Feels so good on his tongue. The way it grows wetter under his worship.
He needs more. Wants more than just this little taste.
Gale lets his tongue press in deeper - just testing the limits of this facsimile, just enough to get more of that taste and feel the way it tightens around his tongue.
His fingers tighten around his cock as he gives another slow stroke - matching the roll of his hips into his fist with each drag of his tongue. His hand twists lazily up his own cock with just enough pressure to tease but not nearly enough to push himself over the edge.
It’s so gods damned real - so close to her that if he lets himself forget for a moment… he can almost imagine she's right here with him.
Gale allows himself to imagine what Miri would look like spread out before him, her legs thrown over his shoulders while she watched him with half-lidded eyes and parted lips. Legs spread open for him like an offering while her hands card through this hair to keep him in place-
"By the Weave-" His moan is muffled against slick skin, too loud for how thin these tents are. But he can’t bring himself to care.
Not when her phantom hands grip harder at his curls. Gods. Does she like to pull? Would she tug sharply or simply guide him exactly where she wanted?
The sound that rips from his throat is muffled by the cylinder - almost feral - as he drags his tongue over it again with no pretense of shame. He laps at it like a man starved, shameless in how he savors the taste, how eagerly he presses into it.
His cock throbs under those thoughts- barely touched but already desperate for release after being denied for so long.
He needs her closer than this.
Needs something.
It's so real - so unbearably good. Some ungodly mix of saliva and slick drips from those lips down over his chin.
And when he seals his lips around the bundle of nerves at her apex - licking and sucking greedily - a sound that isn't his imagination reaches his addled mind.
Miri's not snoring any more.
And that whining moan wasn't a figment of his imagination.
That was genuine.
Gods. Did he hear that right? Did she-
His mind is suddenly reeling - going into full self-preservation mode as the situation sinks in. He's frozen with his tongue pressed to the damn thing, mind racing.
Is she awake? Did she hear all this? Gods, of course she heard it. He's been practically growling while he's doing this, how could she not have heard him with those keen ears?
A fresh wave of mortification floods over him.
But it's not enough to overpower that desperate need that makes him slowly swipe his tongue over that soft pink heat, flicking over the firm bud at the top.
And Miri reacts in tandem. A sharp gasp - something like surprise, followed by a shuddering exhale.
Gale's pulse roars in his ears - half-terrified, half-elated - as that sound ripples through the quiet between their tents.
And he can’t not try it again. Needs to do the experiment to know.
Gods above, what has this damned artifact reduced him to?
Another slow lick, dragging deliberately from bottom to top before circling lazily around her apex like a question: Like that? Do you like that? Will you make another sound for me if I do it again?
He needs to hear more. Needs to know if she'll whimper or sigh or gasp if he sucks just right-
"Ah! Fenedhis-"
There's a rustling in the tent beyond before things go quiet again. The timing of that breathless moan of a curse is entirely too perfect to be a coincidence.
But experiments should be repeated.
Three times - that's the golden number, isn’t it? Two for testing, thrice for certainty. Three to know.
Listening so intently his own breath sounds loud to his ears, Gale’s lips close around that swollen peak again - *slow* this time - sucking lightly before pulling off with a sinful pop.
Waiting. Wanting. If she doesn't make another sound like that again-
The strangled cry she lets out is almost confused - somewhere beneath the thickness of arousal and pleasure.
Gale looks down at the device in his hand. And it looks different than before - puffy, flushed, open like the most beautiful bloom he's ever seen.
And sinfully, soaking wet. Arousal, clear as day.
He swallows thickly - staring down at the proof of her involvement in this. His thoughts scatter like a deck of tarot cards tossed into the wind when he realizes that she’s not just hearing him…
She's feeling him too.
And the realization crashes over his lust-addled mind with a sudden bolt of clarity.
"...the glass shall reflect the truth of desire."
Truth.
This cylinder didn't create an object. This isn't an illusion. Isn't a replica.
It's a portal.
His hips buck up into his fist as his cock throbs with renewed desperation - eyes locked on that impossible, dripping reality before him.
And that’s when he hears it. The sharp intake of breath from her tent - a low, muffled whimper like she's biting her own hand to stay quiet.
She's touching herself too.
The realization hits him like a lightning bolt and sends an entirely new kind of heat spiraling through him - one mixed with possessive pride and a desperate need to see if he can make her do it again.
With shaking hands, he brings the cylinder back to his lips. His tongue swipes hungrily over that swollen peak one last time before sliding lower- finally letting himself sink properly into that plush heat until his nose brushes against her clit.
All while listening so closely to the sounds beyond his tent for any noise from Miri. Anything beyond the roaring static in his head telling him to go harder- faster- yes, please more- right there-
Miri can't seem to bite back the ragged, growling moan of pleasure she lets loose. He can hear the sound of her moving amongst her bedding. Restless, rhythmic. Chasing the sensations he is giving her.
"Nnhh-" More rustling. And Gale pictures her arching her back for him. "Please-"
Gods, he's not even sure if she's conscious of what she's saying.
But he wants to know. He wants confirmation.
And he can’t stop himself. He pulls back with another wet, obscene noise to ask: "Please what?"
And waits with an intensity that has his blood roaring through his veins like molten fire. Waits with his heart in his throat-
"Gale-" Miri breathes his name like a pleading whine. So soft it's for his ears only. Breathless, ragged, panting. "More, please-"
His breath hitches - caught somewhere between stunned silence and something dangerously close to worship as he finally processes what that soft plea means.
Oh.
She knows.
She knows. She knows it’s him doing this to her - to her, not some faceless fantasy in the dark but Gale Dekarios himself licking into her like a man starved, and she still said more-
His head spins with the thought that he's the cause. That she's just as desperate and hungry for him, just as helplessly lost to his touch as he is in her. He shudders with a ragged breath and swallows thickly before bringing that perfect pink seam back to his mouth with renewed fervor.
“Gale…”
His name falling from her lips like a prayer is all the permission he needed - all the encouragement required for him to fully abandon restraint.
And now? Now he wants her screaming it.
Gale abandons the tight vice he held on himself - and instead sinks one of his fingers into that tight, hot heat with a groan into the softness between her thighs.
"More?" He repeats back to her softly, like an intimate promise. "You want more, Miri?"
The sound she makes is desperate and ragged. And her cunt squeezes around his finger almost greedily.
"Yes, Gale, please-" Her voice is rough like sin - more growl than word.
"As my lady commands."
He can't resist giving in, not now. Gods, he's wanted her for so long he never thought this could ever happen outside of his dreams. So when she begs him for more, when she says his name like that- he gives it to her.
Another finger joins the first, sinking in deep as his mouth and tongue resume what they were doing, determined to make her come apart like this.
Miri responds with a catch of breath, a fluttering sigh, a soft whimper. He can hear her moving restlessly in time with his fingers.
His heart thunders in his chest as he listens to her - feels her. This is all because of him.
He can’t tell anymore if the blood pounding in his ears is from lust or sheer euphoria - but he doesn’t care.
He keeps his movements steady - a slow, filthy slide of fingers as he fucks her on them with deliberate patience now, letting the drag just stretch enough to make her squirm before retreating.
Gale lets his hungry sounds fall free to make sure she knows just how much he's enjoying this too.
Her ragged cry is barely muffled - likely through teeth biting down onto her own fist.
He crooks his fingers to find that spot inside her that makes her gasp so sweetly and curls them just right with a desperate insistence. He needs to hear her again.
So he leans in, tongue swirling just a little faster, trying to coax those sounds from her lips.
"More?" He breathes, voice hoarse with need. "Tell me you want more, Miri... just say the word-"
He's met with a strangled whining growl.
"Need to feel you."
Gods, yes-!
His heart might just stop at those simple words. He's almost dizzy with it - the sheer thrill of hearing her panting that out to him, needing him as much as he does her, even if it's just like this.
Gods, he's dreaming-
He withdraws those two fingers slowly, almost reluctant to stop, to not keep feeling her around him. Then he brings them to his mouth, licking her slick arousal from them with an all too obvious groan as he savors it like a man who's been starving for years and finally having a taste.
And to his endless delight, she whimpers again.
"You want to feel me, love?" He breathes into her, all heat and hunger, more than eager to oblige.
"Yes- please-" Miri's gasps are pleading - edged with urgency. "Inside, Gale, please-"
He can't help the way his hips jerk forward at that - her desperate plea making him ache for her all over again. His cock throbs between his legs - hot and neglected and so close to spilling just from the sounds of her alone.
But by all the gods- if she wants him inside, he'll give it to her.
He pulls the device away from his mouth, staring down at it in awe for several breaths as he tries to steady himself.
At her impatient whine, he groans out, "I've got you, love."
And for a moment he almost grateful he can't see her now - the look on her face is potent enough in his imagination. In front of him he probably would have spilled well before now.
Slowly, he lays down on his back and positions her waiting heat above his straining length. And then agonizingly slow - so she feels every single inch and he doesn't lose his mind immediately - he guides her down. And he sinks in, inch by inch, into where she's already soaked and ready for him, until there's nothing but heat surrounding him on all sides.
A breath catches in his throat before it escapes as a low groan at just how tight- how perfect-
"Fuck." The curse is punched out of him when he bottoms out inside her with a sharp exhale - not letting himself move yet until they've both adjusted to this new sensation. "Gods above- you feel incredible-"
Miri's answering moan from the other tent is hoarse and cracked - edged with a feral sort of rumbling that gods help him he can feel where they're joined.
"Fenedhis- ohhh-"
And as soon as he thinks he can handle it - Gale starts dragging that silver tube- and her perfect, perfect core inside- up and down his length. He can feel the primal, desperate need in the way she moves with him.
That ragged cry of his name when he finally pulls her back down onto him again, filling her in one slow, deliberate stroke.
"Again," he rasps out, fucking up into that slick heat with a desperate urgency that's got him seeing stars behind his eyelids already. "Say it again."
He drags the cylinder up to just barely the tip before sinking back down. Listening to every muffled gasp and whimper from beyond their tents like they're prayers whispered directly into his ear.
"Gale-" Miri gasps sharply. "C-close-"
"Yes," he grits out between clenched teeth as his hips snap up with a sharp thrust - pleasure surging through him like wildfire as he feels that telltale tightening around him. "That's it, love. Come for me."
His grip tightens around that silver tube - deliberate movements growing harder, faster. The whole cylinder feels hot to the touch as he pumps it rapidly. Relentless and eager to feel her come undone for him.
He doesn’t stop even when she gasps sharply at the sudden change of pace. Just drags her back down onto his cock again and again until there’s nothing left but ragged breaths and shattered moans-
"Let go."
Miri makes a strangled sound, muffled like she's biting a pillow.
And then he feels it - Gale feels her squeeze and spasm around his length as she crashes over the precipice.
Because of him.
That thought alone is almost enough to send him spiraling into his own release - holding onto the cylinder so tightly that his fingers ache with it as he drags her up and down his cock through every single pulse of her pleasure.
He wants to draw it out - wants to make sure she feels every last wave of it before he lets himself go too. But she’s just too tight, too perfect, and the sounds coming from her tent are wrecked beyond belief.
“I can’t-” His breath hitches when another vicious clench around him sends sparks shooting up his spine. “Miri, I’m gonna-”
He only just manages to pull the device off and away in time as he spills with a shuddering cry.
Gods…
Gale’s head is thrown back on the blanket, eyes clenched shut while he tries to catch his breath. His heart's beating hard enough he can hear it roaring in his ears-still riding the high as he tries to come back to himself.
When his eyes finally crack open again, he lets his head loll to the side to look at the cylinder still clutched in his hand. The damn thing that started all this to begin with.
It's inert once more. A wobbling, shimmering, glass surface reflecting the colors of the room back at him.
And he'd almost think the whole thing a mad dream if he couldn't hear Miri's ragged panting from the tent next door.
He can't help the way a shiver runs through him at the sound. Even now, after everything, he still feels the low, simmering ache of need and want coursing through him, sharp and potent.
He swallows.
He wants more. But not tonight. Not yet. He needs to at least make an attempt at being a gentleman instead of letting himself get lost in her all over again.
He takes a breath.
"Miri?" He murmurs into the still air between them. "You still with me?"
Miri huffs a soft laugh - a meager thing tinged with amusement and embarrassment.
"Yes," comes her answer, the haze of exhaustion making her accent thick, "Still on this plane. You?"
Gale chuckles softly - half amusement and half relief. She doesn’t sound upset.
Thank the gods.
"Barely," he admits quietly as he drags a hand over his face before letting it drop to his chest. "But I think I'll survive."
There’s a pause where neither of them moves. Just breathing into the quiet between their tents, both waiting for something but unsure what.
He should say more. Gale knows he should say more. But his mind is still spinning with disbelief and lingering heat and gods above- all the ways this could have gone differently if they'd just been honest sooner.
But one thing at a time.
"...That was certainly an experience," he finally murmurs into the dark instead of saying any of those thoughts aloud. "Are you alright?"
"More than," she answers softly, and he can hear the satisfied grin. "You will have to explain that to me in the morning."
Despite still trying not to let his mind get carried away, he can't help the way his heart skips a beat at that. Her soft voice sending a new kind of heat through him and making his head spin.
Gale can tell himself there's no need for the way his mind is suddenly racing - that it's just the lingering lust, just the fatigue and the excitement and the utter shock of everything that just happened. But…
Gods, he was in trouble with her.
He lets out a shaky breath before responding softly.
"First thing. Promise."
"First thing," she agrees. He can hear the rustling of her getting settled in her bedding once more. "Goodnight, vhenan."
The endearment makes his heart twist with a sudden, desperate longing. The casual use of it now in the afterglow - as he lies awake and listens to her settling down in her tent - makes him realize just how badly he wants to walk the few steps between them and crawl into bed with her instead.
He has to resist the urge to ask her to say it again, to whisper it into his ear one more time and burn that word into his skin.
Instead he closes his eyes with a soft sigh.
"Goodnight, Miri," he whispers in return.