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Torbek can count on one, gnarled, clawed hand how many times something truly good has happened to him.
Maybe he's atoning for sins of a past life, maybe all the bad luck of the universe needs to gather somewhere. Whatever the case, Torbek's had a rough go of it — and that's putting it lightly.
Through the sickly haze of alcoholism and substance abuse, Torbek's early memories are watery and uncertain. He's sure he probably had a family, at some point. He's sure that things probably weren't always this bad.
Or maybe they were. That honestly wouldn't surprise him.
Torbek decides it's better to not dwell on the past. It stings in his chest and smells of ammonia and rot.
Besides, more good things have been happening to him lately.
The latest in Torbek's uncharacteristic string of good luck is the crew's decision to remove the painful pump contraption welded to his back.
Torbek had honestly made his peace with the device. It seemed that the best Gricko could do to 'heal' him was offer him a fruit infused with druidic magicks. The fruit was always delicious, and it did serve to soothe his aching bones and offer him some temporary relief — but the device would remain planted, vicious and unforgiving as it pumped liquid Witchlight through him.
That's why he's genuinely surprised when Morning Frost insists on being the one to remove Torbek's apparatus.
"It won't be a simple operation," Frost reasons, his brow furrowed as he studies the device. "We may be able to, uh, utilize Gricko's healing to aid in the recovery, but I believe the process will require a steady hand and a focused mind."
Their crew is standing in a semi-circle in the tent Gideon had set up — it's a well-used and dingy tent leftover from the Carnivale that they used to run, but it serves as a place for them to rest and recuperate after their battle. The inside is supplied with some second-hand furniture that the crew had scavanged from who-knows-where, but it's cozy and warm and Torbek's honestly just happy to have a place to sleep.
"Hey, no complaints from me," Gideon scoffs, his burly arms crossed over his chest. "I don't wanna touch him. No offense, Torbek."
"None taken," Torbek shrugs.
Frost's eyes dart to Gideon with something like disapproval, but it's too quick for anyone to notice. Well, Torbek notices, but he's not sure what to make of it.
Mister Kremy has been nodding along to the conversation, eyeing the purply, glowing canisters in question. "Well, now we know takin' it out won't kill him. If ya think you've got it covered, go right ahead."
"I wasn't asking for permission from, uh, any of you," Frost's tone gets sharp and cold like it sometimes does. He looks to Torbek. "I'm asking you if that's what you want."
Torbek feels lost as he stares blankly down at the Tabaxi. "Uhhh," he croaks, "Does… Torbek want… the pumps taken out?"
"No, I'm asking if you'd like to entrust the removal to me." Frost's gaze is intimidatingly focused on him.
"Torbek isn't really sure what you're asking," he admits, scratching the back of his neck with long, clawed fingers. "Torbek wants it all taken out, if it's possible."
"I will do my best." Frost turns to the rest of the group. "We're going to need some privacy. Gricko, I'll come get you when we're finished."
Gideon and Mister Kremy share a sideways glance, but say nothing.
"Okay!" Gricko agrees cheerily. He takes Hootsie's head in both of his hands and squishes her feathery face affectionately. "Let's go Hootsie! Uncle Frosty's gonna pull all those nasty tubes out of Uncle Torbek and make him feel aaaaaallll better."
Hootsie chirps and purrs happily as she follows her father out of the room.
Mister Kremy taps his cane on the ground a few times and turns to leave, Gideon close behind him. "Alright, then, fellas. We'll leave you to it."
Torbek waves sheepishly to the Genasi and the Gatorfolk as they exit.
Frost directs him to lie down on the worn, greyish-green couch pushed against the wall. The cushions smell like salt and charcoal, for some reason, and Torbek briefly wonders what Gideon and Mister Kremy get up to in here.
Torbek is too big for the couch, and his long, spindly limbs hang awkwardly off the sides. His back is sufficiently exposed, however, and Frost leans over him, investigating the contraption in more detail.
"I really wish we had done this sooner," Frost mutters, almost to himself.
"Torbek understands," Torbek's words are muffled as his face is pressed into the couch cushion, "there wasn't really a good time."
"That might be true, but— it just looks so … painful." Frost's touch is feather-light as he gently feels around the skin where the canisters are joined to Torbek's back.
"Oh, it is."
Frost pauses, his paw resting on the space between Torbek's shoulder blades.
"I'm sorry, Torbek."
Torbek lifts his head from the cushion and cranes his neck to look at him. "Wh- why?"
Frost's expression is pained and solemn. "We should have made time. We-we should have helped you. We shouldn't have just let you deal with this— It-it's horrific."
"N-no, it's really okay," Torbek assures him. He's not sure why the look Frost gives him makes his heart pinch in his chest. "Torbek has definitely been through worse."
He meant for that statement to sound encouraging, but Frost's ears flatten against his head and his shoulders droop.
"That's… awful."
Torbek isn't really sure what he should do with the bitter discomfort working its way up his throat. Something stings at his eyes, so he shrugs and looks away, picking at the fabric of the couch.
Frost takes in a deep breath. "What's important is we're dealing with it now. Hopefully, once this is all over, you won't have to hurt anymore."
The Tabaxi takes a seat on the edge of the couch next to Torbek's ribs, giving himself plenty of access to the apparatus. Torbek sees Frost's glowing, minty-green mage-hand appear in the corner of the room, and he watches as it grabs a few rolls of bandages and floats over to them.
"I'm going to begin with the tubing. The… affected areas will be smaller and easier to wrap quickly."
"Oooookayyy," Torbek tries not to sound nervous.
"You can tell me to stop at any point, okay?" It's apparently not convincing.
"Okaaayyy." He responds through gritted teeth.
Frost begins the arduous process of removing the many, many tubes protruding from Torbek's arms and neck and legs and spine. He makes smooth, precice cuts into the skin where the ducts dig into his flesh. He pulls slowly and gently at the tubes, occassionally pausing when Torbek's breathing grows pained and uneven.
Luckily, the tubes do not reach too deep beneath Torbek's skin, and it only takes about four or five minutes to remove one. After Frost finishes pulling it out, he quickly disinfects the area and his mage-hand jumps into action, tenderly wrapping the weeping wounds left behind.
The slimy, shhlk sound of the tubes pulling free makes Torbek sick to his stomach, but he grinds his teeth and tells himself that he will feel better when it's finished.
All things considered, it's not the most painful thing Torbek has experienced. He's been slashed and beaten and maimed in battles — he's even been killed at one point, though his memory of it is hazy and unsettling, like something out of a dream.
"That's the last tube," Frost finally exhales shakily, and Torbek realizes he had been holding his breath. "Are you feeling alright?"
Torbek nods slowly, his face still pressed firmly into the couch.
His limbs feel heavy and his body burns with a mean ache, but the chafing pressure of the ducts beneath his skin is gone. He feels looser, more relaxed.
"Do you want to take a break? You might, uh, want to sit up for a while before I remove the main device." Frost rubs his velvety paws across the small of Torbek's back, causing him to shiver.
Torbek groans wearily as he sits up. He feels raw and exhausted, like he just woke up with a hangover.
Frost moves to sit beside him, arms slightly outstretched towards him like he's worried Torbek will fall over.
Torbek is preoccupied trying to figure out why seeing Frost's paws is so striking. Everytime Frost touches him or reaches out, Torbek's eyes are drawn to them, staring at the little pads on his fingers, or the way his claws extend or retract with his movement.
Then he remembers that the Tabaxi's paws are usually clasped and hidden beneath the large sleeves of his robes.
Frost usually keeps himself tucked away, posture rigid and reserved. It's so weird to see him like this, purposefully putting himself in Torbek's way, physically reassuring him.
"… Are you alright, Torbek?" Frost is looking up at him, concern plain on his face.
"Uhhn, eh, y-yeah," Torbek turns away, realizing he had been staring.
The touch is really nice, and Torbek doesn't want him to stop.
He feels… guilty, though.
It feels too satisfying, it makes his skin warm and sets something fluttering about in his chest. He shouldn't feel that way when his friends touch him. He should be able to handle a companionable pat on the back without his pulse racing.
"How are you feeling?" Frost inquires, his head tilting as he studies Torbek's expression.
Torbek rolls his shoulders and straightens up a little, letting himself feel every inch of his body. His brain turns over the sensation, tries to decide what is regular ol' everyday Torbek pain, and what is new, fresh, ripped open.
"Torbek already feels a lot better," he reports. "Those tubes had really made Torbek's joints all stiff."
"That's very good," Frost nods, looking him over. "Now, think about how nice it will feel to get those canisters out."
It's been five years, Torbek wants to say. He almost admits that he can't remember how his body felt before.
But something twinges and pulls in the middle of his ribcage.
There's a sinister echo of something in his hindbrain — there's an idea planted in the back of his mind that says he deserves it. He feels blood crusted on his hands and caught in his fur, and his mouth tastes of copper.
Suddenly, something soft and warm presses against the top of Torbek's crooked, clawed hands.
He looks down to find Frost's paw placed gingerly on his hand — the Tabaxi is looking him over, clearly worried.
"Torbek," his tone is chiding, but gentle. "If something is wrong, you can tell me. I don't want to hurt you."
"No, no, it's not that!" Torbek responds hurriedly. "Torbek… just has time to think. Now that Torbek's friends aren't in mortal danger anymore."
"Mm," Frost nods. "Time to think is certainly something new for us."
"Yeeeeaahhh," Torbek absentmindedly rubs at his arm, briefly confused by the texture of linen wrapped around his forearm.
"Would… you like to tell me what you're thinking about?"
Torbek grimaces, unconsciously picking at the bandage. His skin feels prickly and his long ears sink back behind his head.
"Torbek was just looking at your… uhhhh, Torbek was wondering why he doesn't usually see your hands. Paws. Uh, pands."
He's surprised to hear a quiet chuckle. He looks down and sees a rare, subdued smile on the Tabaxi's face.
"Pands…" Frost repeats, amused. He looks down at his paws. "No, I suppose you wouldn't have seen them much. I, uh, don't like showing them to most people, honestly."
"Oh, T-Torbek didn't mean to look at them!"
"That's quite alright," Frost assures him. "It's— It's okay if you see them."
Torbek's breath gets caught in his throat. The fur on the back of his neck prickles and stands up, and he tries to pretend like he feels normal about that statement.
Frost holds his arm up, his paw splayed out so Torbek can see all of his finger pads, and the heart-shaped pad on his palm.
Something cold and hot at the same time shoots through Torbek's spine and makes his face feel warm and flushed. He tells himself the Witchlight in his veins is just doing its thing.
Suddenly, Torbek's arm moves with a mind of its own, and he finds his hand palm-to-palm with Frost's.
The comparison between them couldn't be more striking — Torbek is all ugly, gnarled angles and sharp points, like the branches of a dead tree. Frost's fur is plush and the color of persimmons, his pawpads are rounded and soft.
Frost stares at the spot where their bodies join, his expression surprised and inquisitive.
"Your hands are… quite large."
Something in Frost's tone makes Torbek shudder, and he watches the tremor echo down through his spindly limbs. Frost notices him shake, and looks up at him.
"Are— is everything okay?" His tail freezes in place behind him, poised to leap into action.
"Uhgnh, y-yeah. Torbek just got, uh, cold." Torbek is a horrible liar.
"Oh, I can grab a blanket for you, if you'd like?" Frost starts to pull away, looking towards the wicker basket stuffed with blankets in the corner of the tent.
Torbek's hand instinctively clasps around Frost's paw. He's not sure what he's doing. He just wants to stay like this for a little longer.
Don't go, he thinks.
Frost pauses before sinking back into the couch. His yellow eyes are fixed on Torbek's, analyzing him, seeing through him.
Torbek? A voice that is not Torbek's own calls softly through his brainmatter.
Panic shoots through Torbek's body like a lightning bolt, and his head whips around, scanning the room for the source of the voice.
Torbek. It's me, Frost. He looks down and sees the Tabaxi staring at him, eyebrow raised. I am speaking to you in your mind.
"You're-" Torbek starts to speak, but then feels very silly.
Torbek forgot you could do that, he thinks back.
A look of confusion passes over Frost's features. Didn't you call out to me?
What? Torbek tilts his head.
You… you called out. You said, 'don't go.'
Creeping, crawling embarrassment worms through Torbek's fur, billows out across his shoulders. He pulls his hand away from Frost a little too quickly.
"Uuuhm," Torbek says out loud. "Can— can we take out the big ones now?" His voice is strained and weird.
Frost doesn't respond for a few moments. He looks Torbek up and down, like he's trying to puzzle him out, then he shakes his head.
"You're right. Let's get those out of you."
He has Torbek lie back down on the couch before he fetches a numbing ointment from his pack. The topical is frigid against Torbek's skin, but he had been so sweltering with embarrassment that the cold is a welcome relief.
The contraption itself is melded deep into the flesh of Torbek's back, the mechanisms keeping it in place have sunken further into the raw, purple-red skin. Frost begins the extraction by clipping the fur in that area, then begins marking where each of the jagged clamps digs into the Bugbear's back.
Removing the canisters takes a significant amount of time. Torbek's body is taut and shuddering through the entire process, every muscle is aching and tense as pain rips through him. The contraption had worked itself deeper into him, every day sinking further into his flesh, claiming more of him.
Frost apologizes every time he has to make deeper and deeper cuts, as he pulls away the nearly-rotted skin and muscle. The locking mechanisms make a sickening, squelching, crunching sound as they're unlocked one by one.
When the first canister, the one on the left, comes free with a bloody, gut-wrenching pop, Torbek chokes out a pained scream.
Frost works quickly to treat the wound — his mage hand helps him apply sutures to the gaping, putrid injury.
"I'm going to remove the one on the right, and then we'll bandage both of them. Just hang on." Frost's voice is a hoarse whisper, and Torbek can feel him shaking with effort.
Torbek hangs on. He bites into the couch cushion, bearing the pain by focusing on the weird, salty, bitter taste on his tongue.
The second canister disengages from his flesh with a wet shck, and Torbek's vision grows dark around the edges. His body is wracked with blazing-hot agony, the skin of his back feels like a hide stretched out over a tanning rack.
Frost quickly sews up the wound and begins wrapping Torbek's entire upper torso. Whatever medicinal salve he had applied to Torbek's back starts to take effect, and a cool, numbing relief washes over him.
As soon as the pain begins to subside, Torbek lets out a breathy, gravelly moan. His great, shaggy body relaxes into the couch, and he feels like he's been hollowed out.
Frost's smooth, warm paws press into his skin, tenderly massaging his lower back. Having the weight quite literally lifted from his shoulders, Torbek actually feels dizzy with relief. An instinctual, grumbling purr begins to rumble through his throat — a gutteral, goblinoid way of expressing gratitude and satisfaction.
Torbek half-realizes that Frost probably won't recognize the intent behind the purring, as he doesn't speak Goblin, but he's too tired to explain.
He begins to drift into a light, lazy sleep, his body spent and exhausted from the extraction.
Torbek?
He jumps, lifting himself from the couch so fast that his head spins.
Frost reaches out and steadies him, his tail twitching and waving nervously.
No— Torbek, it's still Frost. I'm still speaking to you in your mind.
Oh, right. Torbek thinks sheepishly. He allows Frost to lower him back down onto the couch, this time lying on his back.
As his spine unfurls against the plush couch, the burning muscles of his back are finally offered respite. Tears of relief well up and blur his vision — Torbek realizes it's been five years since he's been able to simply lie prone like this.
Does it still hurt? A-are you alright? Frost has retrieved a blanket and is fussing over him, trying to make sure he's as comfortable as possible.
Torbek can finally lie down again, he thinks, his mind unfocused and bleary.
Something pained and guilty paints Frost's features, but he shakes his head and moves on.
The, uh, operation is finished, so you can rest now. We'll go get Gricko when you feel like you can eat. Is that- Is that alright?
Torbek just closes his eyes and nods, sleepy and agreeable.
Frost tugs the blanket up across Torbek's chest, and realizes that the Bugbear's legs are too long to be covered. So, he fetches a second blanket and tosses it over Torbek's lower half.
It's a simple gesture, but it makes Torbek's heart melty and warm.
I'll let you get some sleep. Frost assures him and turns to leave.
Don't go.
Torbek can't keep the thought from clawing out at Frost's mind, reaching, begging for him to stay.
There's a moment of silence.
Torbek didn't mean to—
Suddenly, there's a pleasant, weighted warmth at his side. Torbek peeks one eye open. The couch is definitely a little too small for both of them, but Frost has curled up next to him, his velvety, sunset fur luxurious and lovely against Torbek's coarse, dark, hairy coat.
This close, this snug, pressed against Torbek's protruding ribs — he smells like scrolls and fresh dewdrops and mint leaves.
Torbek rolls onto his side, carving out a little more space on the couch as he opens his arms up and wraps them around Frost's form. The Tabaxi lets out a little surprised chuff, but settles comfortably against Torbek's body.
If Torbek wasn't delirious from painkillers and bloodloss, he would be freaking out.
Frost hardly lets any of the crew get close to him. The last time Gideon tried to pat him on the shoulder, he had jumped nearly three feet off the ground. And yet he's here, cozy and curled up, enveloped within Torbek's stringy limbs.
Something thrums pleasantly in Frost's throat and chest, and it takes Torbek a second to realize that he's … purring.
Gooey, affectionate warmth fills Torbek's brain and spills over his entire body. His muscles are finally relaxed and his bones don't twist and ache anymore — Frost is willingly cuddling with him.
Torbek's life has been a brutal collection of some of the worst fates to befall one, single, sad Bugbear. But lying here on this smelly, soft couch, covered in bandages, and holding a purring Morning Frost against his chest, Torbek feels like the luckiest goblinoid in all of Avantris.
He slips into a comfortable, drowsy sleep, his senses drowned in Frost's scent and purring and incredibly soft fur.
For the first time in maybe his entire life — Torbek doesn't dream.
He's eventually pulled from his lavish, nightmare-less sleep by a soft whisper tickling through his brainstem.
Torbek?
He recognizes Frost's familiar, measured intonation.
Torbek doesn't open his eyes, but he grunts a groggy, throaty noise out in response.
Oh, good, you're awake.
Torbek grunts again. His body feels balmy and relaxed and sleepy and perfect. Everything is perfect.
Uh, Torbek? There's a note of nervousness, or maybe shyness to Frost's voice. Maybe we could, uh, rearrange…
Torbek almost musters enough wakefulness to think up a reply, but a sensation shoots up through his spinal cord and alerts every nerve in his body before he can respond.
Apparently, during his soft and dreamless rest, another part of Torbek was very much awake. How long has Frost been waiting for him to wake up while Torbek's pulsing, flushed cock ruts up against his rear?
Torbek's entire body becomes rigid, and he quickly pulls his arms up and away from Frost.
"Torbek is sorry!!" his voice is cracked and hoarse. His head is spinning again. "Torbek was just sleeping, Torbek promises—"
He expects for Frost to leap off the couch with feline grace, but the Tabaxi simply rolls over to face him.
"Torbek," his tone isn't upset in the slightest. His pupils are wide with curiosity and amusement, and his ears are perked up. "It's okay."
He says those words slowly, allowing Torbek to really hear and process them.
"It— but, Torbek— you—" Torbek feels like his brain is turning into soup.
Gently and deliberately, Frost reaches out and places his paws against Torbek's heaving chest. The pressure is soothing and certain.
"I… Haven't had the time to properly explain this to you, Torbek," Frost's voice has lowered to a soft whisper. "But I like being with you. Like this."
Torbek wonders if he died during the surgery.
"B-but— even with… the smell?" Torbek's whisper is more like a scratchy growl.
Frost grimaces for a second, but it turns into a smile. "It's… not that bad. We should still bathe you, obviously, but— yes, even with the smell."
Torbek gawks at him, genuinely uncertain of what he should do now. Of course, it's at this moment that Torbek's needy member decides to remind him of its existence.
He can feel it jump and twitch, spurred into action by the way Frost is whispering to him, the way he has pulled himself closer, the way he is looking up at him.
Torbek has never been in this situation before. He's still not entirely convinced that this is actually happening.
"We… Obviously, we don't have to do anything, if you don't want to…" Frost allows his sentence to trail off, a little twinge of nervousness overtaking him.
"T-Torbek wants to uh, do something." Torbek says it a little too fast, his throat is incredibly dry.
Frost's expression twists into something lurid and vixenish. "Well then," his voice has a purr to it. "What would you like to do, Torbek?"
Torbek's hands are shaking as he places them on Frost's hips. He can hear his own breathing as he tugs nervously at the hem of the verdant green cloak.
"Are you, uh, gonna tell me? It's not like I can read your— oh, wait." Frost makes himself laugh as he puts his arms around Torbek's neck. He pulls the Bugbear closer until their foreheads are touching.
I have a few guesses, actually. Frost's voice reverberates through Torbek's brainstem. Torbek feels something shuffle around in his mind, rooting through his thoughts.
Do you want me to undress?
Torbek nods, numbly, desperately, like he's under a spell.
I was hoping you'd take it off of me.
Torbek springs to action, his branch-like arms surprisingly powerful and agile as he pulls Frost out of the robes. He stares at Frost like a starving dog looks at a fresh steak.
He drinks it all in — Frost's stripes continue across his back and sides and down his arms, there are a few that accent the arch of his hips, the curve of his ribs. Frost's body is compact and stout, but soft and pliable, like a pillow. He shivers a little under Torbek's scrutiny.
Don't just stare, he chides.
Torbek swallows.
His touch is timid and unsure as he lets his hands drift over Frost's plush body. The Tabaxi's fur is impossibly soft and velveteen under his gnarled fingers. Feeling him up like this — great wandering hands relishing in every soft curve, memorizing the way Frost's face scrunches when he palms the soft flesh just below his navel — it's addicting.
Torbek is pretty sure every ounce of blood in his body has traveled into his cock, because he's ridiculously lightheaded.
Do you, uh, what do you… think? Frost's pupils are big and round as he looks almost pleadingly up at him.
Frost, you're… Torbek's mind is fuzzy and warm and his mouth is suddenly creating so much spit. …So beautiful.
The Tabaxi's purring grows louder, and Torbek can feel it thrumming against his chest. Frost cups Torbek's face in his paws and brings their faces closer. Torbek can taste his crisp, gingery breath.
Frost slowly pulls him closer and closer, inch by inch, agonizingly slow. Their lips are just barely touching, and Torbek is suddenly very aware of his own breathing. Frost moves his paw to trace one of Torbek's tusks, his gaze is admiring, contemplating.
Burning, ambery-yellow eyes affix themselves to Torbek's.
Can I kiss you?
Torbek is terrible at kissing.
I can teach you.
Torbek leans into him, allowing their mouths to collide in a messy tangle of sharp teeth and hot breath. Frost kisses the space between Torbek's tusks, gentle and explorative.
He jumps when Frost slips a tongue in through his jagged teeth — his tongue is shockingly rough, like sandpaper, and the friction makes something light up in Torbek's brain.
Torbek closes his eyes and leans into the kiss, his own long tongue worming its way into Frost's mouth, dancing and sliding in and around his teeth, pulling him in closer.
You're not terrible. I don't know who told you that, Frost doesn't pull away from the kiss, but he raises an eyebrow.
Torbek wants to taste more. The thought escapes him — it's a primal, gutteral, desirous thought that sends a tremor through him, stands his fur up on end.
Frost stares wide-eyed at him, ears pulled forward in alarm.
A scarlet blush slowly blooms across the Tabaxi's snout and cheeks. Torbek begins to pull away from the kiss.
UhhHHh, Torbek meant— Torbek was, uh, gonna say—
You may.
Torbek freezes. He can feel drool beginning to drip along one of his tusks. His pulse is deafening in his ears.
Torbek… may what?
If you'd like to… taste me, you may.
Their mouths finally break away, and Torbek's vision is spinning and blurry. Stunned and kiss-drunk, he stares down at Frost.
He's suddenly very aware of his borderline-painful erection pushing desperately against Frost's thighs. His member is throbbing and bright pinkish red, and it glistens with a slicky sheen. Every little movement sends blazing bolts of pleasure up and across Torbek's entire body.
This is way different than jacking off.
Torbek's entire body is excited and on alert, it feels like all of his sensitivity has been cranked up a level. There's a rushing to his pulse, an instinctual thrill he hadn't felt in years. He feels like an engine, primed and roaring to go.
With an unnatural level of speed, Torbek pulls and lifts and pins Frost beneath him against the couch. Torbek's hulking form seems to blot out the lantern light of the tent, and his eyes cast a soft, magenta glow that he can see in the reflection of Frost's eyes.
He doesn't say anything, but drags his gaze down Frost's form again, drinking in the sight of the Tabaxi shuddering and blushing under him. Frost looks up at him with a fearful desire.
Torbek leans down and plants sloppy, toothy kisses on Frost's chest, down along his ribs, on the soft skin just above his hips, down against his thighs — Frost gasps.
His body tenses and jumps as Torbek's mouth makes contact with the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. Torbek memorizes the taste of him, the signature scent of Frost's skin, the strangled moan that escapes his throat.
Torbek is reverent, devout as he lowers his maw down to Frost's groin — as he breathes in the smell of the soft, wet, pink flesh there.
He's actively drooling now, long lines of saliva sticking to the couch, to Frost's fur. Arousal is making his brainmatter sticky and warm.
He spins out his tongue — it's impossibly long and flexible, a bright pink fading to a deep magenta purple. It twirls and spools from his mouth, longer and longer until it pulls against the soft, damp fur between Frost's legs.
Frost gasps again, subconsciously pulling his thighs together around Torbek's head. Torbek wastes no time in digging in further and working his slick tongue into Frost's opening. Frost breathes out a genuine, honest-to-gods moan, a sound Torbek has never heard him make.
Torbek sets to work, dutifully pushing and pulling his tongue into the hot, wet, slippery flesh there. He slurps up and around the Tabaxi's soft, pink cock, savoring the way it pulses and throbs.
"Ah, ahh- Torbek," Frost's voice is a soft whimper. "Please— more—"
Hooo boy.
His tongue thrusts and squelches into Frost, filling him up, memorizing his insides. He chews softly and slobbery on the plush, delicate flesh between Frost's thighs. Great claws grasp possessively around the Tabaxi's legs, pulling him further into Torbek's drooling maw, threatening to eat him whole.
"That's— ah, that's— that's very good, Torbek," Frost mutters, his eyes fluttering, tail twitching in delight.
Torbek thinks maybe he died and this is heaven. That would honestly balance it all out. He's been abused and kicked down and betrayed and captured and experimented on and killed and blighted with every Fae curse under the sun. It's only fair that he gets to eat Frost out on a smelly couch in heaven
He studies the way Frost's body squeezes and tenses around his tongue, how the Tabaxi twists and squirms at the sensation.
Liquid heat pools between Torbek's hips, radiating up through every nerve, burning up his brainstem like a wick.
Frost's breathing has quickened, gasping and needy as he grinds into Torbek's unrelenting tongue. His claws dig into the cushions beneath them, his muscles taut.
"Tor—Torbek," Frost utters his name like it means something. Like a Torbek is a good thing to be.
The Tabaxi's cunt is wicked hot and pulsing in Torbek's mouth. When Frost comes — burning, shuddering, panting, crying out — Torbek drinks up every last drop, like its his last meal.
"Ahh, haah— fuck," Frost is adorably flustered and spent, his fur raised, his whiskers askew.
Torbek finally frees his tongue after lapping up Frost's mess. He wipes his mouth with his arm, feeling delirious and high.
"Torbek reeeeeaally liked that," his voice is gravelly and wanting.
"Sit— sit back," Frost weakly pushes Torbek onto his back. "Let me—"
A familiar, minty glow — Frost's mage-hand appears before him. It takes Torbek a second to figure out what's happening, and suddenly his twitching, drooling cock is enveloped in the cool, buzzing magick of the mage-hand.
The thrumming spell pulls and rubs Torbek's enlarged member, psionic energy making his body feel electric, lightning hot. The mage-hand works its way up to the tip, fondling the dripping head. It drags all the way down to the base, to where his knot throbs and bulges with need.
"Hhagh— hhrhghh," Torbek grumbles unintelligibly.
He doesn't know how to ask for more. He doesn't know how to be loved, to be pleasured like this. He's only ever done this to himself. He doesn't know how to let someone else do all the work — he can't ask for more when this is already better than he deserves.
Do you want more?
Wow, Torbek is really bad at concealing his thoughts.
The mage-hand hums and tightens around his cock, beginning to wring him out in earnest, squeezing and dragging and tugging the length of it. Torbek's body responds instinctually, automatically — his muscles contract and jump, he thrusts into the spell, something animalistic overtaking him.
Frost is settled between Torbek's legs, watching him twitch and hump into the mage-hand. His paws wander along the Bugbears thighs, caress the tuft of fur leading up to his navel.
Is it good?
Torbek can only nod — his brain has been turned into liquid arousal, and it spills out of his ears onto his shoulders and down through his ribcage.
The mage-hand moves faster, pulling and milking Torbek, working him into a frenzied, panting mess. Torbek feels something tear and pop between his shoulder blades, and he foggily thinks he's torn a stitch. The prickle of pain is not nearly enough to stop him — his need to breed is in full force now, and a little injury is not going to dissuade him.
Torbek's speed and strength is uncanny as he all-but tackles Frost to the couch, dispelling the mage-hand in the process. He arranges their bodies so his cock presses against Frost's thighs.
There's a wet shhhlfft as Torbek thrusts his member between Frost's legs, little stars in his vision. It's the perfect amount of silky soft pressure, and he fucks into the Tabaxi's plush thighs like his life depends on it.
Frost lets out a surprised chuff, that crimson blush spreading across his shoulders and down his chest. His eyelashes flutter and he squeezes his legs together, almost appreciatively.
Torbek fucks into him, dizzy with pleasure. He's certain he has never felt this good in his entire life.
Frost grinds his hips into the movement, pitching and roiling into Torbek's thrusts. Something boils and churns in Torbek's gut, burning and sizzling into every inch of him. White-hot pleasure flashes through his brainstem and steals his breath for a minute.
He hadn't realized how close he was until it's already upon him, and he comes gasping and bucking into the spot between Frost's thighs. Sticky, gooey heat erupts from his cock and pours all along the Tabaxi's legs and tail.
Frost makes a face like, This is going to be a pain to clean up, but there's a satisfied smile in his eyes.
Torbek collapses against him, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His body is well and truly exhausted. He's also pretty sure the wounds on his back have torn open.
He finds his mouth heavy and his throat coarse. Everything tastes like sex and salt, and he's very tired. Torbek decides to close his eyes, just for a moment.
The cold, buzzing magick of the mage-hand prods him firmly in the ribs, spurring him awake.
"Torbek!" Frost's voice is a strained whisper. "Wake up!"
Torbek makes a strangled, grumbly growling sound.
"You are quite adorable when you're sleepy, but it's been fiften minutes and I need you to get off of my fucking legs!" Frost hisses, pushing and trying to free himself from Torbek's weight.
The Bugbear sits himself up groggily. "Rhrhgh… Torbek is—" he pauses to yawn. "—Arrhgh. Torbek is sorry."
"That's—that's alright," Frost assures him, having pulled his legs free, he's massaging them, trying to get some blood flow going again. "It wasn't so bad at first, I, uh, was actually rather comfortable."
Torbek doesn't respond, too busy smacking his lips and rubbing at his eyes. He's completely drained.
"I should go get Gricko, so we can get, uh, you some food," Frost stands up from the couch, stretching himself out fully.
Torbek stares at the perfect, jagged patterns of the stripes along Frost's back. He admires the soft curves between the Tabaxi's ribs and hips. He finds his hands reaching out instinctively, wrapping around Frost's waist and pulling him back onto the couch.
"T-Torbek—!"
Frost lets out a little yell as they fall backwards. They end up in a spooning position again, Torbek's back to the wall, Frost subdued within his spindly arms.
Torbek lets out a mighty sigh and his eyelids start to droop again.
"Well. I suppose this isn't as bad. We can rest a little while longer." Frost relents.