Chapter Text
Warm light streamed in through the intricate iron grates on the windows. Tabule had never figured out if it was sunlight or some other sort of strange astral light source. The shadows always seemed to be at a different angle, even though the meetings were scheduled at the same time each week. She chose not to worry about it.
Stepping into the House of Hope was a welcome relief from the Sword Coast’s hot and humid summer. At this altitude, the heat of Avernus was more of a suggestion someone forgot. The walls and floors, made of thick solid stone, along with a soft breeze from the windows kept the house cool.
Sometimes she did regret signing a contract and taking the easy way out. Other times she remembers just how deeply in the shit they all were and is just grateful everything is over. It was hard to imagine breaking into Raphael's house just to steal a singular magical artifact that he'd just outright offered to her.
And he hadn't even asked for her soul in return! Really. It would have been stupid not to sign the contract.
Of course it meant he would end up with another extremely powerful artifact, but she had the foresight of just asking the diabolist in Baldur’s Gate to revise the contract she'd been given and add a few clauses here and there - most importantly ‘Both parties to not attempt to kill, maim, injure or remove the other party under any circumstances ‘ and all other accompanying clauses to cover all the loopholes left by the previous ones - so that he would be forced to have her approve his plans before putting them into action.
Just thinking about it made her exhausted. No more adventuring for me, thanks. No matter how profitable. And it was profitable. At the end of everything she’d earned more than enough for a couple comfortable lifetimes, and the only downside was one weekly meeting to attend. People did more for less, really.
Rarely, Raphael even showed up on time. Whenever he did, she could count on everything going smoothly. She guessed this only happened when he was actually busy, and would rather spend the 15 minutes to get things out of the way as fast as possible instead of taking pleasure in being inconvenient.
Usually, though, she was kept waiting with nothing to do. As per their contract, he couldn’t outright cancel a meeting, but if either party didn't show then that week’s meeting was cancelled. The contract did not specify how long they had to wait before that. Unfortunately.
So, more often than not, she did just get fed up and leave. She had a life to get to, after all. One that wasn't just endless scheming and plotting.
All of it would have been more annoying if Haarlep weren't such great company. His line of work came with a lot of gossip and she, well. Had nothing better to do. And any opportunity to annoy Raphael was a win on both their books.
They spent long evenings talking about anything and everything. He always insisted on bringing out “the good stuff”. Sometimes it was the most delicious tea she’d ever tasted, served together with infinite varieties of tiny cakes and cookies. Sometimes it was fancy cheeses she’d never seen before, and rich expensive wines straight from Raphael’s very own private cellar. After all, if he wasn’t there, he couldn’t complain.
Today, after one bottle of wine with absolutely no sign of Raphael, Haarlep asks if she’d like to “see a fun trick”.
After some back and forth on what exactly fun meant, several unwise agreements on her part and yet another glass of wine, she’s left staring at herself, not in a mirror but in flesh. From the tip of her horns to the tip of her tail, Haarlep had become an exact copy of her.
The usual mess of leather straps and buckles Haarlep wore now looked even more striking against her pink skin. Holding up an arm to compare freckles, she sees the pattern not reversed like she’s used to, but repeated. As far as she can tell, the only difference between them is that Haarlep’s body is far warmer than her own.
They start slow. She pinches herself. Haarlep doesn’t react. She pinches him and feels it on her own arm.
After another bottle, she’s somehow on her own lap, feeding herself grapes.
She can feel them, cool and smooth at first, then a sharp burst of flavour, all without eating a single one. Just as Haarlep’s mouth - her mouth - finishes chewing she eats one herself, to compare.
For a while, he lets her stay there, transfixed by the ability to do something to another body and feel it in her own. His only response, each time, is lifting an eyebrow and chewing patiently.
She feeds him one and eats one at the same time, closing her eyes.
It feels different than as if she’d just eaten two grapes at once. It’s like the flavour is layered on top of itself. She can perceive both at once, one more faintly than the other, but where the sensations overlapped they were magnified.
Her own voice drags her out of it. It sounds odd, coming from someone else. “Neat, isn't it?”
She nods “it’s almost like I’m the one eating them…the flavour is definitely duller but. it's there.”
Haarlep sips the wine and her mouth waters. “So…What possessed you to sign a contract with him” he sounded like the wine had turned sour in his mouth.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time” she shrugs. “Are you sure you should be talking that way about Raphael?”
“Can’t a poor incubus complain about their employer?” He laughs. "Don't tell me you’re afraid of him…”
“No.” She answers a little too quickly. She tried not to think about the contract often. Even if her soul wasn't included in the price, it still felt dangerous. Because it was.
The way she saw it was: their agreement would stand as long as obeying it remained convenient enough for both parties. She hoped to never find out what Raphael considered inconvenient.
She reaches for the bundle of grapes again, but Haarlep stops her.
He holds one up to her mouth now. Slowly, gently, his thumb pushes it past her lips. She lets it stay there, inside of her. Moves her tongue around it, feels her mouth fill with saliva. The finger comes out with a wet pop and he places it into his own mouth. She watches him, a wave of heat passing through her. Chews. Swallows.
Did Raphael ever take the time to explore this body lending thing? Did he need to? If Haarlep and Raphael were always each other, and it seemed that they were, was there a point where the feelings would disconnect? Or was there constant feedback of taste, touch, smell.
“Have you ever done this sort of thing with him?”
It takes Haarlep a moment. And then, they let out a bark of laughter so sudden that it almost startles her. “No.” He stares, smile fading slowly.
He swirls the wine in his glass before taking a long sip. That was all she’d get out of him. She feels the bite of the wine down her throat and the warmth travelling down her chest. ”Oh, but enough about that spoiled brat.”
He kisses her.
The feeling is so confusing she instinctively pulls back. Spends a moment collecting herself. Looking at Haarlep. His mouth. Their mouth. Haarlep only sits there waiting, watching. She shifts in his lap, straddling his thigh.
They kiss again, deeply this time, the strange sensation of the inside of her own mouth overlaid on top of itself. The taste of wine. Tongue sliding against tongue against tongue. Grinding against him still, feeling soft moans on the back of their throat.
It’s easy to lose herself in the feeling, their hands all over each other. One finds a nipple, playing with it through fabric, another travels further down, presses into her, every movement drawing pleasure from an unexpected part of their bodies.
When she opens her eyes they’re in a different room, on top of soft sheets, amidst a mess of pillows, under a huge iron headboard. There’s a slight smell of sulfur in the air. She hears a soft trickle of water somewhere in the distance.
Before she can decide whether or not to take off her own clothes, she's being gently pushed down - gently - onto the bed and haarlep is lowering himself onto her face.
And what else is there to do? She has tasted herself before, of course, but only from her hands, or from another’s face. It's different from doing it to someone and different from having it done to her. She knows where and when to press with her fingers, but not with her tongue. The sensations it returns aren't precise enough to help much. Haarlep grinds against her tongue and she moans into her own cunt.
She holds Haarlep’s hips, guides them into a better position, caresses the base of their tail and feels shivers up her own spine.
After a particularly loud moan, Haarlep eased off the pressure. Is he teasing me or just pacing himself? Her cunt throbs without even being touched, her hips bucking almost in time with Haarleps. Her underwear must be soaked through.
Eventually she settles for just sticking out her tongue, letting Haarlep set the pace and use her as he pleases, grinding on her face until it's wet and sticky.
She can feel as he hits the peak, heat washes over her, pooling at her core. She works them both through it, holding onto him as he shakes over her, using his rising moans as a guide. When he finally slows down she's left at the edge, pressing her legs together chasing something, anything.
They stay there, him on top of her chest, her holding softly onto his hips as they both catch their breaths. Haarlep lets out one last “Oh”, but she's surprised to feel nothing along with it.
She means to ask if they're alright, untangling herself from between their legs, but then her eyes follow Haarlep's towards the door.
And there is Raphael, leaning against the doorframe, looking at them.