#ANYWAY I HOPE IM NOT TOO LATE TO POST THIS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vllergy · 8 months

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emerges from the ether for 5 seconds before vanishing again--i don't post here often i go through phases, the moon has phases i have phases whatever but i've been playing a lot of b@lders g@ate and while i don't think i'll ever feel comfortable writing canon character content (maybe h@lsin??? g@le??? who knows) this one NPC interaction had me by the throat. feat: tw: canon courtesan/sex worker NPC, kink!reader, second person narration since the game is like that, hunky sneezy drow man, honestly a lot of build up for little payoff im sorry idk what happened. i also don't know the word count im useless (dialog is in-game dialogue up until the lil time skip to his room, then it's all me baybbyeee)

The drow is one of the most handsome you’ve ever seen. Not that you expected him to be ugly, of course. The fabled drow twins of Sharress’ Caress are known far and wide for their talents as well as their beauty. Its just, seeing them in person is quite different from sustaining on mere rumor alone. Sorn Orlith, as he introduces himself, is rather muscular for a drow. He stands nearly a good head taller than you with a broad, brazenly defined chest. His outfit is nothing more than a metal cage topped over his heavy shoulders and flared out down his sternum like witch’s fingers, pointing towards an abdomen taut with muscle.

His long skirt rides around his hips but you can still see the shadow of indents against bluish-gray skin there, as if they are inviting you to take a closer look. They likely are. Nothing about his appearance is not meticulously crafted to draw you in. From the slight sheen on his lips that are plush and naturally the color of ripe blueberries, to the way his wintry hair is falls effortlessly back from his face in perfect waves. He is a vision, and yet his eyes are not cold and imperious like you might expect. They’re warm. Inviting. Somehow kind, despite what kind of debauchery goes on in a place like this.

You ask him how he ended up here in the first place. Apparently, the Underdark isn’t kind to male courtesans. Also, he was bored.

“The entirety of drow culture is obsessed with bondage beyond reason. While such activities have their charms, I yearned to reach greater depths.” He gives a dazzling smile. “And there is no society on this planet more laterally, imaginatively and confusingly depraved as that of Baldur’s Gate. Although of late, I do feel I’ve seen everything. Perhaps you’ll show me something new?”

Your throat goes dry.

“I’m…glad you’re happy here,” you manage out.

Sorn laughs, but not unkindly “I’d have to restrain myself far more than any play-bindings do if I worked in another field. This is a place where I can be myself boundlessly.”

His arms widen, emphasizing the violet taut flesh of muscle in his shoulders and biceps. You do your best not to stare.

“There are so many who come to me speaking of a fixation that no one else has ever been able to share with them…” he leans close, “And never will again.

He smells of bergamot and brandy. It’s intoxicating. “A once in a lifetime moment of passion. Every day. What could be better? Don’t you want to try it?”

You do. And he can tell. His grin widens, almost wolfish.

“Trust me, you don’t want to miss my signature Menzoberranzan Love Trick.”

—

With the door to Sorn’s private room shut, you feel a sense of calm overwhelm you. The room is beautiful—long enough to be someone’s home, crystals and plants glowing in every corner, a bed surrounded by flowers, shadows in all the right places. It looks like it was plucked free from the most beautiful parts of the Underdark and brought here to Wyrms Crossing. It feels comforting. Safe.

“Now, are you going to tell me about this little secret of yours? Or would you prefer to keep me in the dark?”

Sorn’s voice startles you and he slips a hand around your waist, nosing at your neck as he comes from behind you. He releases you at the reaction, but doesn’t make a show of it. He’s masterful at what he does. Reading his partner, gauging their comfort level, adjusting and maneuvering as necessary. Your blushing cheeks must give you away because he gives you an encouraging smile instead and reaches for your wrists.

“Come, let us sit first. I find it’s easier to talk like that.”

He leads you to the foot of the bed. The sheets are luxurious, obsidian satin, and the mattress sinks with your weight. He sits close, angling his body towards you, but not so close as to crowd you. Your knees touch. You can see his breath flexing the hardened muscles of his torso and chest as he lingers there, expectant but not impatient. His hands cover yours in your own lap.

“It’s perfectly all right to be nervous,” Sorn continues, “But I assure you, your secret is safe with me. And not only that, it is *treasured*. I meant what I said earlier. There is very little that surprises me these days. Should you present me with something unexpected, I will be noting more than delighted.”

You avoid his eyes, despite how gentle they are. You’ve never said this in front of anyone. But he’s right. Odds are, there are multiple someones in Baldurs Gate who have stranger interests than you. Sorn has likely indulged them all and without complaint. As he said downstairs, he rather enjoys this aspect of his work. Still, your tongue is in knots as you work up the nerve to say it. Your eyes travel up from his chin to his perfectly shaped mouth, the cupids bow of his lips and then finally the long, aquiline shape of his nose. It’s a fine nose. Prominent on his face and somehow as elegant as the rest of him, it captivates your attention for a moment.

When you realize you’ve been staring for a moment too long, the confession rushes out of you in a breath, “Sneezing.”

Your face feels like it might explode from the heat. Sorn blinks. You expect him to laugh, or tell you to leave the room, or some other horrible outcome but instead he merely tilts his head. His hands give yours an assuring squeeze.

“And what about it do you like, my love?”

You lean over with a groan. You truly cannot believe you’re having this conversation—but his warm chuckle sends something fluttering in your chest and you gather the courage to straighten back up again and look him in the eye.

“I’m…not quite sure, I just know I enjoy it,” you say carefully, “And when my partners do it.”

“Mmm,” he says, contemplating, “So you’d like it if I sneezed for you then?”

Your lips purse, holding the answer hostage in your throat. You nod helplessly instead. He laughs again and releases one of his hands to brush a knuckle along your cheek.

“Look how red you are, it’s positively darling. Was that all, little bird? That was what you were so afraid to tell me?”

You nod again, nearly in tears. It’s off your chest now and it feels incredible, but it’s also freeing in a way that makes you feel raw and exposed. He’s being so kind about it that you’re not quite sure how to react. Emotions clash together, warring for dominance inside the confines of your skull.

Sorn seems to understand immediately. His hand skirts below your jaw and tips your chin up as he leans forward and captures your lips with his own. It’s a simple, nearly chaste kiss. So featherlight and innocent that it feels like the sun peeking through the clouds. “Shh, shhh,” he soothes as he pulls away, “I think it’s wonderful. I will say it’s the first time I’ve encountered it, but I think it’s quite endearing.” He pulls away a little further, leaving you breathless. His white smile gleams. “And what an exciting challenge besides!”

He releases you fully and stands from the bed, his hands on his hips. He looks about the room, brow furrowed in concentration. You’re still a little dazed from the kiss, wondering how he manages to taste like brandy and sweetwine and smell as good as he does while also trying to get your brain to stop swimming. You blink a few times to get your bearings as Sorn stalks to one of his shelves.

“Now, the only trouble is—“ he starts as he rifles through a few things, “There isn’t much that makes me sneeze, I’m afraid.”

Your stomach wilts a bit. Perhaps it was too much to hope that this strapping drow would have a terrible allergy to lavender. Though, to be fair, he hardly looks like the type to be beset by anything so pedestrian. Sorn is so maddeningly put together. From his perfect hair, meticulous ensemble and finely crafted expressions, he is clearly a man that keeps up appearances. Decorum is important to him. Should he ever be laid low by an allergy, you imagine he would fight it with the all the dignity and stoicism he so proudly displayed.

Still—you didn’t work up all this nerve just to get here and *not* have anticipated something like this happening. Shyly, you let your fingers linger over the vial in your pocket.

“I…may have something that will help,” you say.

Sorn turns from the shelf with what looks like a raven feather in his hand, his eyes bright. He looks positively delighted at the news.

“Oh I love when my clients come prepared,” he says, “You are a dream.”

“We could try that first, though,” you say, gesturing to the feather. There’s definitely something to that idea and it’s already stirring a feeling in your belly that has you shifting on the bed and your heart rising. There’s no possible way Sorn can know this, but somehow you sense he does, because his eyes sharpen their focus on you and his grin goes syrupy.

“Lovely,” he comments and returns to your side. As he sinks back into the mattress, he gestures a hand. “Is here all right? Or would you like to do it somewhere else?”

“Here is fine,” you choke out. The idea that this is happening, really happening, is making your brain turn to lightning. You can hardly wait.

He holds out the feather to you, “I assume you’d like to do the honors?”

You nod. The feather has little weight to it, and it’s gorgeous up close. The black shimmers with hues of purples and blues in the low light, glimmering in the reflection of your eyes. You run your eyes along the length of it and then find yourself starting at Sorn again, heart in your throat.

“Is it… all right if I touch you?” you ask. You lean forward, hand with the feather outstretched, but think you may need to position yourself a little closer and brace yourself on his shoulder to get a good angle.

“Darling,” he laughs. He suddenly seizes your wrist and brings you closer, lowering his voice near your ear. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

You gulp as he slides back, demure and innocent as if he hadn’t just made goosebumps appear along your arms and thighs with his words alone. A nervous smile paints your lips and you do finally take his shoulder in your hand. You’re kneeling almost into his lap at this point and to support you, he draws an arm around your back. It’s so intimate you’re almost dizzy with the closeness alone, and you haven’t even gotten to—

The feather brushes at the corner of his mouth and his mouth twitches in a smile. Even just that response alone makes your heart race. From there, you slowly move it up to the indent above his mouth, and then his septum. He wrinkles his nose, skin avoiding the stimulation on instinct before he wrests his control back. He smiles but says nothing, allowing you to continue.

You draw the tip of the feather around one nostril. It quivers in response, but otherwise, Sorn’s eyes remained focused on you. You test a bit farther, drawing slow, soft circles. There isn’t anything for a few seconds, and then he starts to blink, irritated tears prickling in his eyes. He sniffs a few times and then has to cough, politely turning his head away on instinct as he does so. “Apologies,” he says and then grins, “What a strange sensation.”

“Are you all right?” you ask.

“Very much so,” he nods, “Please, continue.”

You do, but to mixed results. You’re certainly irritating his nasal passages, but sadly not enough to make him sneeze. After a few minutes of attempting, all you’ve really done is making him cough and cry irritated tears. Disappointed, you’re about to give up when he takes your wrist again, holding the feather inside his nose.

“W-wait,” he says, “I had it for but a moment.”

Your heart stutters. Carefully, you twist the feather as you had been a moment earlier. His eyelashes, pale as new fallen snow, sweep his cheeks and a breath catches on the roof of his mouth. The hand that was around your wrist falls slack, fingers drifting down towards your elbow.

“Yes, I feel it,” he whispers.

His grip around your back tightens and he draws in another breath. His eyebrows crumple and hoist upwards and his nose practically twitches.

“Hh—hiiyh—“

As his expression snaps, you pull the feather away just in time. His head wrenches away as the sneeze whisks through him.

“Hi-ISSHh!”

It’s a spartan, nearly soft sound. Wet, given the amount of torture his nose has been put through for the last few unproductive minutes, but otherwise without frills or embellishments. It’s a very honest sneeze you think, but perhaps one he was not entirely prepared for. By his clenched teeth you think he might have held back at the last moment out of some sense of propriety. The way he lightly touches the backs of his knuckles to the underside of his nose in the aftermath and gives a delicate sniff further enforces your theory.

Still, it was a sight.

“Blessings,” you say, enraptured.

Sorn recovers quickly and smiles at you.

“Did you—snf—enjoy that? I am sorry it took so long.”

Your red cheeks are enough of a glowing recommendation, but you nod anyway. Feeling a little braver, and a little desperate for him now that you’ve seen him lose control the once, your hand slips down against his abdomen. The warm skin there flexes against your palm as he breathes in. He hums a soft noise of approval and clasps his hand over yours before leaning in to kiss you. There’s just the briefest moisture in the kiss, only you would ever notice it, and it sets your brain on fire.

“Perhaps we should try your method instead,” he suggests when he pulls away for a breath, kissing a line across your jaw and to your throat next, “It might be more…productive.”

You feel dizzy. His hand skirts along your thigh and meets the joint of your hip, squeezing with enough pressure to make you moan.

“If you’re sure,” you say, “It can be…strong.” It’s only fair to warn him, after all. Everyone reacts differently, but you’ve never not seen it work on someone.

“All the better,” he hums against the hollow of your throat, nipping softly at the skin, “I simply won’t have you leaving here disappointed.”

You shift upwards to get access to your pocket. Sorn discards the sodden feather and watches with curious, eager eyes. When you reveal the tiny glass vial, he smirks.

“I see,” is all he says before nodding his head toward the collection of pillows at the head of the bed, “Let’s get more comfortable first, shall we?”

Moments later, you’re lying side by side, both propped up by pillows and surrounded by the soft glowing plants and crystals that make a canopy of the bed. Sorn holds himself up on an elbow and examines the vial that looks comically small in his much larger fingers. You lay your cheek against one of the pillows and stare up at him, still feeling your heartbeat pound in your ears. You’d thought this would have gotten easier after seeing it happen once, but the idea of seeing it happen again is almost worst. Now that you know the sound, know how his lip curls a little, how his eyes flutter—all you want to do is see it more, see him unravel.

“So, just a pinch of this?” Sorn asks. He seems more curious than anything. Like he doesn’t quite totally believe that whatever is in there is actually going to be able to make him sneeze.

“Mhmhm,” you say.

He grins and sets to work. A hefty pinch between his thumb and forefinger is gathered and then quickly—and in a rather sophisticated manner—snorted up one nostril. It doesn’t seem to cause him any harm like you worried it might, and he merely clears his throat once it’s over and brushes his hands off.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” he comments, “Almost medicinal.”

You can’t answer him because you can’t breathe. You’re waiting for something. Anything. A flicker of his expression, a quiver of his nose, something to indicate that the powder is set to work. But nothing happens. Sorn merely looks back at you questioningly.

“When does it start to take effect?” he asks.

“Usually right away.”

He frowns, “Oh. Perhaps I should take more?”

You saw the amount he took. It was already sizable. Any more and you’d be concerned for him. You quickly shake your head, “No, I wouldn’t. Maybe it’s just…slow to start.”

Sorn huffs, his disappointment mirroring your own. He sets the vial aside and turns back to you, pulling you flush against his body. That’s still nice, sneezing or no. Every hard angle of him presses against you and the heat of his skin makes you shudder. He kisses you deeply and you can still smell the slightly earthy scent of the powder on him as you return it.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he murmurs close to your mouth, “I’ve done nothing but disappoint you tonight.”

You blink up at him, “That’s not true!”

He sighs and tucks a bit of your hair behind your ear. “It is, but I promise you, I will make it up to you. We still have plenty of time, and there are other things we can do, besides.”

Sorn dips an arm under you and pulls you flat against the bed, hovering over you. He grins down at you and starts to remove your top.

“Is this alright?” he asks softly.

You nod, nearly choking on your want for him. Everywhere he uncovers bare skin, he lavishes in kisses until you’re bare from the waist up and the two of you are flesh against flesh. His skin sears yours with warmth. He trails fingers down your sternum and then down to your bellybutton, then lower.

“You are a delightful little thing,” he says. His voice is velvet, and his warm breath paints down your ribs as he follows the path of his hand.

You feel the gasp as much as you hear it. It’s a sudden, reckless thing—so quick that neither of you are prepared for it. Sorn’s expression flinches for just a moment and he barely has time to turn his head to the side before a sneeze completely overtakes him—misting your side in the process. “hh-EDSHHH’iuh!”

You’re stunned. Sorn looks like he might be too, if not for the telltale signs of another impending sneeze close behind the first. He shifts and places a hand on your hip as he sits up a little. You watch as his upper lip curls over bright teeth and his nostrils flare once before he wrenches away from you successfully this time. “hhHH’RRSCCH!” This one is stronger than the last, more voice to it. It shakes him and you by extension on the mattress.

“Bless you,” you say, but he shakes his head. His hand squeezes your hip gently as if to say ‘not yet’. “Hih-ih!”

His fist goes to his mouth before you can stop it, and he squelches the last sneeze into submission. His eyes cinch shut and he bends at the waist, shoulders trembling as the colossal sound is contained to nothing more than a whisper. “hHh-nGXST!”

He opens his eyes, though somewhat warily. As if he’s not sure the tickle is quite gone yet. He gives a cagey sniffle and blots his knuckle under his nostrils, “Goodness.” Then, he turns to you and finds your gaze positively enraptured. He smiles.

“I suppose it does work ah-after all!” He rubs at the tip of his nose for a moment and then flutters his eyes, “I do hope you’re ready for more because it seh—seems…”

Your hand goes to his chest. You feel the swell of his breath deepen, the warm feeling of his skin moving under your fingers. Sorn seems to get the idea because his palm reaches up to cover yours. His fingers wrap around your palm as his breath continues to snag. You catch his eyes just for a moment before they slide back.

“hHH’RRSCh’euh!” He trembles under your touch with the force of it. He lifts his head just barely, eyebrows canted desperately, and then pitches downwards again, spraying your arm with abandon. “hh’AEEShhh’ah!”

“Such a tickle,” he says breathily as he recovers. He gives a wet sniffle and smiles at you, but it’s hazy, the look in his eyes already distracted by the mounting itch. But he doesn’t seem bothered by it. If anything, he’s enjoying the newness of the sensation. The break from monotony.

His nostrils flare and he releases his hand to rub his knuckle against his septum once more.

You feel a little bold for asking, “Are you all right?”

He nods, smiling. He tries to hold your eyes but the tickle steals his concentration once more.

“Quite!Just—hh…sn’tsCHh’eeze-hhHH! H’RRSHC’hu!”

You reach your other hand up to stroke through his hair and turn him a little more towards you as he prepares for another. He resists at first out of instinct alone, but adjusts in the moment it takes for the sneeze to have its way with him. As his breath snaps, he ducks his head in the space between you and releases it into your lap. “hh”hRRRASsh’chu!”

“Bless you,” you say, smoothing back his hair. You crawl into his lap and he welcomes you without hesitation, securing your thighs around his hips even as his head tilts back for two more with barely a breath in between. He ducks them between the two of you but there isn’t much space. His hands clench against your thighs with each outburst. “hh-eHH’SCCHE’uh! h’RRSH’ue!”

Blearily, he looks up. He’s dazed. Sniffly. His cheeks are indigo and the area around his nostrils is too. You kiss him, because he just looks so stupidly *kissable* and he murmurs a laugh against your mouth.

“It is quite comforting thatyou find me attractive in such a state,” he sniffs once you pull away.

“Very attractive,” you remind him.

He smiles, and continues smiling even as his expression flickers again. “Ah, one-hh more perhaps,” he says. He raises a hand in front of his face and a rather tired sounding sneeze ripples through him. “hH’EDShh!”

“Bless you.”

“I don’t thhhink I’ve ever snhheezed so much in my life-hh!” He leans his forehead onto your shoulder and does away with using his hand to cover, opting to simply hold onto your hips and let the sensation take him. “hh’UEHDSHH’iu!” You stroke his bare back and feel his ribs expand beneath your fingers before tightening twice in quick succession. “hh’NGXT! nG’ssT!”

He clears his throat after and lifts his head back up, adjusting you on his lap. “Ah, I should have asked, do you prefer if I hold them in or let them out? Often I don’t know which it will be until it happens but… perhaps I could try…try to—”

His eyes roll and he turns his head, giving you a clear view of his twitching profile. “If I could juhhst get through a sehh’ESsch!—sentence!”

“I don’t mind either way, I just don’t want you to hurt yourself if you hold them in,” you say to try and spare him.

“Oh, darling, it takes much more than that to hurt me,” he wriggles his nose handsomely and turns back to you with a devilish grin. His eyebrows raise. “And lo! A full sentence! The effects must be wearing off.” He sniffs experimentally and for the first time, his eyes don’t get hazy in the aftermath.

You feel disappointment sink your heart like a stone. It was bound to wear off eventually. But before you can even lament the course of events, he pats your thigh and shifts you off his lap.

“Come, where’s the vial?”

You blink. Surely he doesn’t want to do more of that?

He seems to know exactly what you’re thinking because he taps the bottom of your chin and winks.

“Oh, we’re far from finished, love. Ready for round two?”

#snzblr #snz kink #snz fic #i didn't proofread this and i probably wont until way too late and that's on me #i dont actually even like this but something in me had me at gunpoint until i posted it #anyway this stupid game is fun #idk if i'll write more for it #but this man demanded to be written #HOPE YOU ARE ALL WELL #SORRY IM NEVER HERE I LITERALLY GO FROM 0 to 100 IN TERMS OF MOOD #but this week the dogs be barkin

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