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In the dim tavern, Mollymauk is the brightest thing Caleb can see— He can see three Mollymauks weaving in front of him, actually, which does not seem particularly realistic. Who is he to question reality, though? The hard wooden bench of the tavern is solid beneath him, that little he knows, but the rest of the room pulses and sways in tune with the drumless music. It makes it a little difficult to track things, even the bright path of Mollymauk’s purple skin and burning scarlet eyes as he whirls through the tavern, approximating some sort of waltz with Nott despite the height difference.
Caleb watches as Mollymauk spins Nott, nearly lifting her little feet off the floor. Her hair flies out, hood almost falling off, but her eyes are crinkling up with a smile. Nott does not often smile. Caleb is glad to see it. She should be happy. Everyone should be happy sometimes, and Nott has not done bad things on purpose. She believes herself to be so much more bad… badder? Worse, maybe, is the word in Common that Caleb is looking for. He sighs and shakes his head, like that will clear his linguistic confusion. All he achieves is a sudden rush of dizziness, which abates only when he feels a warm body sliding into the booth beside him. He smells strong alcohol mingled with delicious, sharp spices. He doesn’t need to look up to know who is sitting there, though he has no awareness of when Mollymauk left the dance floor.
“You smell… like someone brewed tea in spirits.”
“Thank you? Or— I’m sorry?”
“It’s not a bad thing. A compliment.” To his distant horror, Caleb feels himself leaning into Molly, inhaling the scent deeper. Licorice, maybe, like what Caleb sometimes chews between his teeth when he is nervous, something pungent but sweet laid over animalistic musk of sweaty days of travel. It’s captivating. Mollymauk is captivating. Caleb is speaking aloud as he is saying this, isn’t he? He blinks up into Molly’s deep red, pupiless eyes.
“Did I say that out loud?”
“That it was a compliment?”
“Nein, no. Did I say out loud that I like the way that you smell?”
“You did now,” Molly replies with wicked amusement, grinning over at Caleb with that dazzling, carefree expression Caleb has tried so hard not to judge as harshly as he wants. He does not pretend to understand Mollymauk, but sometimes suspects that the most confusing thing about Molly is truly Caleb’s own feelings towards the man.
“I didn’t know I baffled you so much, I’m rather flattered,” Mollymauk comments, and oh, scheiße, Caleb was actually talking out loud this time. He has got to say something to save this situation, and he has got to make Mollymauk understand what he really meant. He lifts a sluggish hand through air that feels like gelatin and settles it on the shiny shoulder of Molly’s amazing coat.
“Sorry, I … I am. Hmm. Tonight… I— I am… I am very drunk.”
“Yes, I can see that, dear.”
Caleb blinks. “Sorry? You called me dear?”
“Yes, that happens sometimes. Doesn’t help that you’re rather adorable when you’re drunk. Not that you aren’t adorable, regularly, but. Well. I’m a bit drunk myself.”
“I can see that.” Caleb pauses for a minute, anticipating a thought that never comes, and follows up “...Liebling.”
It is Molly’s turn to blush now. He smiles at Caleb, the glint of pearly fangs pricking into his full, deep purple bottom lip. And it is not that Caleb has not considered before that Mollymauk is an attractive person. As a point of fact, it is rather difficult not to notice that Mollymauk is attractive, enchanting even, effused with a charm that draws Caleb’s eyes even when he is trying to look elsewhere. He has just never had that realization so strongly while Mollymauk is this close to him, and he has certainly never been drunk enough to consider doing something about it.
He is not Nott.
He is certainly not brave.
Drink does not make him fearless.
Drinking makes him stinky, and sad. Jester has told him as much. Mollymauk surely will not be intrigued at all by Caleb in this state, and the pet name was more likely borne from pity than any real affection.
“Good job,” Mollymauk says, and lightly pats his cheek. Caleb is catching his hand before he’s aware of moving, threading their fingers together in a blunt, clumsy motion. Mollymauk’s hand is callused from his sword but soft everywhere else, the bangles on his arm sliding down against Caleb’s grasping fingers. He looks down, confused, and Caleb remembers in a sudden, bodily flash the last time he held Mollymauk like this. He held Mollymauk and they were far less drunk and sitting around the campfire and neither of them spoke about it, or anything else. It felt like being young again, like when he was trying so hard with Astrid and he never really— It feels different now. Mollymauk is different.
“I am trying,” he replies. “Sorry. Everything feels a bit like slow motion. I think I may— I am— I think I am very drunk.”
“So you’ve mentioned,” Molly tells him.
“Yes. Have I? Yes.”
“Let me— Can I try something?” Mollymauk asks.
“Yes.” Caleb will not deny him, not right now, and besides, he is curious. He is always too curious. He should say no sometimes, and he should mean it. But not now. Not to Molly.
He blinks up at Mollymauk, who has lifted a trembling hand and is holding it, claws curled, in front of Caleb’s face. His eyes flash red for a moment, sparking an even brighter glow, and the draw of magic prickles Caleb’s skin. The prickle increases until it becomes a sharper tug, pulling Caleb’s skin taut across his bones. Pressure billows against his stomach, nausea cresting to a sickening pitch before all of a sudden, Caleb feels something release. The nausea disappears, and he blinks, his mind and vision suddenly clear. A trickle of sweat or tears or something drips down his nose.
“What are you doing?” Caleb asks. His mouth feels fuzzy, but it is actually easier to summon the words. “What was that?”
“I’m still not entirely sure,” Molly frowns. “I tried this on Beau, but it appears it worked even better on you. I think I can pull liquor out from people’s bloodstream if I focus hard enough.”
“And that is what you just did?”
“Yes. How do you feel?”
“Better, actually.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.” And Molly does look glad, actually, the dazzling grin softening slightly as he focuses on Caleb. He reaches up a pale thumb and traces the edge of Caleb’s cheekbone, scraping the beginning of stubble and collecting some of the excess liquor sweating down his face. Mollymauk wipes it away, and then blinks at his own hand in deep consideration. Just as Caleb is beginning to wonder, Molly puts his thumb in his mouth and hollows his cheeks and sucks. Caleb freezes.
“Hmm, a little metallic. Maybe I got some blood.”
Words have never been so far beyond Caleb. No language could communicate the shock, the bolt of surprise and sudden arousal flaming through his body. Not Zemnian, not Common, he cannot speak Infernal and so he cannot begin to hope to meet Mollymauk where he found that boldness. His mouth opens and closes, gasping for speech like a fish starving for air.
“That was my—”
“Blood and liquor, yes. Sorry, by the way. Beau got rather annoyed when I stole her intoxication from her.”
“Um. I do not mind.”
“Oh. Wonderful. Thank you for sharing, in that case.”
Without much certainty in his actions, Caleb takes another sip from the drink in front of him. The ale is frothy and still bitter on his tongue, but he swallows it anyway before looking back up at Mollymauk.
“Would you like more?”
Molly blinks, and Caleb gets the pleasant surprise of having thrown this gregarious circus man off kilter, even for just a moment. He is not entirely sure what his aim is beyond that, but he can bluff until Molly calls him on it. He’s getting the sense that they will both enjoy it either way.
“Sorry, are you—”
Just because Mollymauk cleared some of the sludge from his mind and sluggish words from his tongue does not mean that Caleb no longer feels the familiar warm buzz of intoxication. He is limitless, a little bit like Nott, or perhaps just aware that he is, at this moment, free from blame.
Caleb leans forward and kisses Molly.
For one heartstopping moment, Molly does not kiss back, and Caleb begins accepting that he has ruined his final chance of anything good in this horrible life and planning to suffocate in a gutter as soon as humanly possible. Then he feels Mollymauk’s lips move against his, and a tail snakes up to press against his back, and Caleb exhales into the fullness of the kiss with something even more potent than relief.
In moments of extreme weakness, loneliness eating away at every bone, Caleb has imagined this before. That Mollymauk could really be kissing him now doesn’t feel real, but he can taste the yeast on Molly’s breath when he parts his lips ever so slightly, and there is stubble scraping his cheek, and he has to believe it because otherwise he will die from the wanting. So Caleb believes it, and he opens his mouth, and Molly bites down on his bottom lip just hard enough to pinch. Embarrassingly enough, betraying himself and the length of time it has been since he did anything like this, Caleb whimpers. Molly breaks the kiss with an amused huff of laughter.
“Sweet Caleb,” he murmurs, the spade of his tail gently stroking down Caleb’s back, “I didn’t know.”
“Mhm, how could you? I tried very hard to keep it from you.”
“Well, I suspected,” Molly clarifies, “Or perhaps… I hoped.”
“I do not allow myself to do such things.” At Molly’s curious tilt of his head, Caleb clarifies “To hope. I confess I do not know what is different about you, only that… something is.”
A shockingly soft smile spreads across Molly’s face, and he pulls Caleb once more into a sweet kiss, more gentle but no less intent than the first one. Caleb cannot help but deepen it in a matter of seconds, finding that however close he can bring himself to Mollymauk, it is not enough. This circus man, with his black curls and ridiculous coat and perfect lips… Caleb is pleasantly hazy and for once thinks of nothing but the press of Molly’s lips.
The next time that Mollymauk pulls away, Caleb follows, leaning into his warmth on an unconscious whim. But Molly is taking Caleb’s hand instead, pulling him upright, steadying him when Caleb stumbles with the sudden shift in perspective.
“Let’s dance,” he says against Caleb’s ear, his voice low and silky from this close. How could Caleb say no? There are songs flitting through his head, odes to Mollymauk’s mouth and kindness and ever-vibrant soul.
Mollymauk leads him out to the dance floor, a far more raucous tune than Caleb is used to vibrating through the air. Whatever Molly did to pull the liquor from his system truly worked, Caleb is at least sober enough to control his own feet and he manages to draw Mollymauk into a rather passable waltz. Despite the quicker music surrounding them, Molly gets the message quickly and he begins waltzing with Caleb, though he does embellish his own series of twirls and flourishes. When he holds out a hand to twirl Caleb, Caleb briefly considers breaking free just to save himself the embarrassment but instead he allows Molly to spin him across the sticky tavern dancefloor. The room blurs around him in a haze of firelight and wood, Molly’s coat flashing red and green and gold in front of him. He stumbles in the end of it, dizziness taking over, and falls back into Mollymauk’s arms.
“I’ve got you,” Molly murmurs, and Caleb hangs onto his shoulders, no longer trying to be impressive. Not that he imagines Mollymauk could be much impressed with him anyway, but that is neither here nor there at the current moment.
“Thank you, Mollymauk.”
“Isn’t this lovely?”
Now they’re mainly swaying back and forth to the music, since Caleb has given up on actual dance steps and is clinging to Mollymauk, drunk but extremely content. It seems easy for Mollymauk too, at the very least, the slowing of their dance gives his hands license to roam over Caleb’s body. He braces one hand on Caleb’s hip, but the other sneaks beneath his coat to thumb at the hem of Caleb’s ratty shirt, then to play with the buttons at his throat, then to stroke down the stubble covering Caleb’s neck. Caleb swallows, feeling his throat bob against Molly’s hand. The soft touches are distracted, not purposeful in the slightest, but certainly enough to be distracting.
“Yes, this is very lovely. And you are lovely, actually.”
“Am I? Thank you.”
“Yes, of course you are.”
Mollymauk smiles with a flash of fang, his red-tinged eyes crinkling in a smile. The tinkling sway of his jewelry is hypnotic, dangling in his face in a sparkling array of pearl, sapphire, silver and gold. Caleb has never noticed that one of his tattoos snakes over his neck, almost to the sharp jut of his jaw, and he allows an absent finger to trail upwards, following the curl of ink. Mollymauk shivers slightly at the touch, imperceptible if Caleb was not holding him, and oh, that is good to know. Caleb will remember that.
Of course, he will remember all of this in excruciating detail. The scent of yeast on Molly’s breath, the taste of his lips, the salty musk of his sweat, the flush of dusk on his cheeks, the gentle graze of fang when they kissed; Caleb will not forget that. He will sing himself to sleep with those memories for the next many months, he will look at Mollymauk across the jostling cart, and he will be beyond content just to recall the rare intentional closeness they are sharing now. What more could he hope for? He rarely allowed himself to hope for this, yet he has fallen into it. He will not push the fates, far be it from him to tempt them with happiness.
“Stop thinking,” Mollymauk whispers to him, “I can tell you’re thinking. Just dance with me, hmm?”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s all okay.”
“No, it is not, it—”
Molly leans forward and kisses him again, the gentlest hush of Caleb’s racing thoughts. Nothing has ever managed to quiet Caleb’s mind quite as succinctly, but just the touch of Molly’s lips brings Caleb’s awareness back to the motion of his feet and the presence of Molly’s hand in his. They drift back into the rhythm of a waltz, then Mollymauk braces an arm against Caleb’s back and the world turns upside down. A shocked laugh escapes Caleb’s lips as hair flops in his eyes— Mollymauk is dipping him with a grandiose flourish, like he is some damsel instead of a hobo in a ratty coat, and it is wonderful. He straightens back up, surprising himself and Mollymauk when the smile lingers on his face.
“It’s alright,” Molly repeats the assurance, “Do you think you can quit thinking so much, just for tonight? After all, we are celebrating.”
Caleb does not even remember what they are celebrating— A job well done, perhaps. A success and the promise of payment from the Gentleman, achieved by the skin of their teeth. Maybe just getting out of that godsforsaken swamp, and back on their way to Shadycreek. It feels like much more of a celebration with Mollymauk in his arms, a dream he accepted would never bleed into reality. He doesn’t need to remember, he supposes, he just needs to do what Mollymauk is asking from him. Stop thinking so much?
“It is not my nature,” he replies, “But for you, I can try.”
“That’s all I ask,” Mollymauk says, and he kisses him again. Trailing soft lips over Caleb’s cheek, he whispers into his ear, almost imperceptibly quiet, “Will you come upstairs with me, or would you like another drink?”
“I do not need another drink,” Caleb stammers, though in truth he is terrified to go upstairs with Mollymauk and deeply unprepared for what will surely follow. It has been so long since he has done this, danced with someone and kissed them, allowed himself to be thoughtless and carefree for even one night. He is not sure he remembers how, but he lets Mollymauk take his hand.
To a series of whoops from Beau, who is at least as sloshed as they are, and a lascivious wink from Jester, who is entirely sober with a glass of milk in front of her at the bar, Mollymauk leads him up the stairs. They stumble into the first available room, which turns out to be the one Mollymauk is sharing with Fjord, never letting go of each other’s hands. When Molly stops walking, Caleb runs into him, his feet taking too long to get the message even after his mind registers they have stopped. Both of them topple in slow motion to the bed. Mollymauk breaks his fall, shifting Caleb partway on top of him and immediately threading his fingers through his hair, pulling Caleb’s mouth back to his.
“This is just a different kind of dancing,” he whispers, and then grazes his fangs along Caleb’s ear. Caleb shudders underneath him, hands flying up to grasp the divot of Mollymauk’s waist, slim and warm beneath his silky coat. As a matter of fact… Caleb pushes at Molly’s coat, distracted by trying to drag it down his arms even as he replies “This kind of dancing, I have far less experience. Are you sure that is okay, schatzi?”
“I won’t mind, I promise,” Molly replies, “Do what you like, I imagine I’ll like it too.”
“Oh? How do you know?”
“I like you, magic man.”
Mollymauk says this like it’s simple. He says it like he cannot imagine disagreement, like he’s stating that water is wet or cart travel is uncomfortable or they are both drunk— They are still both drunk, which probably explains Mollymauk’s sudden admission.
“Well.” Caleb has no idea what to say, so instead he tries to make his clumsy fingers work on the laces of Mollymauk’s shirt, shifting so that the warm weight of Mollymauk is nestled between his legs. Molly seems to get the message, hooking one leg over Caleb’s thigh and tangling their bodies together until Caleb loses track of his own limbs, his drunken focus fixed solely on parting the silky fabric of Molly’s blouse, revealing a mural inked onto gorgeous lavender skin. The crimson eyes stare back from Mollymauk’s tattoos. Caleb leans down, nuzzling into Molly’s neck and giving into the temptation to taste those colours. Mollymauk whines and so Caleb continues his messy kisses, mouthing along Molly’s neck until he feels the movement of vocal cords as Mollymauk gasps “Harder, dear, I’m not delicate. You can bite, if you’d like.”
With that request phrased as permission, Caleb has no choice but to fix his mouth over the musky scent of lavender and spice that permeates Molly’s skin and sink his teeth in. He’s immediately rewarded with a high moan from Mollymauk. Heat sparks to life low in Caleb’s gut, embers brightening with sudden interest. He presses up against Molly’s warmth, spreading his hands down the shifting planes of Mollymauk’s back to hold him close. Gods, it’s been so long since Caleb held anyone this close. Even when he’s sucked an acceptable bruise into the side of Molly’s neck, he cannot bring himself to pull back, part of him wishing to curl into Mollymauk entirely and hide from the world.
Of course, Molly has different ideas. He brushes a few errant strands of hair out of Caleb’s face, glancing down from his position halfway on top of him with an unmistakably tender expression. “You’re not sober,” he says quietly, “How far do you want to go with this?”
“You’re not either.”
“No, but I’m asking you, Caleb. Please be honest with me.”
Caleb would know if there was magic in his words, but the tone of voice still compels an answer, pulling it to his lips before he can think through the words in his mind. With Mollymauk warm and solid and failing to stay still against him, all he can say is “I want you. Please, Mollymauk, I want this tonight.”
“Oh, thank the gods,” Molly breathes, and then he’s kissing Caleb again, rolling his hips against the muscle of Caleb’s thigh so that Caleb feels his warmth and tensed desperation. He pants through the flare of heat flooding his body, clinging to Mollymauk and trying not to bely how much the simple fact of Molly’s proximity affects him. He has had dreams like this, confused montages of limbs and fleeting pressure, and he always wakes up aching and ashamed. Now he cannot muster shame, or at the very least, it is covered by a blinding sheen of desire.
Mollymauk sits up and Caleb mourns the closeness, but is immediately distracted by Mollymauk yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it behind him. Balancing on his knees, Mollymauk looks exactly like the god he once jokingly claimed to be, silhouetted by candlelight and sharpened by shadow. The expanse of his skin in the dim golden light is dazzling, tattoos wreathing across his lithely muscled arms and curling over his chest. A fine trail of dark hair makes a path down his belly, thickening as it disappears into his trousers. Immediately Caleb raises his hands, drawn towards the exposed skin as though Mollymauk is magnetic, but finds himself hovering without making contact.
“Oh, Molly…” he breathes, “You are … schön. So beautiful.”
The faintest blush creeps down Mollymauk’s neck, but his hands hardly tremble as he catches Caleb’s hand in his, guiding Caleb’s palm to cup his breast. With the permission to touch finally granted, Caleb drags his bandaged fingers along the swell of soft, supple skin.
Mollymauk is lithe and fluid above him, stretching his body into Caleb’s delicate touches like a cat continually begging to be pet. He guides Caleb’s touch with the arching of his back, and slowly Caleb gains the confidence to thumb at the swell of Molly’s chest. Mollymauk hums his approval, pushing into Caleb’s palms and allowing him to roll a nipple between his finger and thumb. At that, Caleb is rewarded with a high-pitched whine from Molly, a sound he is immediately desperate to hear again. He pinches at the hardened nipple, reminding himself that Mollymauk is not delicate, that he wants Caleb to touch, and hears Molly whine again, his hips stuttering against Caleb’s thigh. A syllable escapes his lips, but never coalesces into a word as he trails off into another cry.
Molly reaches down and finds the fastenings of Caleb’s trousers, grazing his palm over Caleb’s crotch as he does. Caleb’s hips snap into Molly’s hand, searching for that sudden pressure even as Mollymauk continues undoing his pants. Blood rushes down through his body, leaving him dizzy with the intensity of his need.
As soon as his trousers are no longer a concern, Mollymauk clasps a hand around Caleb’s hardening cock, lightly stroking as he sits back to survey Caleb beneath him.
“Tell me what you like, please,” Molly instructs.
“Unh, I … Keep doing that, please?” are all the words Caleb can bring forth. “Danke, Molly, that is gut.”
He’s beginning to lose control of his language as urgency pervades the fire sparking along his veins, carrying the hot blood and need through his body, stoking the fire that Molly’s careful ministrations are building.
“No, you’ll have to do better than that,” Mollymauk says, rubbing the dampening fabric over the sensitive skin even as he lightens his touch. Caleb groans, bucking his hips helplessly upward to chase the sensation, feeling himself giving way under Mollymauk’s wicked smirk. “I have wanted you so many ways, the choice is yours now. My hand? My mouth? Tell me, dear.”
Caleb isn’t certain he could manage words in any language at the images Molly’s questions are conjuring in his mind, especially as Molly continues teasing him, touching Caleb with the faintest pressure, teasing the tip of his cock with gentle fingertips. He smirks at every aborted motion of Caleb’s hips and failed syllable from his mouth, eyes seeming to darken as he drinks it in.
“You choose,” Caleb pants against the sparks of sensation from Molly’s fingertips, “Do what you want, Mollymauk, just do not stop.” His head is spinning with drink and lust; he feels entirely at Mollymauk’s mercy and cannot bring himself to fight it.
“Have it your way,” Molly hums, and then slides down Caleb’s legs, nosing along the worn out fabric of his underpants, pressing a kiss to the inside of his thigh.
“Sorry,” Caleb murmurs, and then loses track of what he’s apologizing for as Mollymauk pulls the muslin away, cool air touching his feverishly sensitive skin. He barely has time to inhale before Molly’s mouth is closing around him, nose brushing against the crook of his leg as he sinks down. Caleb cries out, hips jerking before he can stop himself. Molly splutters but doesn’t pull away, hollowing his cheeks until Caleb is breathless.
Simply the sight of him, jewelry dangling between his horns, a few stray gold chains brushing against Caleb’s leg as Mollymauk begins to move his head. It’s all too much, the heat and wetness, the whorls in the wood ceiling beams, the sounds and vibrations as Molly hums in pleasure against him. Gods, but Mollymauk knows what he is doing. The world goes hazy, nothing except the sensation of Molly’s lips and the cold metal of his jewelry, the occasional feather-soft brush of his hair, and the fire fizzling like a firecracker at Caleb’s nerves.
Far sooner than he would like, face burning with shame, he has to reach a shaking hand down and push helplessly at Mollymauk’s forehead.
“Wait, you are too— Oh, scheiße, I am—”
Thankfully Mollymauk seems to get the message, drawing off of Caleb with a lewd trail of spit dangling between them for an unbearably dirty second. Caleb takes a moment to pant for breath, chasing away the white threatening to burn away the world before his eyes, getting his body back under control until he looks back to Molly.
“I cannot wait any more,” he says, “Mollymauk, I need— Can I touch you? Please?”
“Far be it from me to deny you,” Molly says with a half-moon sickle of a smile, and then he’s shucking off his pants, settling himself alongside Caleb on the narrow bed. They haven’t even bothered with the sheets, laying on top of the rough wool blanket, naked and unconcerned with anything except each other. Molly winds a leg around Caleb’s hip, splaying his body before Caleb without an inch of shame. He’s gorgeous, wunderschön, more incredible than anything Caleb has touched without profaning it in some way. Then again, as he smoothes a hand down Molly’s stomach and finds the slickness seeping between his legs, he supposes this could be considered profane as well.
He does not care tonight.
Mollymauk is impossibly wet, and as soon as Caleb slides his fingers into the velvety heat, he cries out and grabs for Caleb’s shoulder.
“Oh shite, darling, a little higher… Yes, like that, just harder…” He talks Caleb through it until his words get lost in a litany of whimpers. Caleb does his best to follow directions, searching until he finds the hot nub of nerves that makes Mollymauk writhe against him. This is not the first time he has done this, but it has been some time. With a new body, a new person… It is different. He is no longer a young man, and he can understand the weight of such a moment. There is trust here that Caleb doubted he would find again, and no matter what it means in the morning, he wants to do this right.
Everything about Mollymauk is different, and Caleb needs more than anything to do this one thing right. So he strokes over that spot over and over, cataloging Molly’s responses as his eyes flutter in pleasure, and Caleb would happily touch him like this forever except that Mollymauk moves a clawed hand from Caleb’s shoulder to his hips and starts pulling him over.
“On top of me, dear,” he pants, and it is not until he spreads his legs that Caleb realizes what he wants. He was not sure— Well, he just did not know. He is moving in response before his mind catches up, positioning himself between Molly’s legs, parting Molly’s thighs in the most tender way he can. The tattoos stretch all the way down his back too, curves of ink wrapping around his hips. Caleb is so curious: When did he get them? How did he choose? How far down his body do they extend? He has no time to explore or wonder, though; Mollymauk is pressing him forward with his tail wrapped around Caleb’s thigh, tugging him closer. Absent-mindedly, Caleb runs his fingers along the curve of Molly’s tail and hears Mollymauk inhale an aborted gasp. Eliciting that needy sound from Molly is more than enough to bring Caleb out from his rambling thoughts.
The sight of Mollymauk, open and glistening and regarding him with nothing but voracious hunger takes Caleb’s breath away, the world spinning and narrowing at a dizzying rate until nothing exists but this spindly bedframe and this incredible creature beneath him.
“You want this, ja?” he asks, and in answer, Molly’s tail snakes around, the spade pressing once more against the small of Caleb’s back. He can feel the scaly skin now, warmth and sinew, and shudders at the sensation.
“Yes, you ridiculous man, I want you,” Mollymauk laughs, his expression open with pure mirth, “Have I not made that obvious by now?”
To really drive the point home, he wriggles beneath Caleb, and Caleb— Well. He needs Mollymauk too much now to argue the point. Instead he takes himself in hand, allowing a moment to luxuriate in Molly’s impossible wetness before pushing inside. He almost loses all his concentration right then and there, halfway inside Mollymauk and shivering with the overwhelming wash of relief spilling down to his very bones. The moan that rips free from his lips, answering Mollymauk’s wild cry as he bears down, hardly even sounds human. Caleb could not quiet it if he tried, his cry is a feral and living beast pouring from his throat. He’s vaguely aware of Mollymauk panting beneath him, and then he braces his forearms on either side of Mollymauk’s head, leaning down to kiss him as he starts to sloppily jerk his hips.
With his last shred of sanity, Caleb reaches behind and takes hold of Molly’s tail. The effect is evident; Mollymauk gasps like the breath has been punched out of him and starts grinding up against Caleb with reckless abandon, a litany of praise and pleas spilling from his lips. Caleb strokes his tail, matching their shaky rhythm, operating on touch only. He isn’t certain whether his eyes are open or closed, supposes it does not matter, only matters what he can feel, and he is feeling everything.
“Mollymauk,” he groans, gripping his tail tighter as he feels a spark catching deep inside him, “Liebling, my darling, I can not…”
Searching for any grip, his thumb finds the base of the spade on Molly’s tail and strokes there as firmly as he touched him earlier, and all of a sudden the world is exploding into a rush of fire as Mollymauk arches his back and cries out, high and triumphant and lovely in every possible way. Caleb feels his whole body shaking, the taste of blood and smoke on his tongue, the scream of fire ringing in his ears as he melts away into the heat.
His ears are still ringing as he blinks back to reality, pulling away almost immediately. He disentangles himself from Molly, taking the softest corner of the blanket and wiping him up as gently as he can. Molly’s eyes have drifted closed, and at Caleb’s touch he makes the softest little sound, shifting without pulling away. His skin is covered in sweat and a flush of dusky lavender, his hair wild and tangled around his horns with a few stray gems peeking through. Every one of Caleb’s limbs feels like jelly, so he allows himself to collapse at Molly’s side, resting his head on the flat pillow. The air around them is thick with the musk of sweat and sex, and shame is starting to creep back into Caleb’s mind, fear taking hold of his mind once more.
Molly curls closer, but does not open his eyes.
Caleb lies perfectly still. He will not touch Molly, not now that they are done. He does not know what Molly wanted, what is acceptable from this point forward, and the last thing he will ever do is push his luck. He has learned. He knows better.
It seems easy for Mollymauk to slip into sleep, his breathing slowing and his fingers curling up into a loose fist like a child. Caleb watches him. He will not let himself do anything except look. Mollymauk is beautiful, still naked with his curls spread over the pillow, a few strands of stray hair tickling Caleb’s cheek. Caleb knows that he is not the only one who finds Mollymauk beautiful, and he is nothing but one in a long line of people who have laid beside Mollymauk like this. How quickly is he expected to leave? How long is too long to look?
Caleb can not risk it.
If he has learned anything in the years since Astrid, since home, since his youth burned and carried any hope of happiness away on the ashy wind, Caleb has learned not to trust anything that feels this good.
There is always a catch, and Caleb will not see Mollymauk hurt because of it. Better to leave it now, while his head is pounding but his limbs are loose and it is still good. Better to leave now, with a chance to do this right.
Moving gingerly, so as not to wake Mollymauk, Caleb swings his feet over the side of the bed. Once he finds his pants and boots scattered on the floor, he has no excuse to linger. With one final glance back at Molly’s contently sleeping form, he leaves Mollymauk alone.