[NSFW / 18+] Read it on AO3.
Tags: Shandri Ravel / Donovan Vartiss, framed tale, casual sex, accidental voyeurism, theGods getting a look at mortal affairs, lingerie, wrestling foreplay, their courtship is essentially a horizontal tango
After clearing a cult of Lord Obliterator out of their secret base below Leonson Keep and beheading their ringleader, Lord Silverden (and then re-heading his corpse as part of a cover-up), the Sunhawks take a much needed rest in the manor of Lord Donovan Vartiss. Still feeling restless after their battle, Shandri finds their host in his study and sits down for some whisky and debriefing. When the pair find a match for the mind in one another, Donovan offers to share the luxuries of his adjoining master bedroom with the necromancer as well.
Thanks once again to TimParaxade for doing an art trade with me for this piece. ♡ The prompt was 'the best sex that Shandri has ever had.'
This is a moment that actually happened in our campaign (albeit fade-to-black at table and only discussed in detail with the DM later), and getting the chance to write it out proper was a blast. ♡ In session, I rolled so well that the results table we were using said that our acts were 'noticed by otherworldly beings,' and since Wee Jas has some investment with our party, the framing portions felt like a natural addition.
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“That is all. You may return to your duties.”
With a wave of her hand, the goddess Wee Jas - the inscrutable Ruby Sorceress - dismissed the servant from her realm, having received their full report. As she reached for her ledger, however, she felt a flash of resonance from the Material Plane at the back of her mind. Some event of particular note under one of her domains was stirring, and such a disturbance naturally begged for her attention. And while she didn’t have the time to devote to every little, magical blip that sprung up throughout history, she did prefer to at least keep tabs where she could.
Focusing on the sensation, the shape of the disturbance crystallized in her mind into the shape of a dark and mysterious young woman. Her appearance alone was striking - with pale blue eyes piercing a veil of midnight black bangs and pert, mauve lips on olive skin - but it was her soul that was truly unmistakable. This, the goddess intuited, was Shandri Ravel. It had not been so long ago that Aern Silvertongue - one of the goddess’s champions - had helped to form the Sun Hawks Mercenary group, and even less time had passed since they had added the Yanlisivian caster to their ranks. Wee Jas would have recognized her unique aura anywhere.
“She is a sorceress of some sort, if I recall correctly.” The goddess gave a thoughtful hum. While Aeron’s companions were no slouches, they weren’t exactly on the level that usually caught Wee Jas’s attention. She smirked at the possibility of this new element shaking things up to such a degree. “I wonder what arcane endeavors she could be up to that would register on this level. Should be worth a look; this one could be useful. Or trouble.”
The Stern Lady turned to a set of ornate mirrors hung on the wall of her observatory. Their frames were dark metal, wrought in hard, gothic lines; and while their apparently flawless, silver faces presented no reflection of either viewer or surroundings, they were her finest creations. These relics allowed her to peer past the veil of space into other planes where events of interest to her domains might be taking place. Whenever she felt the weave of magic distort, she could sweep aside the swirling mists obscuring the mirrors’ reflections to scry on the signal’s source. They allowed her to keep very precise tabs on anything that could be a threat - or of use.
Passing her hand over the flawless, opaline glass of her window to the domain of Arcane magic, she infused the relic with power, bridging the connection between her own realm and the Material Plane. However, as the mists within appeared to settle, the view remained only that: mist. She frowned at the image - or lack thereof. That couldn’t be right. If there was any great arcane event or development taking place in the world, it should have reflected in her mirror. No image meant nothing of note was afoot. And while that wasn’t unusual - after all, it wasn’t every day a Malvernan mage was inventing a new school of magic or form of arcane focus - the ping she had felt and the clear vision of its source surely indicated that something of a magnitude that a god would want to be aware of was underway.
Laying her hands upon the frame, she attempted to tune the signal, in case some form of shielding was attempting to block her scrying. When she failed to get the view to clear, however, she took a step back in frustration.
“That can’t be right. I distinctly felt something. But, if not this domain, then what could it-” The goddess’s eyes flicked to her second mirror, which oversaw the affairs of her second domain: Passion. “It couldn’t be… That simply isn’t the kind of company Aeron keeps. Still…must be thorough and eliminate the possibility, that I may better focus.”
Pressing her palms against the cold, smooth surface of the second mirror, she poured raw, arcane power into this relic as well. This time, the mists parted immediately, as though torn away by a gale, revealing the young woman she had seen in her mind’s eye minutes ago. She was sitting in a fine study in front of a desk of fine oak, whisky glass in hand and a smirk on her lips. On the other side of the desk sat a silver fox of a Kalmiran man with faint streaks of both white and black cutting through his short, gray hair. Wee Jas vaguely recognized him as one Donovan Vartiss, Lord of Agrea, recently lurking around the edges of one of Lord Obliterator’s cults. Now this was worthy of a death god’s attention. What such cordial business did one of her supposed heroes have with their greatest enemy?
***
“Allow me to show you the master suite,” Donovan said as the goddess’s view of the proceedings came into focus. He stood, gesturing to a side door out of the study as Shandri rose to follow. With the man’s back turned, Wee Jas glimpsed a dangerous glimmer in the Sun Hawk’s eyes.
The master bedroom was as lavishly yet tastefully decorated as the study had been. The four-post, king-sized bed was dressed in deep red silks and surrounded by an ivory canopy with gold hemming that draped over the polished mahogany like cream being poured over dark chocolate. The rest of the furniture appeared to have been made as a matched set with the bed and was polished to a shine. The decor’s sensibilities sat precariously on the side of tasteful while still managing to loudly boast of its owner’s means.
With a thoughtful hum, Shandri set her whisky glass down atop a heavy dresser with beautifully carved, curved edges and a red runner draped across its length before turning to her host.
“Oh, my apologies,” she announced with a coy smile that said she didn’t feel the slightest bit bad about anything she’d ever done. “I realize I’ve worn my armor into your bedroom. Forgive my faux pas.”
The man raised an eyebrow at Shandri who, to all appearances, was wearing a mundane black bodysuit under a matching set of lavender cotton traveler’s pants and blouse. However, as she pulled the top off over her head it began to shimmer, its edges blurring and morphing as they left contact with her skin until the glamor cast over it had dissipated. It fell to the floor with a tinkling swish, once more in its natural state of a chainmail shirt.
“Oh ho.” A smirk crept back onto Donovan’s lips as he swirled the whisky in his glass. “I see there’s yet more to you than meets the eye, and not just in combat. I must say: I’m pleasantly surprised. You seem intent on keeping me on my toes.”
“Oh hardly,” Shandri teased in return, untying the knot in her belt and allowing it to slide to the ground along with her pants. Now in nothing but her perfectly skin-tight leotard and leggings, she gave a satisfied, full-body stretch. “However would you reach me on my back if you stayed on your toes all night?”
Wee Jas felt her own throat parch as Donovan finished off his last sip of spirit and set his glass down next to Shandri’s.
“A fair point,” he granted.
“You know, it’s almost a shame everything resolved so cleanly with the whole cult situation. I’ll admit: when we first got here, I thought you’d just be another titled, handsome face. Which have their advantages, but,” she waved a dismissive hand, “been there, done that. Yet not only are you a masterful tactician, but a skilled combatant too? I would have liked to see who would have bested who in a martial challenge between us.” Shandri rested back against the dresser with a coy glint in her eye, cocking a sultry curve in her hip. “Although, nothing says we couldn’t have a little friendly tussle here and now just to satisfy the curiosity. That is, if his lordship be up to the challenge?”
Leaning in, Donovan drew a finger between her legs, sending a shiver up the necromancer’s spine, before deftly unsnapping the crotch of her leotard with an easy flick. It seemed age and courtly life had not dulled the rogue’s feather-light touch in the slightest.
“Of course,” he purred, a puff of breath brushing her neck. “I would be remiss as a host not to show a guest a good time. And for such a special guest in particular, I am happy to oblige. Besides, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about whether your physical prowess matches your demonstrated skill with magic.”
With the deftness and ease of thousands of repetitions worth of experience, Shandri pulled her leotard up over her head and off in one clean motion, dropping it in a pile atop her chain shirt. Exposed from the navel up, both the goddess and Donovan could now clearly see the intricate, sweeping woad tattoos that covered the woman’s arms and shoulders and wrapped around to her back. Strokes of blue like flowing water ran in rivers over her limbs, poured down waterfalls over supple sinews, coalesced in whirlpools on either shoulder, and formed unblinking eyes at her elbows. They were not magic, though no less impressive for it.
“Now, now, let me help you with that. What sort of gentleman would I be if I made you do all of the work?” Donovan offered her a hand, which Shandri took with a smile, and lead her over to the bed. She sat, grinning like a cat in a canary’s cage as he kneeled down, and slipped her leggings off, with minimal wriggling needed on her part.
The woad tattoos that covered her arms and snaked behind her wrapped back around to cover her legs from her hips to her toes. The effect of the ink was striking against her olive skin, leaving only the front of her torso bare.
With the rest out of the way and only one final layer between them, Shandri playfully pointed both legs completely vertical - her crotch now level with Donovan’s face where he kneeled - presenting him with a choice view of one of her most prized possessions: her dancer’s C-string. The rough, warm skin of his finger as he slipped it between her lips and the cotton lining made her draw in a slow, deep breath as she rolled her shoulders back.
“Intriguing. I’ve seen this sort of lingerie before, but you had this on rather snuggly, hm?” He turned the hardened-leather undergarment over in his hand with the air of an expert appraising a piece of art. “Gnomish design… Let me guess: stick plus permanency equals an adventurer’s must-have?”
“My, my.” Shandri smiled at him slyly. “You certainly have a mind for magic items, don’t you? Unsurprising in your line of work. Both lines of your work.
“And indeed. Although, it’s not only convenient for adventuring, but also for wearing with my higher-cut dancing skirts.”
“How clever.” Donovan stroked the stubble along his jaw. “I insist on a demonstration, should I have the pleasure of hosting you again in the future. I simply must know if the effect does the imagination justice.
“And with that out of the way,” Donovan set the C-string on top of the chest at the foot of the bed, “I believe you requested a little contest of sorts, yes?” Sliding out of his vest, he began unbuttoning his shirt, much to Shandri’s apparent delight as she nipped at one of her fingertips eagerly. “Shall we?”
Shandri lowered her legs to either side of him and - not taking her eyes off of his chest, with just the right amount of hair and matching the rest of his salt-and-pepper aesthetic - went about unhooking the belts that ran up the side panels of his leather chaps. A firm tug was needed to persuade them off of his muscular thighs - and how could she blame their not wanting to let go? His leggings now unguarded, she relieved him of those as well. His white, cotton braies fit him like a glove. They had to, to accommodate the sleek, snug fit of his pants. Still, in all their simple glory, they gave an excellent measure of the care he took in his tailoring; and a man of impeccable dress down to his undergarments was not to be underestimated.
Shandri reached out to stroke his chest hair, but with the speed and precision befitting a seasoned rogue, Donovan caught her by the wrist, gently yet firmly. She had requested a contest, after all. And it seemed the game had already begun.
She pulled her arm back in slowly to test the waters, but he held her firmly in place, not offering an inch. Tensing the muscles in her stomach, Shandri tucked her knees up and nearly slid herself off the edge of the bed horizontally between his legs. However, without letting herself fall even an inch, she latched her knees to his sides and let her full weight drag him down overtop of her on the bed, knowing leverage would be her only hope of winning a match of raw strength.
Donovan gave a low chuckle as he caught himself on the mattress with his free arm, Shandri’s wrist still firmly in his grasp.
Reaching under her leg and scooping her up from the back of the knee, Donovan pulled it away from his ribs, loosening her death grip on his torso. He hoisted her up like that - by the opposite wrist and knee with her bracing against him to counterbalance. The tip of his erection - at full attention after her sudden display of technique - brushed her inner thigh as they went.
In a second attempt to bring him down, Shandri twisted to one side and pointed her captured knee at his shoulder, aiming to swing them both around and land with herself on top. She’d realized that pure strength wasn’t the only way to win: just being heavier than he could maneuver would be enough to level the field. Unfortunately for her, Donovan clocked this strategy at the same time it had solidified for her. He went with the lean while at the same time counterbalancing her torque. Throwing one leg up and over the edge of the bed, he tossed her onto the pillows with impressive precision.
The mattress bounced from the impact, tossing her dark, wavy hair out of its loose braid. It settled around her like a halo of shadows as the pair took a breath. Trapped under him and still with only one arm to work with, Shandri made a grab for Donovan’s free wrist when he released her leg. She managed it in one blind reach, pulling him into her. Even if she wasn’t on top, with enough leverage, she could still regain control.
However, she probably should have expected a rogue to have various tricks of the wrist, especially one with as much experience as her host. Donovan flipped his hand around in her grip quickly, breaking her hold and snapping his hand around hers in turn. With each of her wrists in hand, he pinned both above her head. And although she was able to throw her legs around his waist and lock her ankles together behind him, it seemed the match had come to a close. She had no further leverage.
Shandri gave a satisfied smirk, her chest rising and falling gently, locks of hair spilling over her exposed breasts and tumbling to the sheets.
“Ha. Well done. I should have expected no less after seeing your moves in battle. Getting to see them up close and personal, however, was quite the treat.”
“I’m glad you could appreciate their intricacies. Here I was, wondering how you hoped to match me given our difference in frame. I’m impressed with how much of an edge you were able to eek out through technique alone.”
Leaning in, he locked lips with her, and the two began another sort of contest. Pressing their tongues into one another, running them along the slick surfaces behind their lips, each sought to make the other whine or moan first. It was a tie, naturally: neither would give in so easily.
Still holding Shandri’s wrists against the pillows with one hand, pinned above her head, Donovan twirled the ring on her right index finger around to see the stone inset in the delicate, silver band. He raised a knowing eyebrow at the fissure-laced carnelian. Shandri returned the eyebrow as if to say, ’A fine eye for magic items indeed.’
“With your permission?”
“Explicit and enthusiastic.”
He lifted one hand from her wrists, the other still gripping firmly, his eyes locked on hers. Running his palm down her side, he brushed his thumb over her nipple. She bit her lip, catching a gasp and giving him a look that said, ‘How dare you. Do it again.’ When his hand met her hip, he adjusted his position over her, the wetness beading on the head of his erection mixing with her slick anticipation whenever they brushed against one another.
Loosening his grip on her wrists, he quirked an eyebrow.
“Are you going to be good?”
“Not on your life. But I will be the best you ever had.”
Finally releasing her hands back to her, Donovan held her hips on both sides and lined them up with unhurried care. Pressing into her slowly, he felt her fiery warmth consume him both body and soul. She sighed, her legs relaxing as her patience was finally being rewarded. Sliding himself in, he started slow, watching as anticipation and minute fulfillment took turns frolicking across her face. He refused to give her more than just enough to wet her appetite just yet, however. He was a man of patience, after all, a hunter experienced in the long game. Though their wrestling match had concluded, it appeared the next leg of their engagement was only beginning.
Sensing Donovan’s ploy, Shandri responded to his languid pacing by flexing her muscles just so, squeezing his length inside of her every time he advanced, making good on her promise of mischief. Some would have taken her goading as the vindictiveness of a sore loser, but Donovan wasn’t here for an easy time. Neither of them was. Lying down and rolling over after her initial defeat would have been doing both of them a disservice. No, this was a test, a challenge as much as a reward. And both knew that neither would have it any other way.
Lifting her hips into a slight angle, Donovan ground his hips against her, forcing a moan out from the necromancer’s blood-red painted lips. Paydirt. He had found her weak spot. To confirm his discovery, he repeated the motion - faster, then slower, then agonizingly slowly, massaging every corner of her depths as though he could work the kinks of of her tensed muscles from within - and each time noted the twitch and spasm of soft tissue whenever he hit the same area.
Planting his palms on the pillows to either side of her head, Donovan leaned in, using the adjustment as a transparent excuse to press the head of his dick into her weak spot. Shandri writhed beneath him, one foot stroking down his hip and over his ass as she squirmed in ecstasy. Wrapping her arms around him, she dug her nails into the skin of his back; playfully, yet hard enough to leave light pink lines behind as they trailed across the musculature of his shoulders.
Donovan grabbed her by the hip with one hand to keep her steady, but even in her throes of pleasure, she was testing his limits, her body thirstily pumping him, dragging him closer and closer to the edge. He still held the reins, but barely, as her equally skillful bucking enveloped him over and over again while simultaneously ramming him into her sensitive spot. He would have missed the precision of her aim, had he let his focus slip for even a second. But this was far too good not to be completely present for every second of it - and yet near impossible not to be swept out by the tide of sensation into her sea.
Shandri gasped, throwing her head back as her hips rose again to meet his. He leaned in for a kiss, catching her moans and sighs between their lips. Their tongues met, her entire being clenched around him, and as he dragged his sword through her hot, wet sheath one last time, climax overtook them both, crashing down around their entwined bodies as all the room’s opulent luxury blurred into clouds of gold that swallowed the rest of the world. Each heard the other’s heartbeat in the deafening silence following the roar of blood that filled their ears with a single, piercing ring. And then the waves ebbed, the tide slowly retreated, and the room came back into focus as Donovan settled onto the sheets beside her, both gasping for air through satisfied grins.
“Well,” he panted, “I may have had an advantage in the first round, but this seems to have ultimately ended in a draw. I must say: you did not fail to impress.”
Rolling onto her side to face him, Shandri smiled from behind flowing locks like black waterfalls that tumbled over her face and stuck to her sweat.
“Same to you. All the same deftness and precision as in battle. Most impressive, Lord Vartiss.”
“Please,” he said, sweeping stray bangs out of his brilliant green eyes, “I insist on just Donovan. Unless you’d prefer I call you ‘Miss Ravel’?”
The necromancer stuck her tongue out and chuckled at the repost.
“Gods, no. Fair enough, Donovan.” Her voice was husky with the dizzying breathlessness of the afterglow.
He brushed the hair back from her face, revealing her piercing blue eyes, pupils ringed with copper, half-lidded and observing him with a predator’s intensity. Gold and purple eyeshadow gave the impression of poisonous butterfly wings as she fluttered her thick lashes at him. With her relaxed, loose posture curled on his bedsheets and those dangerous eyes, she looked like a panther lounging in the sun after a satisfying meal.
“Shall we get dressed for supper?” Reaching over to the nightstand, Donovan checked the pocketwatch he kept set on a small, golden hook. “Wouldn’t want to keep the others waiting.”
“Very well,” Shandri sighed, pushing herself up reluctantly. “Being put through my paces did stir up an appetite.”
Donovan smirked over his shoulder at her as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“Then allow me to sate you in yet another way. As your most gracious host.”
***
“Well now! That’s your newest little Hawk, isn’t it?”
Wee Jas froze, every muscle in her body tensing at the voice she knew so well. How had she become so absorbed that she hadn’t noticed Olidammara sneaking in and perching his chin coyly upon her shoulder? Without even looking, she knew exactly the shit-eating grin he’d be giving her.
“How long have you been there?” she demanded.
“Oh, about…” he made a show of counting on his fingers, “the whole time.”
Wee Jas scowled as he continued watching the mortals over her shoulder.
“Oh!” Olidammara pointed at Donovan through the mirror. “And there’s one of mine!” The trickster god gave a little clap. “What a pair, hmm? What a pair. Reminds you of a certain couple of someones, doesn’t it?” He leaned in to the Witch Goddess and waggled his eyebrows. “Got to admit, though, I’m surprised with all of the backstabbing earlier this evening that he still had the time and energy left for stabbing of a different sort. Thought it was a ‘scheme-y’ sort of night, you know, not a ‘steamy’ one. But, ah, that’s what I like about him. See a bit of myself in there, you know?” With a soft smile and a showy sniffle, Olidammara wiped an invisible tear of pride from his eye.
With a flick of her hand over the surface of the mirror, Wee Jas blacked out the image, ending their little show. Olidammara chuckled nervously as she turned on her heel to face him, taking a step back for every one she advanced.
“Sorry, am I interrupting your private time? Should I go? I should go, right? I’ll see myself out.”
Without lifting a finger, Wee Jas watched him scamper over to a window floating in empty air and hurl himself out of reach of her realm, before slamming it shut behind him and winking out of existence.
“Good riddance,” the Scarlet Lady muttered, her face flushed as red as her namesake ruby.