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Something you’ve had to become used to after fighting netherbrains and goblins, scouring the underdark and treacherous depths, is the one thing you hadn’t expected to be so hard to enjoy, and that’s the silence.
When you were thick in blood and battle, you wanted nothing more than to have a rest day, to find peace in your future where your only worry would be what to make for dinner rather than whether or not you and your friends would make it out alive.
So, the silence is a welcome thing, but it’s also a foreign thing. You’ve now got more time on your hands than you’ve ever had before, and you’re starting to run out of ideas of how to use it.
The first thing you did when you were free was find Rolan. He stuck like a stubborn leech in your heart, so when you envisioned the silence and peace you have now, you could only imagine him beside you. And he likewise was waiting for you on the day you showed up.
Now, you live under the same roof, and your days are filled with pleasant errands rather than strenuous ones given by strangers, and about the most heavy-lifting you’ve done is the wine barrels in the cellar.
But you find on days like today when Rolan has work to do and you’re not somebody’s hero, it’s hard to figure out what you’ll fill your day with. More times than not, if Cal and Lia aren’t around, you spend time in the library, reading up on various information you’d probably not have access to otherwise. It’s fun when Rolan comes home to you asking “Did you know…?” and he pretends as if he hasn’t read those books already.
Silence. You hate to love it and love to hate it. Almost like a certain tiefling you know.
Who just so happens to be in the library with you because whether the two of you will admit it or not, you don’t like being too far from each other. If Rolan’s writing in his study, you’re sitting at his desk. If you’re in the garden, Rolan’s by your side as you walk. You rather enjoy it.
Currently, the library is empty save for you and Rolan—him sitting at one of the many tables, flicking through parchment, and you standing by one of the many bookshelves, reading through an ancient text that caught your eye.
The only thing breaking the silence is the two of you turning pages, and you must admit, you’ve gotten quite engrossed in what you’re reading. You’ve been standing by the bookshelf for you’re not sure how long, rather than sitting down at the table beside Rolan. But you doubt he cares that deeply since you’re still in the same space.
That is until you feel a tap on your shoulder, so you turn around to expect the face of your very handsome boyfriend (who you try not to butter up too much because it goes right to his head), but he’s not standing there, he’s still sitting at the table.
You stare at him for a moment too long that he feels your eyes on him and glances up at you.
“Is something the matter?” he asks.
“No,” you say, shaking your head, and turn back to the book in your hands. “It’s nothing.”
Surely, it must be that. You do get those odd feelings every now and then as if something’s brushed up against you or that annoying sensation of something crawling on your skin when there’s nothing there, so you assume that’s what you just experienced.
It’s nothing, so you continue reading.
And you feel the tap on your shoulder again.
When you peek behind you this time, you just see Rolan still sitting on the chair, focused on his parchment. He doesn’t say anything nor does he look at you this time, so you assume, once again, that it’s absolutely nothing.
But when you try to continue reading, there’s a tug on your sleeve, and you turn around to see Rolan looking up at you like you’re the insane one.
“What are you doing?” you ask.
His brows furrow. “I’m reading. What are you doing? You look flurried.”
“You didn’t touch me just then, did you?”
“I’ve been sitting here the whole time. No, I didn’t touch you.”
Something tells you he’s lying from the very fact that he had to defend himself before assuring you, but when you try to get a read on Rolan’s expression, searching for any sign of mischief because he can and will tease you when he gets bored, you don’t see anything but the look of your boyfriend who thinks you’ve lost the plot.
“Alright,” you mutter. “My mistake.”
To give Rolan the chance to exclaim that he’s at fault, you turn around extra slowly, but he doesn’t say a word and that feeling doesn’t return, so he might not be doing anything cheeky at all, though he has the tendency to be a brat.
You must be losing your mind.
It’s been a long week, you affirm to yourself. A long week of…doing nothing. It’s not like you’re under any stress or you’ve tired yourself out, so perhaps the silence has gotten to you in a way you never expected and is turning you mad.
Yet, the feeling happens again, only this time it’s a hand that snakes up your spine.
“Rolan, are you sure you’re not—”
“Hush now. I’m trying to read.”
The tone of his voice is stern, but you hear it without even having to look at him—he’s being a tease. There’s that subtle lilt that can only mean trouble, but this has never happened before. You’re still not sure what you’re even feeling. So, you pretend to pay attention to the book in your hands because he’ll do something again, you’re sure of it.
Minutes pass by. They stretch from one side of the room to the other. And you really, sincerely believe you are going mad. Maybe you should lie down.
The second you slip the book back on the shelf, something blue catches your eye, and you glance down to watch a translucent hand run up the front of your blouse.
Your breath hitches, not only at the sight, but at the feeling, because it doesn’t toy with you this time. It doesn’t tap you and disappear, it doesn’t act like it was never there to begin with, it shows you exactly what it’s doing by slipping one of its fingers under your laces and pulling it loose.
With a stumble in your step, you grasp onto your laces to prevent them from being tugged.
“What in the hells?” you gasp, spinning around to find Rolan no longer looking at the parchment on the table, but rather smiling over at you. “Are you doing this?”
“How can I when I’m sitting all the way over here?” he says, but that tone has switched into something mischievous and dangerous.
The hand on your chest doesn’t take kindly to your interruption and shoves your hands to the side, now very intently tugging each lace free.
“Rolan—”
“Have you realised you’ve ignored me all day?” he murmurs, and his eyes tell you to listen. “A book deserves more of your attention, does it? When I’ve been sitting here, out of my wits, and you can’t even spare me a word unless I’m prodding you.”
With each breath, his voice crumbles. It turns into something dark and gravely, sinking into a desperation you didn’t even think he was possible of. And the hand he seems to command without a word glides through the fastening of your blouse to slither over warm skin.
The reaction it gets from you makes Rolan chuckle lowly as the fingers caress in torturous circles, laid in areas just outside of where you’d get a proper sensation from, and he knows.
“Look at you, my love,” he murmurs, letting the fingers travel down, brushing your navel. “So reactive to a hand that isn’t even mine. I’m jealous.”
“You’re the one controlling it,” you huff, equally agitated as you are aroused.
“Yes, I am, and you’re going to give me your rapt attention while it touches you, won’t you?”
The delay in your response, when your breath catches in your throat and you see the way Rolan’s irises flicker, is beyond offensive to him, and now the hand is anything but gentle. It tugs you forward by your waistband, closer and closer to where he sits, but as soon as you reach him, it spins you around and pushes you against the table.
Down you go, flat on your back as the hand splays over your chest, anchoring you in your position. Then Rolan stands into view, smiling down at you with those devilish lips that can coat fire on your mouth.
“Now, you’re going to lay very still for me,” he says, “and I’m going to watch.”
Your heart thumps in your chest as he leans down, brushing his whispered words against your ear.
“I’m going to show you what it’s like to not have my touch while you’re unraveling beneath it.”