Bonds of Flame and Scale

Before the well-ordered ebb and flow of his life had been thrown into chaos by the twin catalysts of Tiefling and Disaster, he'd always regarded her with mild revulsion. It wasn't her fault of course - she'd been hatched (ah, no, 'born') with squeamishly smooth, shiny skin slicked by sebaceous excretions...but as of late, he'd wondered about its pliant flexibility beneath his fingertips. The very concept of 'hair' was unsettling to him, like needle-thin roots digging from rather than into her skull and gently along her arm, but when soaked with water it took on a different, intriguing shape...and of course, there were the smaller if no-less outstanding details.

The flatness of her maw and the square shape of her teeth - but there, her canines were poignant and sharp.

Those strangely shaped legs, end-capped by cloven hooves, were sleek with corded muscle beneath skin the color of fulminating coal.

Her tail, flared at the tip like a lancehead, lashing over the river water...a ridge of light, articulated plates ran underneath. They drew his attention to the bass of her spine, along the fertile shape of her 'childbearing' hips - he'd asked Gale to elaborate on this word, and had needed some time to...process the horrors of Softflesh reproduction. They tracked down to the teardrop plushness of her posterior.

Z'sairah - for that was the sorceress' name - had distinguished herself from the sea of otherwise near-identical looking Flat-Tooths by her physicality alone; comfortably familiar features amidst all the hirsute, alien physiology (he'd spotted lovely crimson scales, tantalizingly, along her inner thighs and scapular lines!).

She was a terrifying, chaotic mess of an individual.

From the very beginning he should have known better than to fall in at her side, but the mind-numbing, constant change had driven him to stick by the only familiar face in the Sword Coast, and she'd tumbled out of the Mind-Flayer pod at his side into the Nautilus' sickening internals. He could no longer assume that his interpretation of common sense was the same across all rightly thinking beings, driven as she was to try and open every door, box or coffer that fell under her lavender gaze.

That was the least of her eccentricities.

She'd scampered ahead into the humid dark whilst he was desperately working to free the Shar-priestess, and Z'sairah's careless poking at a Mind-Flayer console had metamorphosed a poor human woman into an Illithid - her gargling, agonized shrieks haunted his dreams...and after they'd survived the Nautilus' death-impact, he caught her trying to (unsuccessfully) steal the Sharress' trinket.

Why?! He'd shrieked desperately at her, not for the first time.

At the ruined crypt, wherein his ragged band - as they'd somehow picked up two other misfortunates - had thought to scrape a few coins together, he'd watched, aghast, as she roasted-alive a poor Halfling and his Elven companion before they'd even greeted one another. He'd just wanted to talk!

Then she'd somehow tripped over her ungainly hooves, tumbling through a crevice into the depths of the crypt...forcing them to fight the other seven bandits within. One of the humans, a blonde-furred creature of immense proportion, had shattered his blade and nearly crushed Astarion into a fine Fey paste, halted only by his own brave intervention; he was still picking bits of windpipe from between his teeth.

In that same tomb when the Dead had risen, he'd been busily fending off a skeletal bladesman with the low-quality mattock he'd scavenged from their earlier victims, only for Z'sairah's flensing blasts of ice to carbon-freeze him below the knees.

Praise Chauntea, he'd saved the Sharran priestess from that pod.

Tidbit had long understood that he wasn't the brightest Brass-scale in the clutch, though he'd somehow gotten this far in life before his abduction - how Z'sairah had survived for this long left him puzzled until he witnessed her brutal potency in combat. Gore and blood were a part of his violent life, but the splattered, unrecognizable smears that had once been living, breathing people had, at times, left Tidbit quietly quivering under his blanket.

Their final shrieks echoed in the otherwise quiet cavern of his mind.

He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his scaled hands together with a rasping sound.

Z'sairah's carelessness had left her...less than popular amongst the members of her party, and he cringed visibly as memories crawled unbidden to the forefront of his orderly mind, one after the other. He'd always been somewhat...oblivious to social cues, and his response had been the adoption of a careful quiet that others described as 'serene'. Z'sairah, on the other hand, well...

"Are you...asking me to -lay- with you, 'Teethling'?! Is this some sickening Fae-Runian attempt at jest?" the Githyanki had never seen fit to modulate her sibilant, harsh voice, and all the way on the other side of camp her rejection had rippled toward him. "NO do NOT interrupt! I would -never- mate with a disgusting, malformed aberration as you, and if I catch your eyes straying I shall string them upon a wire and wear them around my neck. I would sooner fuck the Lizard than you, you incompetent, bumbling -"

...and she'd not been deterred, either.

"Wait...what, me? With you? What could I have possibly said that would lead you to that conclusion? No, please, explain yourself. This should be amusing." That time he'd been unpleasantly near the two, staring with extreme care at the blade of his mattock as he ran a whetstone over its curve. Shadowheart's voice caused his visage to wilt in the weapon's reflection. "...allow me to reassure you, Z'sairah, I have absolutely no interest or intent to share a bed with you; I seek -fun- from my partners, not whatever venereal diseases you carry -"

She was a persistent creature, he had to give her that, though Tidbit's heart quietly broke for her with each rejection.

"I'm not interested; no, not even if you're the misfortune leavings of some other Ba'atezu a few generations back -"

"Ah...kindly, my dear, I must ask you to leave my bedroll and take your hands off my balls before I incinerate you - "

"Fuck you? Darling I may drink from animals but I don't fuck them - "

Most of these interactions went beyond his experience or understanding as he'd never known love nor romance, nor had he shared lust with a female of his kind, but he was quite familiar with rejection.

Karlach's bloodcurdling screams in the absence of her right leg (ripped off and digesting in the gullet of an Owlbear) reached him all the way from camp, up here by the river; it was a confrontation that they'd nearly avoided, a show of fangs on Astarion's part seemingly cowing the beast before Z'sairah made to snatch a finely made, shining necklace (of pewter) from its nest, driving it into a berserk rage. He just felt...terrible for all of them, in a way. Shamed and shunned, Z'sairah'd insisted that she was going to bathe in the river.

This, of course, being country known for its over-eager and spastic Gnoll population, made a lone night-dip in the water a foolish proposition, and in spite of the party's refusal to accompany her and his own failure to clumsily talk her down, he'd followed the Tiefling to keep watch.

His insanity was threefold: that he'd stayed with this doomed group of strange Softskins, that he'd followed her to the river, and finally these strange feelings he understood to be unbidden attraction.

Maybe all the stress and pressure of being away from the safe predictability of his clan, of eating strange foods that made him sick to his sensitive stomach, of barely escaping with his life from absurd violence was breaking apart his sense of propriety. He hadn't seen another Dragonborn for months, and the simple, obvious thing to do would be to sneak off into the night, leaving this chaos behind to return to his Clan but he couldn't - as long as the Tadpole was swimming around behind the flashing sapphires of his eyes, he was a danger to everyone around him.

What if...he just ran into the woods, lived alone, waited for the terrifying conclusion? What if he -

"Tidbit."

Z'sairah's voice was a tether around his throat, yanking him with a ballista bolt's speed out of his own head.

She was standing before him, dripping and nude.

Tidbit's brain fell into a state of paralysis, his nostrils twitching instinctively to take in the scent of river-water, of brimstone and the unmistakable aroma of a female's delicate parts...a mere dozen centimeters or so from his face.

Tantalizing.

He wasn't necessarily familiar with the clothing habits of her people - where was she from? Neverwinter or Amn? - but having rarely seen Softskins unclothed, he had to presume something was amiss. Perhaps she had misplaced her robes and (negligibly small) undergarments. His own had been stolen by a trio of Halflings once.

"Ah...I understand," he clicked, his sibilant voice far gentler than might otherwise be associated with his saurian visage and humorless expression. Tidbit rose, towering over the lithe sorceress, whose unnatural eyes glintered with anticipation. Her tongue, a small, pink thing that was curiously unforked, crawled over the violet-painted, fleshy pillows surrounding her maw - 'lips' they were called. Hmm...she was cold and hungry no doubt.

He unbuttoned his cloak from his shoulders with slow, exacting care - deftly drawing the tassel through the stone brooch - and letting it slide from his broad shoulders...he had to be careful, otherwise the plates on his withers might tear the fabric, and she'd freeze in the wind -

"I think...I am starting to see the appeal," she purred softly, closing the distance between them with a sidling, serpentine motion of her hips and the soft impact of her hooves on the grass. Her tail curled up behind his calf, up his thigh, her palms finding his muscle-bound lower belly. In that brief moment, exploring the dichotomy between his body's autonomic reactions - as if it had perfect knowledge of what to do as his heart thundered and a tension rose in his groin - and the Great Cloud of Unknowing obscuring his thoughts, he fumbled with his cloak and slid it around her shoulders.

"You should come back to camp or you'll get the shivers," he offered helpfully, closing it around her body. This was not an appropriate time for his cock to be stirring, and it was growing haft-hardened beneath the red of his breechcloth to his consternation; her fingers were drifting downward to the strings holding it around his hips...did she...want that too?

"I was hoping that...maybe you could warm me with your fire, Tidbit."

Of course, her nethers must have been cold...poor thing, but breathing fire upon her? She may have been of infernal stock but surely she'd roast to a crisp. He removed the sash of furred cloth from around his shoulder and chest, offering it between them with the most kindly smile he could muster - why...was she looking at him like that?

The smell of saline reached him as she shrank back, her expression wracked and abashed, dark red flesh growing purple around her cheeks. "Gods...I am really that disgusting and undesirable, aren't I."

Tidbit didn't understand what he'd said or done, and was gripped by the same kind of spine-chilling fear as when he'd angered members of his Clan for not understanding what they were trying to tell him. His scaly brows furrowed, maw hanging slightly open. "I - "

"Even you don't want me! Nobody does, and I know why...it's because all I do, all I've ever done, is bring misfortune and pain, isn't it?" Tears began to trace down her cheek.

Even you? He ignored the way those words cut at his sensitive heart and reminded himself that this wasn't about him...he'd done something wrong, after all. "Well not just misfortune and pain - " he began but she cut him off with a harsh shove of his shoulders that was like a puff of hot air.

"Don't say it, just don't! Please..." She trailed off, a wracking sob catching her words as she covered her face with an arm, turning away from him. "I see them, how they adore you...you must be so used to it, you barely react to their desire."

Desire? Adoration? Tidbit's eyes scrunched together as he tried to recall those things from his strange companions. "I just try to help. We need to get the tadpoles out of our heads...and the people with us, they don't even like me." She gazed at him incredulously, causing him to shift from foot to foot in discomfort. "The Githyanki said my scales were little and dumb." The memory made him frown. "The Sharress said 'no' when I asked if we could be friends."

Her refusal had actually really hurt his feelings, something he'd never admit, and with that offense burning in his chest he'd...'acted out his destruction' as his brood mother had termed it Emerald Grove. When the red-mist cleared, he found his arms red with Bugbear gore up to his elbows, the massive goblinoid lying in twain, eyes glassy and wide with horror.

...was that what she was feeling?

"Wyll is actually kind of nice because he is showing me how to read, but Gale told me to go to hell...the Elf - did you know he's a vampire? He tried to eat me." Tidbit's shoulders hung, dejected...but he told himself that his upset wasn't the subject of their conversation.

"You...can't be serious," she stated stonily before she showed her charming teeth at him, pointing a finger under his chin. "You mock me, like they all mock me."

"I don't mock people," the Brass-Scale glowered in a tone menacing enough that she withdrew her digit. "It's mean. People mock me because I am stupid, because sometimes I don't understand what they are trying to say, and that's why nobody has ever desired me, or wanted me around them."

Thinking about it was making him frustrated, the simple patina of his emotions flashing along a gradient of hard feelings...his eyes stung to contemplate it, and he had to wonder aloud: "Why would we hurt each other? We have such bad problems besides the tadpoles - the Sharress suffers. Gale has to eat magic. The other Tiefling was a slave to devils." He began to tick them off on his fingers to her skeptical, yet softening expression. "The Elf is a cursed night-thing. Wyll is nice but stupid like me, the Githyanki? She has no nose. You..." His eyes returned to her - he was surprised at her expression, it wasn't one he recognized or could make sense of...so he just spoke directly, the only way he knew how.

"I think you are lonely." Tidbit let that hang for a second before admitting, "I'm lonely too. But if you want, we can be lonely togeth - "

Her fleshy, pliant lips found his while he was still speaking, and her tongue seemed to curl around his. It was extremely peculiar as it was simply one long, pink muscle rather than split down the tip like his, and his hard, rough mouth was not accustomed to kissing...but here she was, and he struggled with the tripartite question: *What do I do / Why is she doing this / Why does it feel amazing?*

She took his hands, frozen at his side, and drew them gently to her waist...the texture of those scales, at odds with the satin smoothness of her flesh, was a new tactile experience, and the way she pressed her firm-yet-yielding chest against the breastplate hardness of his scattered his thoughts like Gibberlings...and then she reached up for his face, her fingertips crawling along the edge of his jaw to caress his cheeks:

*Bliss.* His rigid form became as Cormyrian taffy, at odds with the increasingly rock-like quality of his penis beneath his loincloth. The Tiefling pulled him deeper into her kiss and to his surprise, his body seemed to understand what to do. Breaking their kiss, he nuzzled his maw against her pointed ear, her feminine brimstone-scent growing sweeter with her excitement.

"You're different," she whispered, hands trailing down his chest, back toward his loincloth with avid fascination. "You're kind...you're thoughtful, you're - oh wow..." Her fingers curled around the girth of his manhood, and she pushed lightly back to gaze downward.

Her delicate crimson fingers were gliding with delightful, tingling sensations along the underside of his pillar beneath his breechcloth, finding those smooth articulations along his frenum, the soft ridges near the base...the slightly spade-shaped fullness of his glans.

"Is that bad?" Tidbit intoned nervously, as he'd heard how females could be... particular about this section of male anatomy and expected yet another arrowhead in the tender knee-joint of his fleshy emotions. Her wordless, wide smile, the way she reached down with her other hand to grasp his length not only reassured his heart, but was...

Smiling widely, as if in anticipation and excitement. "You've seen me naked...can I see you?" her voice purred in charming counterpoint to Karlach's final grinding screech of pain as her femur remanifested by Shar's will.

Before he could give a stuttering response she undid the laces of his breechcloth, letting it slide away as his cock sprang free, throbbing against her fingertips - he was mortified, remembering the time three of his huntsmates had happened upon him...relieving tension, just at the moment of his climax - they'd pointed and laughed at him, sitting there gushing his white, sticky ejaculate, desperately trying to cover himself and making a mess.

A wave of unspeakable embarrassment flushed through him, hotter than an exhalation of flame, and he turned from her with an incoherent stream of mumbles to cover his manhood in vain. He froze under the heat of her palms coming around his ribs, over the cuirass-hard definition of his chest and thudding over the ridged shape of his abdomen. "Please...don't hide yourself, not from me Tidbit. You're so..." She gently pried him from the gold-gleaming bar of his penis, a string of his pre-seed sticking to his hand. "Gorgeous."

"Gorgeous?" He echoed in confusion, as nobody had once described him in that manner - the word was almost as pleasant as her petite, slender-fingered hands running over his cock.

"Yesss...and I am so curious what it'll feel like inside of me." She ran an index finger from the base of his shaft, over the soft articulated plates on his frenum and up under the puckered underside of his glans. "Fuck...you're gifted, Tidbit." She tried to close her fingers gently around his crown, and presses a fingertip against his cumslit - he shuddered in quiet, sudden euphoria at the way she ran her finger in circles over the tip, slicking it messily with his sperm.

"You don't find me... repulsive?" He whispered nervously, the scales on his shoulders and thighs making a quiet chattering noise as he shivered.

"No, not in the slightest. I've always found you beautiful, even if we look different." Those words had the curious effect of making him feel ashamed, like he'd been simply defaulting to his own legacy; after all, none of his own had ever treated him like this. "Does it feel nice? It's the least I can do to show my gratitude...you've watched my back so many times, and you were the only one willing to come out here with me. Even while I was being stupid, just to bathe...this is why the others love you, you know."

"Nobody loves me, nobody has ever said it, let alone touch me in this way," he dared to whisper, as if to speak the words aloud would somehow destroy this situation or wake him from a pleasant dream...but she just kept stroking him, gently cupping his testicles and rolling them between her fingers.

"Really now? So..." She slid around him, rubbing against him like a cat as she put a hand on his shoulder, her tail curling around his lower back and sliding along his - a stunningly erotic sensation! - and wrapped a svelte thigh around his waist. "Am I the first to mark you with my scent? Am I going to be the one who claims you, my handsome conquest?"