Partners

[pre-story]Content Warnings: Unrealistic anatomy, huge cock, interracial (human/elf), romance.

Disclaimer: All characters are 18+[/pre-story]

Partners

The Sultry Sorceress Tavern was packed, tonight. It was rarely all that quiet, but tonight, the handful of townsfolk that were regulars found themselves amid a crowd of at least a dozen outsiders, strangers of strange descriptions. A mature, full-figured beauty with long, flowing dark hair tended the bar, pouring and mixing drinks one after another, just barely managing to keep up with the orders coming in. A trio of buxom barmaids bustled around the room bearing trays full of drinks and empty mugs, all three dark-haired and bearing a striking resemblance to the bartender, even the halfling. A gnome with unnaturally colorful hair and tie-dyed robes had climbed up to sit on the edge of the stage where the local bard played, a pint in one hand as he sang along with surprising skill, though his words had a bit of a slur to them. A muscular, heavily-scarred orc wearing what looked like alligator hide leaned against a wall, arms crossed under her impressive emerald bust as she eyed one of the human barmaids wolfishly. A dwarf in flowing silk robes sat at the bar, looking painfully bored a snifter of brandy in one hand. Beside him, three humans argued emphatically about weapons, the dark-skinned bald man with a braided goatee touting the sheer power of a hammer, the fair-skinned blonde woman with her hair in a bun extolling the virtues of a fine blade in well-trained hands, and the freckle-faced male with curly copper hair claiming spears to be severely underrated.

The bartender stepped up to the group of humans, setting a pitcher of mead and a bottle of wine in front of the redhead. The man grinned, a broad, bright white smile, fishing out some gold and silver coins and slid them across the bar. He grabbed the bottle in one hand and the pitcher in the other, gave his fellow warriors a parting nod, rose from his seat, and began to make his way across the tavern. Gordon LiRousa certainly stuck out in the crowd, weaving around tables and chairs with surprising grace, he looked a bit lanky at first glance, a head taller than any other human in the place, with a crown of curly copper hair that stood out like a beacon. He was about as tall as an orc, but not as stocky, his limbs long, almost gangly even, if it weren't for the thick muscle built up on them. His fair skin was dusted liberally with cinnamon freckles, but free of scars and wrinkles, with, along with his usual playful attitude, made him seem more like an overgrown teenager than a man in his late twenties. He made his way over to a small table against the wall where his ebony-hafted spear sat, propped against the wall, his bag and armor already locked away upstairs in his room. He fell into the chair with a thump, still grinning broadly, setting his precious cargo down on the table with a thump and swiftly moving to pour himself a mug of mead. "Nothing better than a warm bed and good drink after a long quest, huh, L?" He asked, clearly pleased as he raised his mug to his lips and took a deep drink, emerald eyes flicking up to look across the table.

Elirel Baum-Paril smiled as he arrived, quickly moving to uncork the wine and pour herself a glass of the deep red liquid. She was a good bit shorter than her adventuring partner, about eye-level to his chest, though of perfectly average height for an elf, as she reminded him whenever he made a short joke or rested an elbow on her head. She was a bit thinner than most, admittedly, with narrow ribs and somewhat slender hips. But her size was no reason to underestimate her strength, her toned, wiry muscles and gently-sculpted abs were clearly evident beneath her warm brown skin. She was a practical sort of girl, in the end, so she made the practical choices. So, while she'd rather let her long, silky, platinum-blonde hair flow freely in the wind as she fought, she did the practical thing and gathered it into a single thick braid that hung down to the small of her back so as to keep it under control. While she disliked it, she did the practical thing and bound her already modest breasts so she could use her bow properly. And while Gordon shed his armor at every opportunity, she did the practical thing and kept her suit of fitted mail-and-chain armor on and her bow within reach until she went to bed. Maybe she ended up looking a little bit overly serious, or boyish, but she didn't mind... much... In the end, she was still alive, and she'd kept Gordon alive, too. She shook her head, bright blue eyes looking up from her glass and glancing across the table at Gordon. "It certainly hits the proverbial spot." She replied to his mostly-rhetorical question.

Gordon's grin was even wider as he slammed the now-empty mug down on the table with a thump. "Ah~..." He sighed with pleasure at the the taste of cold mead after so long, clearly pleased. "And what a quest! We're on fire lately!" He exclaimed, suddenly, then chuckled. "Or, at least, the bad guys are. I loved that trick with the two arrows at once! What spells were those carrying, grease and firebolt? And the timing was perfect! Right as the boss was ready to do the sacrifice, fwoosh! Up in flames!" He commented, gesturing an explosion, then chuckling again. "And then all the rest of the ogres are just freaking out, thinking it's divine wrath or something! Fucking. Priceless."

Elirel raised her glass of wine, swirling it once or twice before bringing it up to her lips and taking a sip, eyes closed to properly savor it. When she opened her eyes again, she looked back across the table with a subtle smile. "Credit where credit is due. You put on quite the display yourself, once they realized what was happening. It's no simple feat to hold the line against a whole cult of angry ogres." She replied. "And, I might be wrong, but I believe I saw you channeling in battle, as well! Not many can focus like that surrounded by combat, let alone while actively fighting. Very impressive." She added, offering her partner a nod of respect. "I'd have been overrun for certain if you hadn't been there. I shudder to think what might have happened if I'd been captured..." She muttered, shaking her head.

Gordon puffed his chest, striking a heroic pose, grinning proudly, before relaxing into his chair once more, chuckling and shaking his head. "Ah, being eaten isn't so bad. Remember the deepwyrm? It's mostly just dark and smelly. Nothing to worry about."

Elirel rolled her eyes. "I imagine it's a different story when the eater chews their food. Still, I'm not terribly concerned about getting eaten, I'm more worried about the stories of orc farms." She replied, giving a shudder. "What a fate that would be..."

Gordon shook his head, his expression a bit more somber. "Yeah... Thankfully, they only keep women. Most tribes consider it shameful for an ogre woman to birth anything less than a full-blooded ogre, so there's no point in keeping male prisoners. They just eat them."

Elirel blinked, looking across the table blankly, confusion creeping into her expression. What part wasn't he getting? "...Yes, and, I would hate for it to happen to me." She clarified, slowly.

Gordon's expression twisted with confusion as he was silent for a second. "...The eating?"

Elirel sighed, shaking her head with exasperation. How was he not getting this? How dense could he possibly be? "No, the breeding! Look, you just have to worry about getting eaten when we fight ogres, but I have to worry about getting chained up in a dank cave and used as a troll factory until I die. It's not a pleasant prospect, that's all I'm saying." She explained with finality, crossing her arms.

Gordon's sat there in silence, his confusion growing more and more pronounced by the second. He looked down into his drink for a moment, the awkward silence hanging thick over the table, then looked back up staring at her searchingly. After a painfully long moment, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing, and spoke, hesitantly. "Are... Are you a... a girl?"

Elirel's jaw dropped, her mouth hanging open with shock as her brow furrowed, first with incredulity, then a growing indignation. She was almost as stunned by the question itself as she was by the realization that he was so dense he actually had to ask. "...You didn't know?! How did you not know!?" She demanded, partly out out shock and partly out of a growing anger.

Gordon's eyes widened quickly as she turned on him, raising his hands defensively against the anger in her voice."I, I dunno! I just... never realized." He offered, weakly. His mind whirred, flipping through the multitude of memories he had of her, never once had he considered the possibility that his partner might be a woman, and now, he found himself frantically re-framing each memory in the context of this new information.

Elirel was baffled. Sure, she'd never made a big deal out of it. After spending years in human lands, constantly correcting the assumption she was male had worn on her to the point that she'd simply stopped. But she certainly hadn't introduced herself as a man, she'd never done anything that would make him think she was a man, and he'd never given the impression that he thought she was a man before... "Why would you even think it in the first place?! And how do you just not realize?! We've been partners for three years! How do you not figure it out in all that time? Fuck, how dense can you possibly be?!"

Gordon swallowed. The night had taken a very sudden turn off the road to blissful drunkenness, and was headed straight for an ugly patch of arguing. "I don't know! It never came up!" He replied, helpless to turn the night back around. "I just figured you were a guy,and just... um... elven."

Elirel's eyes narrowed dangerously. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

Gordon swallowed again, his mouth dry. "Nothing bad!" He clarified, hastily. "Just, um... you know... Like, small, and thin, and kinda... um... girly..."

Elirel's mouth bent into a scowl at his reply, a knot of anger burning inside her, hot and heavy. It felt like there was a red-hot stone in her belly, and it just grew hotter and hotter by the second. She wasn't just angry, she was offended, she was indignant, she was humiliated, she was... hurt. Sad. Disappointed even. But above it all, she was angry, and the raw intensity of her growing rage made everything else insignificant by comparison. "Of course I'm girly! I'm a girl, you moron!" She shot back, voice rising to a shout.

Gordon frowned, furrowing his brow. "Well, how was I supposed to know?!" He demanded, indignantly, returning her anger with his own. "You never said anything about it!"

"You're supposed to be able to tell! Unless, apparently, you're a fucking moron!" Elirel fired back immediately, anger fueling her. "Why do you think I always insist on separate beds? Or why I have my own tent?"

Gordon's frown hardened into a scowl. "Gee, I don't know why I might have thought you were just being picky! It's not like you constantly complain about every little thing that doesn't meet your impossible standards!"

Elirel glared across the table. "You think I'm picky? I wouldn't call it picky to complain about the shitty gear you buy because you want to save some coppers! That shit is gonna get both of us killed someday!" She retorted. "Even if I was a guy, I wouldn't spend one night in that ratty thing you call a tent! There's more hole than there is tent! And the smell! Oh, wait, that's just you!"

Gordon threw up his hands, rolling his eyes. "It gets hot! I sweat! You try walking around in the hot sun in the middle of summer wearing a fucking oven and see how you smell! At least I try to keep clean-" He replied, only to freeze, a look of horror crossing his face. "Ohfuckyou'veseenmenaked" he blurted as the realization hit him.

Elirel rolled her eyes. "Oh, now it bothers you? It sure as fuck didn't when you thought I was a guy, for some inexplicable reason!" She replied, clearly exasperated. "What kind of guy walks around naked in front of other guys and invites them to bathe with him? Who does that?"

Gordon fell forward, planting his elbows on the table and clutching his head in his hands. "I used to bathe with my brothers all the time! It's a bonding thing! They do it all the time in the capital!" He offered in explanation, his voice shaky, then let out a groan, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, fuck, I just thought you were shy! It all makes sense now... fuck, I can't believe you've seen my dick... This is so wrong..." He bemoaned, shaking his head.

Elirel rolled her eyes dismissively once again. "Now it's wrong. Oh, please, it's not that big a deal." She replied. "It wasn't even that..." she began, her cutting remark suddenly stalling as the memory of his long, swinging, pendulous shaft, dripping wet, flashed into her mind. "....Impressive..." she muttered, staring blankly into the middle distance for a moment before shaking her head, clearing the image from her mind and gritting her teeth. Angry. She was angry. Not... whatever that was. "Ugh, I can't even deal with you right now." She growled with annoyance, pushing herself to her feet, grabbing her bow with one hand and the bottle of wine with the other in a single, fluid motion. "I'm going up to my room. You'll have to find somewhere else to sleep tonight. Maybe they'll let you stay in the stable, since you're such ass." She added with a little more venom than strictly necessary, walking past him.

Gordon lifted his head from his palms, twisting around in his seat to look after her. "L-" He began to protest, but she was already gone, vanished into the crowd, and the objection died on his lips. He heaved a deep sigh, slumping in his seat. Well, he-, no, she, wouldn't have listened anyways. Not in a mood like this. He knew that much about her, at the least. He sighed again. He'd fucked up. He wasn't entirely sure how, logically it didn't seem like his fault, but it sure as fuck felt like it was. He'd heard the anger, the hurt in his-, her voice, and it struck him deep. And now he was sitting alone with nothing but a pitcher of mead for company and a head full of roiling emotions.

Gordon sighed again. L was...L was a lot of things. He- she was his partner. His friend. His ally. His confidant. His comrade. They'd been working together for years, ever since she saved him from a horde of goblins. At first, it had been an honor thing. Even after leaving the order, the knight's code had stuck with him, and he'd owed his life to his savior. He'd kept track of who'd saved whom for a while, but eventually, he just... stuck around. Questing wasn't the kind of job where you could really keep score like that. Every challenge requires you to rely on your allies, and for them to rely on you. When you face down monsters, bandits, cultists, and even bandit cultist monsters for a living, you have to know everything about them, their strengths, weaknesses, skills, and tactics, and you have to let them know yours in turn. You do everything together, you travel, you camp, you fight, you win, you lose, and you recover. You have to trust them, not just to have your back and do their part, but also not to slit your throat in the night, or run off with all the loot. He'd been through hell with L (literally, although only for a few minutes while L reversed the portal), and he's always considered him- her his best friend, the kind of brother he'd always wanted. He was closer to L than he was to his family. But all the time, he was a she, and now Gordon didn't know what to feel.

Gordon shook his head, pouring a more mead into his mug as he pondered his new knowledge. Logically, it shouldn't really change anything. L had been a girl the whole time. But, somehow, it did change things. It was like he'd just met her for the first time, but they already had years of history. There was an unfamiliar tension on the partnership now, and he didn't know if it could take it. He looked down, staring deep into the golden brew before him, as though the answer to all his problems were written on the bottom and he simply couldn't make it out. Unfortunately, draining the mug didn't reveal any such answers, no matter how many time he tried it...

-----

Elirel stormed upstairs to her room, slamming the door behind her, her fists and jaw clenched. She just couldn't relax. For hours, she paced the room in a silent rage, occasionally stoking the fires of her anger with swigs of wine straight from the bottle, her mind whirring with the same questions over and over. How could he be so blind, so oblivious, so incredibly, impossibly dense? Three years! Three years and he'd never realized she was a woman!? How could he just not notice?! More than half the bottle of wine was gone by the time the flames of anger to finally burned themselves out, and she was left feeling... empty. Drained. Her pacing slowed, then stopped, and with a heavy sigh, she dropped to a seat on the edge of her bed. Her eyes flicked up, looking across the room, settling on his bed. Or, what would have been his bed, if she hadn't kicked him out. She felt a knot form in her chest at the thought, no less than a dozen confusing emotions all tangled together.

Elirel just couldn't understand. Why was she feeling all this? In hindsight, it didn't seem that bad. She wasn't happy been mistaken for a boy again. But this was the sort of thing she'd normally just laugh off and maybe tease him about the next time he made a short joke. So, why had it infuriated her? Why did her chest ache when she thought about it? Why was this different? The answer didn't come, no matter how hard she wracked her brain. Eventually, she heaved a sigh, raising the bottle to her lips and taking another swig. Well, the wine certainly wasn't going to help her unravel the mystery. It would be wise to call it a night and consider the question in the morning with a clearer head. Resolving to take her own advice, she set the bottle aside and rose to her feet, reaching around behind her neck. She unlaced her armor and swiftly slid out of it, soon standing these in only her loose silk underclothes, one hand reaching up under the top. With a few sharp tugs, her binding cloth came loose, freeing her modest breasts, and she drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs fully for the the first time since she'd put it on this morning. Quickly tucking the armor and cloth under the bed, she climbed between the sheets, putting her back to the window as she tried to ignore the sounds of the tavern downstairs.

Unfortunately, Elirel's brain did not seem ready to settle down for the night. Memories played out in her mind, one after another, denying her even a moment's rest. She saw Gordon for the very first time, an armored figure flailing almost comically, at least a dozen goblins clinging to his plate, trying to pry their victim out of his shell. She saw him rush past her, spear at the ready, charging into a demonic horde to buy her time. She could see him pull off his helmet, coppery hair gleaming in the sunlight, his face sweaty and clearly exhausted, but split with that bright, wide, irrepressible grin of his. She saw him through half-lidded eyes as he slogged through thigh-deep swamp muck, carrying her venom-weakened body in his arms, his expression wild with fear and desperation, but his jaw still set with determination. She saw him crawl out through a ragged gash in a deepwyrm's armored hide, his armor slick with blood and acid, only to crack a stupid joke about the smell, as though he weren't as good as dead just moments ago. She saw him opening her gift, his face lighting up with genuine, almost childlike excitement as he caught sight of the enchanted gauntlets within, it was kind of cute. She saw him hastily pulling at his shirt as he rushed toward a river, tugging it over his head, revealing his rugged and powerful pecs, his long, strong limbs flexing casually as he tossed the garment aside. She saw him rising out of a spring with a splash, the water dripping down his toned body gleaming in the sun as he strode toward camp, a long, thick shaft swaying pendulously between his thighs with each step, along with a pair of heavy balls that hung like ripe, juicy pomfruit...