Archive of Our Own

Breaking into a devil's home is, in Tav's opinion, far from the most foolish thing she's done since her impromptu adventure.

After the past few months, it’s up against steep competition. Letting a vampire at her throat on her second night knowing him, shoving a sword through the chest of her “guardian” at the word of a goddess she didn’t trust a whit, turning down a deal to rule as a tyrant queen, breaking into a devil’s home.

Don’t misunderstand her; she doesn’t regret any of those decisions. Astarion had proven himself worthy of her trust a dozen times over in the last week alone, and the Emperor and Gortash had proven themselves equally as unworthy of it. And, well...she'd been curious, about Raphael's home, in ways beyond the Hammer. (To his credit, she had wanted that so desperately she nearly signed; anything to get the Emperor in her head to stay quiet. Helping Lae'zel and cementing herself as a legend to the githyanki was a bonus. It's almost a pity he'd shown his hand early, but she's not one to avoid an advantage.)

Hope is a piteous creature, and Tav promises to help her like she's promised to help everyone on their journey, curious to find out if she'll mean a word of it once she has the hammer in her hands. These days, with a veritable army of do-gooders behind her, she's followed through more often than not. And to Hope's credit, she has the decency of making herself helpful, providing a cover story and an excuse to poke around Raphael's archives without attracting too much attention.

"I don't see how this gets us any closer to the hammer," Lae'zel snaps.

Tav's wasted at least an hour or two reading through every account in the archives, both those in Raphael's elegant calligraphy and the more unembellished script of other authors. "Better the devil you know, yes? Besides, the passcode could be in one of these."

She doesn't believe that for a second. She has the invitation in her pocket, thinks it more than likely Raphael's not stupid enough to keep the key to such a valuable bargaining chip anywhere but behind magically locked doors. But gods, she's worked in archives before and had been curious with artifacts no more remarkable than dating back to the Bhaalspawn crisis barely centuries back. Here, the history encompasses the rise and fall entire civilizations, schools of magic, and the personal thoughts of someone they'll certainly have to fight soon on all of it.

That is a disappointment, but not one worth giving up the Crown to him for. She likes him; she's not giving him the power to make himself a damn god. Her own god would have something to say on that.

"Tav," Astarion says, tone light but with an undercurrent of impatience. "Just take it with you."

"No," Tav says, immediately, though she does get up, sliding the book back into its shelf with reluctance. "We're not stealing anything until we must. I'd rather not fight a devil until we're sure we're prepared."

But the same could be said for her lingering here, just waiting to be caught, so she sighs and says, "A final pass of the balcony, and then we can proceed into the boudoir and see if there's more information there. Failing that, we'll return to Sharess' Caress and see if we can bargain our way in and get more information that way."

"Next time, you're going alone," Karlach mutters.

Tav smiles fondly at her, knowing she doesn't mean it. She walks through the doors at the edge of the room to find a balcony she'd only glanced out of. Avernus is beautiful, in its own way, though she doubts any of her party would agree. There's not much out here, certainly nothing as interesting as what she's found inside. A plate of somehow-still-fresh fruit and a book that looks more like a beat-up encyclopedia than an interesting account of ages past. She throws a grape in her mouth (he'd offered her a feast, he can spare a couple fruits) and flips to a random page.

And then finds herself completely focused on it.

It's about the Tempest domain, her domain, her god, the reason clerics follow them. Normally, she laughs; books like these are always written by followers of Mystra or Selûne or some other divinity where they can't begin to understand her type of devotion. But this is—different, barely-legible and rambling and incisively true to her.

And look! When you are whipped with the wild winds or stricken until stick-like and burning from the gods' lashing lightning tongue, are you not suffused with the power of Tempest? Aye, how Queen Umberlee and Lord Talos fight and fray over its dominion...but even they, even They On High know in truth Tempest can never be tamed, only...channelled...by the favoured few. Reach up thy hands to the sky, outstretched awaiting breath of gods to blast thee oblivious, supplicate and ask to be drowned, to be blown asunder, to be destroyed—

Tav slams the book shut with a noise that makes Astarion jump. All her companions shoot her a look of absolute disbelief as she shoves the book in her pack. She should justify it, say it's important; none of them are going to read a damn encyclopedia about her god or cast something to see if she's bullshitting or not, but she can't quite get the words out. It'd be a lie, and she really does try not to lie to them.

More importantly, she's not sure if it's the book that has her so shaken or if it's the circumstances in which she found it. A devil with ambitions of domination and divinity sitting on his balcony, looking over the fiery planes and reading this, supplicate and ask to be drowned, to be blown asunder, to be destroyed—

"Taking that and chiding us on the gauntlets we were actually asked to steal, darling?" Astarion asks, and Tav feels her cheeks warm at his tone, equal parts questioning and teasing. 

"We've wasted enough time," Tav says, then corrects, "I've wasted enough time. Come on, let's get to the boudoir and hopefully get this ordeal over with."

So it's that on her mind as she sneaks into the boudoir, her companions waiting outside in case the invitation was a one-person only deal. Leave it to a devil to fuck them over on the fine details, after all. (Karlach insists she's the one most likely to be able to fight her way out, but Tav is sure that whatever threats lay inside would be a test of wisdom and willpower, not brute strength. Positive. She knows it, bone-deep, because that’s what she would do, and—that was worrying, too.)

Sue her; no one can be insightful a hundred fucking percent of the time. It’s been a weird day and she's in a weird mood and the book felt like it weighed a million pounds in her hidden pack as she looked up and met the incubus’ eyes and failed to recognize them for what they were.

"A lost little mouse is running through the house," they say, sing-song and openly appreciative of her body even in rags. "A thief in the night, greedy and here to take. Why are you here, little thief?"

"Raphael?!" she asks, and knows as soon as the words leave her mouth that she's mistaken. For one, they don't immediately call her on how it comes out as a squeak, as though she wanted to live up to the title of mouse any more than she already has. "You're looking very...skimpy."

She means it to sound dismissive. Unfortunately, she'd already found the man handsome before tearing apart his archives only to be more intrigued by every bit of what she finds, stalker-y or no; the site of a copy in fetish gear is not exactly off-putting.

Neither is the mean laugh out of their mouht. "Raphael? Ha! No. You will have a far crueller master soon. But what inspired you to pay him a visit?"

Tav doesn't bother to hide the tremor in her tone when she says. "It was an accident, a botched teleportation—"

"Do not lie," the copy snaps, eyes gleaming when Tav makes a little involuntary noise at their harsh tone. "Try again. But this is your last chance."

"I..." She lets her voice trail off, lets her eyes drag down his form. "I won't tell you."

They tilt their head, curious. "Have you truly been lusting after a devil? How pitiful. Why don't we play a game? You win, I give you everything you desire. But you'll enjoy yourself more if you lose..."

Tav relaxes despite herself at the offer. She'd anticipated threats and a contract or else calling Raphael here immediately. Though to be fair, she's not sure of the rules. "What's the game?"

"It's a surprise," they say, tone faux-innocent. "Off with your clothes."

Tav says no, of course. But her tone comes out all wrong, too quick, more a disappointed groan than a real refutation.

She can see the irritation at her refusal get buried beneath the intrigue at how she'd denied them, enough that they don't immediately lash out at her rejection. When they let the playful smile drop and study her, expression serious and all-too-like their master's after she'd denied his contract, heat pools in her stomach far-too-quickly.

The incubus notices. because obviously they notice, they’re a fucking incubus. If they couldn’t smell it on her, they’d have failed the entire thesis of what they are. "Oh, you are a naughty thing, aren’t you, little mouse?"

Oh, so Raphael talks about her, enough for his bedwarmer to know her—petname, for lack of a better word. The way they said it was just as startilng, in Raphael’s voice but far from the gentleman’s tone he used with her. (An affectation, of course; he was as much a gentleman as she was a hero. A role to be utilized and discarded as needed, like any other tool.) She isn't able to keep herself from a little huff of breath. With any other creature in the world, she could have passed that off as mere frustration.

But again: incubus. They just smile wider, teeth sharp and dangerous and horribly tempting. “It’s very rare that a thief makes it here at all, let alone one who’s disappointed to find me instead of the master of the house. I should keep you here for him to find.” Their tail curls and twitches, a little like a cat’s, clearly pleased with the idea of having her in their claws.

By the gods, maybe they should. She couldn’t tell if she was thinking with her brain or with her cunt when she thinks that she has been caught, hasn’t she, and it would be better for it to be her alone than her and the companions Raphael’s far less focused on—

Her momentary hesitation is enough for the incubus to grin wider and pounce, and…well. Maybe Karlach would have been better suited for this.

Tav uses the tadpole to tell her companions that she’s alive, but get out , she’ll be fine if they’re smart about this, avoid Helsik’s attention on the way out as they’re still empty-handed. Astarion and Karlach protest immediately, but Lae’zel, gods bless her, takes command for them both, dragging them out, her own concern a friendly, trusting thing washing across the bond.

Haarlep—as they introduce themselves, alongside a casual admission of Raphael's quite-literal narcissism that has her mouth dry—doesn’t touch her aside from dragging her back to the bed and tying her arms, even as she almost wishes they would just so she wouldn’t have to think about all this. But it’s better to have her wits about her as much as she can.

"Though perhaps he'd make an exception for you," Haarlep purrs. "Are you sure this isn't what you came here for?."

"Absolutely positive, actually," Tav says, pressing her thighs together as subtly as she can manage when Haarlep tsks, unconvinced.

The incubus leans low to talk in her ear, tone like a lover’s. "I see why he likes you," they murmur, as if the sound of that isn’t going to ring in her head for ages. “You should take the deal he offers. The terms may change, after this—” Their claws pluck at the worn rags of her disguise. "—but from how you’ve reacted, I doubt you’ll complain.”

“You underestimate me,” Tav says, grinning as best she can.

Haarlep laughs, the sound mean enough that Tav half-thinks Raphael’s walked into the room for a moment. “I very much doubt that.”

"In that case, untie me," Tav tries. "At least for long enough for me to dismiss this disguise." If she's here until the master of the house comes home, it may be too much to hope for dignity, but she'd rather not remind him of one of his debtors. (Ideally, make it so he thinks she managed that disguise herself, avoid any further attention to Hope, whose abilities of deception she has...less than unwavering faith in.)

"And you said you wouldn’t strip for me," Haarlep pouts, eyes sparkling with delight and undercutting the expression completely. "Really, if your goal is to try and convince me of your unconquerable will, you’re doing a poor job."

Tav’s cheeks heat, this time decidedly from embarrassment. "I’m not planning on begging for you. Or for him, for that matter. I'm sure me presenting myself in literal rags is what your master wants, see if I care. The consequences will be on both our heads." Almost certainly untrue, but she assumes the devil's as much a control freak with everyone as he was with her little group of adventurers.

Haarlep’s lip curls. "Disappointing." But they claw at the ropes enough to free her, letting her sit up. The confident smile returns when she does as she says she would, quickly dismissing the disguise with a murmur and a twist of her hand and pretending she doesn’t feel nearly naked without it, even with the same comfortable, relatively modest clothes she’s worn in camp from the beginning.

"Now lie back for me?" Haarlep croons, hand resting over her stomach so much warmer through the less-rough fabric. "Or I could hold you here myself. We’d both enjoy that, wouldn’t we?"

“Well, you would,” Tav says, defiance undercut by the way she does actually lift her arms back to the headboard to be tied. The approval on their face makes her want to claw at him rather than spread her legs, but, then, this isn’t a seduction.

You’re lying in a devil’s bed, letting his pet incubus tie you up, a voice in her head murmurs, sounding too much like herself to be ignored like she would the Emperor. This isn’t a seduction?

The ache in her arms isn’t unpleasant, though, even if the ties are more practical than fun. She’d played with bondage a few times with Grisly, on either side, though she’d found she’d enjoyed the captain’s desperation more than the art of ropes that she’d wax poetic about. Sailors, honestly—

“You’re distracted,” Haarlep snaps, claws digging in and tearing at her shirt.

“Hey ,” Tav snaps back, kicking at their stomach. “I’d rather not have to mend this.” 

Haarlep doesn’t react to the kick at all, attention on her chest. Not quite the leer she’d have expected, especially when she glances down and sees that the shirt hasn’t ridden up and exposed anything, but still. “Can I help you?”

“You’re sure you don’t want to play?” Haarlep asks, tone just the slightest bit needier. (Her hips cant up at the sound of it before she catches herself and reins it in check, praying to the Stormstar they didn’t notice.)

“Very,” Tav says, proud of how the word comes out vicious, cutting. (No actual spellwork to it, though; tied up with an angry incubus would be even stupider than what she’s done here in the first place.)

Haarlep sighs and lies back next to her, tail curling around her leg just below her knee, wings spreading wide and brushing her back. “Pity.”

And then...nothing. Just waiting. Tav is a woman who knows herself, her mind, how to sit with it in times of trouble, of chaos, of life-or-death danger. What she isn’t is a woman who can abide boredom. Despite the scenario being practically torn out of a bodice-ripper, this is boring. She'd prefer Haarlep do their level best to tempt her, even if it means she risks saying yes. Anything's better than just sitting here, staring at what she can see of the door from here, waiting for the devil to walk in and spot her—

"Can I have my arms free just to—"

"No," Haarlep interrupts.

Tav huffs, looking to her side to glare at them. "You know, I find I much prefer your master."

"Do you now?" says a voice from across the room. (Gods damn it all, she looked away for a second.) Despite it being the same voice, despite the threat of a devil already close enough to tear her throat out, the whole situation feels abruptly, acutely dangerous, and she’s all the more aware of her arms, up and bound, unable to cast even a cantrip—

Shit.

She doesn’t even realize she’s said that aloud until Raphael laughs, walking into full view, looking like a regular human if not for the malice in his eyes. "Imagine my surprise, arriving home to see someone had intruded, only to find the Orphic Hammer still in its place and my vault untouched." (And his prisoner still chained, not that Tav wanted to unravel that particular tangle with him.) "Even my favorite client bound in my bed. One has to wonder at your intentions, little mouse."

Haarlep makes a quiet, considering noise. "She didn’t deny it when I called her a thief."

"You didn’t exactly give me a chance," Tav snaps, dragging her gaze from Raphael for only a moment to glare at the incubus lying next to her, grinning back like they really couldn’t care less, before she turns to look at the far more worrying threat. "Given that you dragged me into bed and tied my arms before I could get a word out."

“Haarlep,” Raphael says, more proud than chiding, to Haarlep’s obvious delight and Tav’s furious—something, hot and alive in her chest. “I’d hate for you to be a discourteous host.”

“Oh, but she could have said something,” Haarlep says, sitting up and stretching their wings. (Tav can’t exactly help it if her throat goes just a little dry at it, but can help the expression she gives Haarlep when they smirk back at her, a bared-teeth snarl that has them frowning.) “I told you what I’d do and you paused, thought about it, didn’t even try to stop me. I would have!”

“I very much doubt that,” Tav says, throwing Haarlep’s words back in their face.

“To the point: what did you take?” Raphael interrupts, tone colder. “I won’t abide by chaos in this place.”

“I didn’t take anything!” Tav protests. “I checked to see if the hammer was legitimate before walking away , as I’m not foolish enough to steal from you! I didn’t even take what I was hired to from the person that opened the portal. I don’t suppose explaining those circumstances and naming a potential enemy of yours would be enough to warrant my leave?”

Raphael tilts his head as if he’s considering it, which means that he’s absolutely not. She stretches her neck as best she can, given what little room she’s working with; the ache in her muscles is starting to become less pleasant and more painful.

Fuck. Okay. Flattery, then. “Your archives are—” Fascinating. Genuinely a delight. A place I’d have traded so much to visit, were it not for my mind being at stake if I were to fail in killing the damned brain. “—incredible,” Tav says, getting more annoyed with how the devil preens at the compliment, and at herself for meaning it. “I meant only to determine the veracity of what you offered before returning to Sharess’ Caress to deal or decline.” 

(A lie, but then, she is very good at it.)

“And since you’ve seen my offer is a legitimate one?” Raphael asks, not bothering to hide the greed in his voice, or else failing miserably at doing so. "Do you mean to accept my offer?"

“I…am very seriously considering it,” Tav admits. (The heist was well and truly fucked the second Haarlep had spotted her, so.) “Any use I could make of the thing would force me into a precarious situation, and I’d rather utilize the reputation of a savior than a tyrant. Also, Lae’zel may kill me if I don’t find a way to get that hammer in her hands, and as I’ve said, I’m not stupid enough to steal from you.”

Raphael sighs, satisfied. “And here I thought you would never give the crown to a devil.”

Tav snorts. “You wouldn’t tolerate me half as well as you do if you believed that. I think you’d make a fine archdevil; fight and fray over dominion of the Hells as much as you like.”

Oh. Hm. She just fucked up.

Tav realizes it before Raphael does, because he gestures lazily at Haarlep who cuts the ropes again, leaving her to sit up and stretch, the sigh of relief she gives at being free a little sinful in and of itself. But before she can even start to grab her armor, let alone put it on and get the fuck out, Raphael freezes, thoughtful.

“What was that you said?” Raphael asks, tone dangerous again.

She shivers, and this time, he’s here to notice the reaction, face going all the more—gods, if she thinks the words for what his face is doing she might do something very foolish. “I—read a book of yours, on the balcony. Only a bit of it. It’s in my pack, but I truly had no intention of taking it. Just to…”

Fuck, she doesn’t know. She took it because she read those words and couldn’t not, knew that she needed to read the whole thing to see if it was simply a page or a whole book that happened to be so godsdamned accurate to the god she’d devoted her life to and her feelings about him and power and devotion beside. But if that had been it alone, she’d have noted the title and scoured every bookseller in Baldur’s Gate. (Still might, to be honest.) No, it had to be this book specifically, the one Raphael had read. She’d wanted to see if there were any pages that had—notes, or something? A page that was more damaged than the others, like a clawed hand had turned to it time and time again—

She’s been quiet for too long, because Raphael nods to Haarlep who’s holding her, suddenly, a clawed hand around her wrists and their tail wrapped around her legs and their head resting in the crook of Tav’s shoulder, their breath uncomfortably hot on her neck. She’s just short of lying against their front. 

If she relaxed, she could melt into that embrace. Part of her wants to, though she thinks that’s Haarlep’s influence, the feeling too much like love to be trusted here.

Raphael doesn’t look like he’s about to murder her, but her insight’s failed her once today, so it’s fear that has her stomach in knots when he steps closer, close enough he could reach out and snap her neck. It’s not entirely fear that has her breath catching in her throat when he just studies her instead, like she’s one of the exhibits in his gallery. 

She doesn’t say anything; to speak would be to admit discomfort with the quiet. To make sure her silence isn’t confused for obedience, she tugs at Haarlep’s grip. In a slight bruise to her ego, it doesn't budge.

Haarlep laughs, teeth brushing the skin of her throat in an obvious threat that feels more like a promise. She growls a little, but keeps her eyes on Raphael’s, even if it means she has to rest her head back on Haarlep’s shoulder because of how much he towers over her.

She shouldn’t enjoy that as much as she does. Or at all.

“So you did steal from me,” Raphael says, sounding more smug than angry. That likely has as much to do with it being a book rather than any treasure as it does her current—and she grimaces at the phrasing of it, even in her own head—position.

“Unintentional, I assure you,” Tav says, breathless. “Please, take it back—”

“Didn’t enjoy it?” he asks, a weird, mocking sort of curiosity in his tone that has her squirming, and that has Haarlep humming with satisfaction at her back. “Please , share your thoughts.”

“Gods, only you could turn a please into an insult,” Tav hisses. His eyes flash with irritation as she doesn’t immediately answer, and fuck, she doesn’t want him angry—or does , but— “I wanted to know what—why do you have it? Tell me?” Her voice turns plaintive without her permission, a request she absolutely doesn’t have the right or ability to make of him. Her earlier politeness had been entirely for the sake of not-getting-murdered, but this slips out horrifyingly genuine. “Please?”

He closes his eyes and sighs in satisfaction. “What will you give me in return?”

Tav rolls her eyes, irritation melting her curiosity away. “I said I was considering giving you the Crown.” She still wants to exhaust any other options to free Orpheus or get Lae’zel that hammer before signing that away, especially given how upset Gale was at her refusal to turn the deal down outright. (Though she would trust it in Raphael’s hands before Gale’s, as awful a person as that makes her. Better to be allied with an Archdevil Supreme than a new, fickle god.) “Besides, I had thought your offer was to trade that for the hammer.”

“You’re the one who brought up the Crown,” Raphael says, though it’s clear from the slight furrow of his brow he had hoped she would offer it up. Would’ve rewarded you for it, her brain supplies, unhelpfully. Perhaps that’s the parasite; it’s certainly what she’ll be blaming this entire day on, once it’s far behind her. “You could say please again, mouse.”

Oh, she hates him. Tav doesn’t even deign to respond with a no or a fuck no or a go fuck yourself, as you’re apparently wont to do, you bastard. 

“‘I’m not planning on begging for you,’” Tav’s own voice rings out but not from her mouth, and her head turns to Haarlep so quickly she pulls something in her neck, hissing in pain. She’d heard incubi could—but no, it’s still Raphael’s face, slightly softer than the devil’s actual appearance, smirking back at her. “‘Or for him, for that matter.’ But then you said ‘please’—”

“I didn’t agree to give you my form!” Tav hisses, yanking at Haarlep’s grip, more effectively this time. There’s still their tail around their legs, so she can’t leave, but it feels nice to be able to smack their shoulder. “The one thing you devils have going for you is your ability to stick to a damned contract—"

“Pay attention, does it look like they’re wearing your form?” Raphael asks, tone thoughtful again. “Voice mimicry is just one of Haarlep’s many talents. And only words they’ve heard you say until they do have you in their glamour, at that. More parlor trick than anything.”

Tav thinks she sees something ugly cross Haarlep’s expression before they drag it back into check. Interesting. She’s less sure of it being useful, especially because Haarlep notices her attention and simply smiles at her, all sharp teeth and indulgent promise, but. Interesting. She drags her attention back to Raphael only to see his eyes are on hers, maybe haven’t left. 

“What did you agree to give Haarlep?”

“Nothing,” Tav says. “You remain the only devil I’ve dealt with.”

Raphael looks pleased for a moment, then annoyed, likely at her for catching him out in his possessiveness, or maybe for the grin she can’t quite bite back. As if to punish her for her lack of deference, he says something in Infernal, and fuck, why hadn’t she had Karlach teach her this? She tries to remember even a word or so, something she might’ve heard from the refugees or before the tadpole, but just has the mental image of her old boss scolding her for filing something as having Infernal when it was actually Abyssal, and then Raphael’s finished talking and she can’t even remember if that growl means her or you or a word for a type of soul coin that takes but a second to say in Infernal but remains a complicated concept in Common . 

It’s enough to remind her of her own failures, the places where she’s never as competent as she feigns, and in turn, that’s enough to get her completely pissed off even before Haarlep grabs her ponytail and yanks it back in one swift movement, baring her throat and forcing a whine out of her that she’d really rather none of them had heard. 

Tav braces for a bite or Haarlep to tear her clothes off or—something , she doesn’t know, but it’s just that. She growls, a noise of pure, profound irritation that makes Raphael laugh at her again. But this time she has her hands free, so she reaches out to grab him. To what end, she has no idea, because she gets her hands on his shirt (finery that would take a significant portion of her gold to afford, and she’s now a very wealthy woman) and just holds onto it. Gods, she’s not even touching any part of him besides his clothes and she feels like she may literally explode.

She can’t even ask if Haarlep’s responsible for it, because if they’re not, then it’s admitting that she wants this. And sure, he knows, can surely read the flush on her face as easily as she can read the hunger on his, but there’s a difference between that and admitting it, making it into something she couldn’t deny afterwards, if she needed to.

“A new deal, then,” Raphael says, and Tav tenses, nearly letting go of him entirely before she steels her resolve. “The answer to your question in exchange for offering Haarlep your form to do with as they please.” Haarlep goes still behind her, tail tightening around her legs until it’s almost painful.

Tav closes her eyes and groans, a noise she can’t hold back despite her best efforts. She won’t say yes, she can’t sell herself to an immortal being she can’t even kind of control just for the sake of her own curiosity. But she needs to know, needs to in the same desperate, clawing way she’d needed the book in the first place.

When she opens her eyes, it’s to Raphael’s smug grin, sure of her answer. “I don’t suppose you’re open to negotiation?” she asks, proud of how steady her voice sounds. 

Raphael grimaces down at her, and she smiles back up at him, the sweet, innocent cleric look that most of her companions still believed until well into Moonrise Towers. Haarlep rumbles with laughter behind her, their tail dropping from Tav’s legs and letting go of her hair. 

She could make a run for it. She won’t, because she really would like to see this through and she’d get caught anyway, but. She could.

“What do you propose?” Raphael says through gritted teeth.

His irritation is almost enough to make up for the mess the rest of this has turned into. “You offered your answer to my question—your honest answer—in exchange for my form or for my please, yeah?” She says please in the same playful, teasing tone Haarlep talks in to keep it from coming out too sincere. “Well, as Haarlep said, I don’t plan on begging for you. But if I recall, you like when your clients put up a fight.”

Raphael doesn’t say anything, but his eyes seem to spark with interest, the slightest tension in his shoulders sending a thrill down her spine.

“So: if you can make me beg, I’ll give Haarlep use of my form as they see fit. If not, you’ll answer my question. More bet than deal, I suppose,” Tav says, feigning nonchalance just to see Raphael’s jaw clench. “And of course, we’d need to negotiate the specifics.”

“Come now, we’ve had a gentleman’s agreement before,” Raphael says dismissively. “You handled Yurgir well, no additional terms required.” (Something she’d known, but she has to force herself not to react to the praise anyway.)

Tav snorts. “I’m not suggesting we wait for you to draft up a full contract. Merely that I don’t accidentally agree to being kept here until I beg out of boredom.”

“Could you hold out that long?” Haarlep asks right in Tav’s ear, tone more mocking than curious.

Tav grins up at Raphael, not sparing a glance for the incubus behind her. “Certainly.”

“Until sunset in Baldur’s Gate, then,” Raphael says. 

They’d left relatively early in the day, sure the heist would take all their energy and then some, so that’s hours and hours. Her companions will know she’s alive, at least, given that Withers won’t be able to resurrect her. (Not that they’ll be reassured by that outcome.) 

“Deal,” Tav says before she can talk herself out of it.

“Really? No conditions about what means I have at my disposal?” Raphael asks, mocking. “I could tear you to shreds without ever killing you, get you to beg me to stop.”

Tav sighs, relaxing back against Haarlep’s front just to see if either of them will react. “Of course you could, but it’d fail and then you’d have nothing to show for it.” She smirks up at him, as much for the pleased rumble in Haarlep’s chest as for the glare Raphael shoots her. “Seems a waste, is all.”

It’s a gamble, even moreso than the rest of this; taunting him with how he wants her could get him to hurt her in far less fun ways to prove her wrong.

But then, he’s wanted her since that first meeting, if not before, a glint in his eye as she threatened to kill him that she can’t pretend she didn’t want to put back on his face. And she can’t say she hadn’t thought about it, either, idly wondering if he’d be smug or disdainful or desperate if she’d shoved him into one of the obnoxious chairs at his obnoxious table and climbed into his lap.

Plus, Wyll had mentioned something about ridges, and that had gotten her imagination running a little wild, too.

“A waste, indeed,” Raphael says after a long moment. Tav’s shocked that he’s willing to concede even that much, blinking up at him in surprise before she can mask the expression. “I had told you I was fond of you, didn’t I?”

"Sure, but—"

Haarlep seems to lose patience for the back-and-forth, because their hands slip under Tav’s shirt with no preamble, making her gasp and cutting off whatever she’d been about to say next. Their hands are almost as warm as Karlach’s and very skilled, even just teasing.

Fuck, she’s soaked. Would the friction from grinding on Haarlep’s thigh be worth how smug the pair would be? 

No. She refuses to give him the satisfaction. Not yet, at least.

Still, she lets go of Raphael and lifts her arms up so Haarlep can pull the shirt fully off, and they have her brassiere off shortly after. Tav’s good enough at reading people that she’s sure she doesn’t imagine the intake of breath from Raphael at having her chest bare, though he’s clearly trying to hide it.

Perhaps she should have bet she could make him beg—

But before she can get too egotistical over having a devil affected by something as simple as having her shirt off, Haarlep’s hands are on her breasts, flicking at her piercings. “I thought that’s what I spotted.”

“Is that why you were leering?” Tav asks, failing miserably at the boredom she was hoping to present, voice coming out all shaky and breathless like she’s some blushing virgin from a cautionary tale about the Nine Hells. "I— fuck— " Her legs spread without conscious permission from her brain, eyes fluttering shut as Haarlep tugs at the barbells. 

“So sensitive,” Haarlep says, delighted. “Is—"

“Focus,” Raphael snaps.

Haarlep growls, low in their chest, a sound Tav feels more than hears. She opens her eyes to meet the devil’s—Raphael’s, anyway, they’re both devils—and hopes, stupidly, that he likes what he sees. She knows Haarlep does, can feel how hard they are underneath her, knows if she asked nicely she could probably get them to roll her over and fuck her brains out so thoroughly it’d be a solution to the damned tadpole problem.

Tav lets Haarlep pull her further up the bed as they shift, now more lying than sitting, still very much on display. The way Haarlep's holding her means she has a fine view of what they're doing to her, their tail curling around one of her thighs to pull them even further apart, their claws digging into her chest as they play with her piercings. Their movements are blatantly, obviously for their own amusement rather than for Tav's pleasure. She doesn't mind; it's not like she had any reservations about devils being attentive partners. Besides, it means she has the wherewithal to hold Raphael's gaze.

He's doing a decent job of keeping his expression neutral, almost bored. It'd be disheartening if she believed it, but she can see how his attention flits to even her slightest movement, whether it be her throwing her head back to bare her throat or biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from letting something needy slip out.

She can't quite help herself from spreading her legs in an open invitation, though she'll blame it on Haarlep if he asks about it. The mental image of it, being held between the pair, is a fantasy she's sure she'll bring with her far past today, no matter the outcome, though she's sure it'll be tinged with frustration and self-loathing if she doesn't manage to keep her damn mouth shut. (Though she's not especially worried; she's never begged for mercy from anyone, not her god, not her lovers, and certainly not the devil who's been pissing her off since the moment they met. Then again, perhaps that's hubris and she'll curse herself for it later, even as she slips a hand into her smalls at the memory. Knows herself well enough to know she'd do so more than she should.)

As if in response to her thoughts, Haarlep abandons her piercings to finally pull the rest of her clothes off, sliding a finger inside her even before she's finished kicking the trousers down her legs, a second shortly thereafter when they realize just how wet she is. It's a stretch, given how large the cambion—no, the incubus is, but she's wet enough that it doesn't hurt, especially once they take the palm of their hand to press against her clit.

Just like with her piercings, they don't stick with any one motion for longer than a few moments, flicking and circling and pressing and pinching with little to no reason between what they're doing each moment, as far as Tav can tell. It's hard to chase her pleasure like that, and she huffs in irritation, making the incubus laugh, low and mean in her ear. Still, it's not unpleasant, exactly. A slower pace than she'd imagined this happening at, surely, especially given Raphael's still just standing there. Perhaps he's more voyeur than participant? It'd add a truly hysterical level to glamouring an incubus to look like him if so.

She should find that pathetic. Does, a bit. But her mouth waters at the thought, anyway; some unlucky fool in too deep being pressed into the bed by Haarlep in all their leather and spikes, Raphael still in his finery and seated on the stool at the foot of the bed, watching with the same disdainful expression he's maintaining now. Still in the human glamour, she thinks, to show he's so far removed from the scene in front of him, some smug rhyme ready on his tongue once the soul in his bed cries out their release.

Tav wonders what he's planning to say if she loses. She'll ask him once she wins; it'll piss him off all the more.

And there is something truly, deeply wrong with her, because that, of all things, is what has her clenching around Haarlep's fingers. The incubus pauses in their movements, and she grinds her hips down in an unspoken, unsubtle invitation to keep fucking going, please.

"That's interesting," Haarlep murmurs. "What were you thinking about, pet?"

Like hell is she admitting any of that. She puts on her most sarcastically sincere voice and says, "Your master, of course."

Raphael sneers at her tone, but before he can say anything snide, Haarlep laughs and says, "Oh, sweetling, you actually mean that, don't you?" They don't give her a chance to respond, tugging her hair again and nuzzling into the crook of her throat in a gesture that'd be sweet if it weren't for the mocking smile she can feel on their face. "Trying to lie to an incubus about your desires would be cute if it weren't so foolish, pet."

"I—"

"Haarlep," Raphael says, a growl in his tone that has Tav grinding involuntarily into Haarlep's hand. "Hurry up."

She can feel Haarlep's pout even before they give a little put-upon sigh and say, "If you insist." They pull their fingers out of Tav entirely, making her whine with displeasure. In one smooth movement, they flip her over and study her, a mean grin curling at the corner of their mouth that has Tav realizing a few things.

One, that their teasing hadn't been been them playing with her form to their own ends, or at least, not only that; they'd been testing her reactions, what she liked. (Blindingly obvious, in hindsight.)

Two, that this is going to be more difficult than she'd thought.

The weight of Haarlep's want is abruptly overwhelming, her mouth dropping open in a needy whine and reaching up to grip at their shoulders, trying to pull them closer to her. They acquiesce, their skin scorching hot at every point of contact where it meets Tav's. She's not sure when or how it happens, but her legs are wrapped around Haarlep's waist and both of her wrists are held by just one of Haarlep's hands, fuck, they're so much bigger than she is—and then she forgets all of that, because Haarlep grinds into her, only the leather separating them, and she moans loud enough that she almost misses Raphael do the same.

It takes a truly herculean effort to tear her gaze away from Haarlep's face and look over their shoulder to stare at Raphael in disbelief, expecting him to have a hand in his stupidly fancy trousers or else a furiously embarrassed look on his face, but he just looks smug. It's not unwarranted, she supposes; she is naked and mewling in his bed, though that's more to Haarlep's credit than his.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Haarlep purrs, right in her ear but loud enough that Raphael can certainly hear every word. "I must have forgotten to mention: when I take your form, you will know when I wear it. You will feel every delicious way I misuse you."

The implications of that take too long to sink in, Haarlep continually teasing her with short, sharp little thrusts that throw any semblance of reasonable thought out the window. But when they do, she groans again, arching up against Haarlep and pulling them down to her as best she can with just her legs. They grin down at her, not letting themselves be pulled, presumably delighting in her desperation.

"Ask nicely, mouse," Haarlep teases.

Tav keeps her gaze on Raphael's face as she grinds back against the incubus, watching for any reaction. It's minute, but it's there, a slight narrowing of his eyes that she might have read as irritation were she unaware he could feel it. But since he can, she luxuriates in the feeling of having won something, lets her head loll back, and says, "Make me."

The incubus looks surprised, briefly, presumably unused to people resisting them. But they only let that throw them off-balance for a moment before they're leaning in, kissing her far too tenderly for what the moment is. She knows it's a trick, some infernal magic, can't quite stop herself from melting into it, anyway, their tongue brushing hers dulling the world around her into nothing.

Well. Almost.

Even in a haze, Tav finds herself too-aware of Raphael's attention, her skin prickling with something that she'd call discomfort if she didn't enjoy it quite so much. She opens her eyes (when had she closed them?) to look over at him, sees he's staring at Haarlep's hips rolling against hers with the expression of a man half-starved. He could just come over and take her himself, she's hardly going to stop him. Maybe he's waiting for her to beg so he can lord her weakness over her, or maybe so he can enjoy her body twice over, or maybe he really is a narcissist who's more obsessed with seeing his form ravage someone than interested in who they're ravaging. (But no, that doesn't quite make sense, either, he'd asked for her form, she hadn't volunteered it. Then again, it could be as another means of control—to have Haarlep drive her mad until she offered the Crown for the briefest reprieve. If that's his plan, it's stupid; she'd kill them both first.)

Still, better to test her theory than obsess over it later, so Tav pulls Haarlep as tightly against her as she can manage on their next thrust, biting their bottom lip and swallowing the noise they make, keeping her eyes on Raphael's. And that expression is not one of a man indifferent to who's touching him; she swears she sees his hand twitch forward, as if to grab her.

Good. She can work with that.

Haarlep breaks the kiss and looks down at her, taking their free hand and resting it on the base of her throat. "Naughty." Still, they sound a little breathless themselves. Before Tav can get smug about that, they trail their hand down her collarbone and to her chest, claws pressing in just enough to be a threat but not actually breaking the skin. (She finds herself a little disappointed.) They tug at her piercings like someone who's taken her time and time again, who knows exactly how she likes to be touched, brushing right up against the line of too-rough in just the way she enjoys.

She presses up into Haarlep's grip around her wrists, more to feel them holding her down than to actually try and break it. They grin down at her before leaning back down to murmur filth in her ear. Every fantasy they describe is more scandalous than the last, pinned between the pair of them, riding the devil with Haarlep wearing her form and pressed against her back, leashed and kneeling before the Archdevil Supreme and—

"No promises," she gasps out, halfway to agreeing, turning her head and kissing them just to keep her mouth shut.

Haarlep doesn't let her get away with it, pulling back and nipping at her neck instead. They let go of her wrists as they make their way further down her chest, waiting for her to look down at them before flicking their tongue against the piercing. Her hands wrap around their horns before she can stop herself, the rough ridges digging into her palms, trying to hold them to her and grinding desperately against their thigh, pressed right between her legs right where she needs it, her eyes locked on Raphael's, Haarlep's other hand (still wet with her, gods) wrapped around her hip to pull her even tighter against them—

And then pulling back entirely, leaving her bereft right when she's about to crash over the edge.

In some corner of her mind, Tav had known this was going to happen when she presented the bet. There needed to be something for her to beg for, after all. But that knowledge isn't enough to stop from whining out an insult, her own hand flying between her legs to try and get her where she needs before Haarlep catches it in their grip and holds it away from herself.

"Fuck you."

"Gladly, all you have to do is say please—"

"I'm not saying shit," Tav snarls, pushing at Haarlep's shoulders and throwing her leg over their lap to straddle them. They let her do it—she's not weak, but she's not managing against a devil on strength alone, especially since it takes some finagling to position them both so she can still look at Raphael. The way they're positioned, Haarlep would only have to rest their head back and open their mouth to let Raphael down their throat.

She's thinking of that as she starts fiddling with Haarlep's harness, trying to get it off them, pretending it's not the fantasy that has her hands shaking. "Fuck, why is this so damn—"

Raphael snaps, vanishing the harness in a rush of flame that doesn't burn her skin. She whines at the sudden contact, nails digging into Haarlep's chest and making them purr in satisfaction. She can feel them twitch under her, and she rolls her hips.

Ridges in unmentionable places, indeed.

Tav holds Raphael's gaze as she sinks onto Haarlep, willing her eyes not to flutter shut so she can see every little detail of how his expression crumbles, the way his hips jerk forward when she clenches around Haarlep at the sight of it, the frustrated snarl on his face at the delighted grin on hers.

She has to wait a moment once her hips meet Haarlep's; two fingers does not prepare for riding a devil, no matter how turned on she is. But it's a stretch she enjoys, rolling her hips in little circles to get used to the feel of them inside her and to see their reactions. Haarlep just looks satisfied, their hands coming up to rest on her hips, careful of their claws. Raphael's eyes are half-lidded, but he's looking right at her, meeting her stare with a challenge in his eyes. Tav knows he's baiting her into moving so he can feel it; she doesn't quite mind, though, so she rests her hands on Haarlep's chest to give herself some leverage.

Finding a rhythm is...difficult. It's not that she's new to being on top or anything like that, but the texture's an entirely new experience. The closest she can compare it to is that dragonborn a few years back, maybe, but this is certainly more intense and far more enjoyable, and she'd enjoyed the dragonborn quite a lot.

"Is that an incubus thing?" Tav asks, pleased she only sounds a little breathy.

Raphael's brow furrows, confused, but Haarlep only grins, lazy and pleased. "Oh, no. As I told you, glamoured and transfigured into a perfect copy."

Tav snorts. "You're not a perfect copy." Before she can think better of it, she moves one hand up to their face, resting it on their cheek and running her thumb along their cheekbone. Haarlep's eyes go wide at the gesture, or perhaps at her still being able to say anything other than desperate praise while they're inside of her. "I can't speak for the rest, but the face isn't quite right." Younger, smoother, prettier, in a way that exposes the man's vanity in a way she'd love to poke fun at, if it didn't risk him changing the human glamour she enjoys as is. (It makes her wonder what the appeal is, besides the obvious; something to ask later, when he can't punish her for guessing correctly.) "Close, though. And still handsome, before you get offended."

It takes a second for her to realize what she's said, her cheeks going too-warm once she does. Rolling her hips more roughly than she normally would in a silent plea to not say anything or at least wait until she's too fucked-out to care, she leans down to nip at Haarlep's throat. They rest their head back and let her do it until Raphael grumbles something displeased in Infernal.

"What, no teeth?" Tav asks, pressing a quick kiss to the spot instead.

Haarlep laughs. It may be her own embarrassment, but she thinks the sound's a little less performative than the rest of what they've said. "He wants to see you, pet."

Oh, and now her face is on fire again, and she's sure she's smiling on top of it, as if he needed any more of an ego boost. "He could say please." But she pushes herself up before he can snarl at her about her sass, spreading her legs in a move more to show herself off than for comfort. Raphael's eyes lock on where she and Haarlep meet; Haarlep looks vaguely proud. Normally, she could take or leave that sort of thing; given the context, she's fairly certain she's wet enough that the ridges are the only reason she's getting any friction at all. And it's nice, good in a she hadn't really expected from this, but it's not quite enough, so she takes one of Haarlep's hands and guides it to her clit.

Haarlep makes a noncommittal noise, pressing their thumb in just shy of where Tav wants them. Tav makes a noise halfway between a growl and a whine, shoving herself down more roughly on her next movement. "Say my name, and I'll consider it."

Tav narrows her eyes at Haarlep before looking back up at Raphael, not stopping the rhythm of her hips. "Would you count that as begging?"

Raphael smiles, smug and sharp-edged. "Come now, mouse, if I tell you, it'd spoil the fun."

"Shame," Tav sighs. "You won't feel me coming apart around you—sorry, around Haarlep—" As soon as she says their name, Haarlep shifts so their hand is right where she wants it, circling with the perfect pressure and making her groan. "You're surprisingly generous for the crueler master."

Haarlep twitches inside her at her calling them her master, even as the joke that was, but they don't let their reaction show on their face, putting on an innocent expression that doesn't work at all. "I'm no liar, little thief, and you did your part."

"Not a thie—fuck," Tav hisses, voice hitching on the fricative as Haarlep thrusts, the move startling after so long letting her set the pace. It feels fantastic in a way sex never feels outside of romance novels, surely the result of some venom or something magic unique to incubi, but knowing what's causing it doesn't make it any less difficult to resist, her retort melting into a needy gasp and wide, pleading eyes. It's a little embarrassing, frankly. Normally she has no trouble throwing off any sort of charm effects, her own force of mind and personality enough to power through.

Then again, normally she's not getting well-fucked when trying to resist such magic, so maybe she'll improve with practice.

Because gods, she's going to do this again, she knows it. Not like this, not exactly, maybe not even with herself physically present, if she loses, but she'll end up making her way to Sharess' Caress or breaking back into the House of Hope or even pissing Raphael off so badly he comes to her camp and takes her right in her tent, her hand over her mouth to avoid being overheard, him hissing obscenities into her ear.

If he'd fucking do it without Haarlep there to do all the work, anyway. Her own will might be only barely enough to keep her mind under Haarlep's hunger, but her irritation at the fact he hasn't gotten involved seems to be making more headway, because she's able to glare at him enough that he raises a brow at her, faux-concerned. "Something you'd like to ask for, my dear?"

Tav rolls her eyes. "If you're going to try to manipulate me, at least do a better job than the fucking Emperor. Honestly, I expect more from you."

Raphael's expression shifts from smug to sneering in a heartbeat. "Do not compare me to the illithid. The deal I offer takes into account both our best interests."

"Oh, please, you become a god and all I get—"

"—is freedom from the mindflayer you so loathe—"

"There's something deeply wrong with both of you, I hope you know," Haarlep says, looking oddly calculating in a way that has Tav a little suspicious, even if she can't quite put her finger on why.

Still, best not to show that, so she lets her expression go ever-so-surprised and says, "My goodness, are you sure? And here I thought making a bet with a devil in his own boudoir was the pinnacle of good behavior. Really, Haarlep, I..." She trails off, brow furrowing.

"Finish your thought," Raphael snaps, sounding displeased. She'd bet it's because she's staring down at Haarlep instead of him, if she wasn't a one-bet-at-once kind of woman.

"Haarlep," she says, slowly, halting all movements. "Haarlep. Is your name a fucking anagram?" There's a beat of silence, in which Haarlep looks mildly annoyed at most and Raphael's expression has gone oddly neutral in a way that means he's trying not to react, and Tav can't help but cackle at the sheer absurdity of it. "Gods, that's—"

Tav can't tell what her face is doing right now, a stunning lapse of control she's already cursing herself for. Raphael looks puzzled but not irritated, so it's probably not ideal, whatever it is. She also stays still too long, apparently, because Haarlep flips them again so that her head is hanging off the edge of the bed and they're fucking her with deep, rough thrusts that feel fucking fantastic, surely leaving her with shaky legs for a day or more. Not that she can bring herself to care about that at the moment.

In theory, she's right on the edge, has been since she was denied earlier, but despite that, she finds herself ignoring Haarlep's movements to look up at Raphael. Somewhat obviously, the angle's a different one than she's ever seen him from. She should hate it, the picture of submission with her neck bared and her mouth hanging open in an unabashedly delighted expression (oh, that's how she's been staring at him, great).

Should hate it. Maybe part of her does, the part that rages at the tadpole and the Emperor and the Dead Three and any and all attempts to leash her, that responded to it with nothing more than lies and lightning, that met this bastard and threatened to kill him if he didn't drop the theatrics and just fix the fucking thing in her head.

But another, louder part of her, the part that saw drowning as a challenge to overcome and invite in over and over again, the part that couldn't help but thrill at the glamour being dropped to reveal a damned devil with as much a penchant for the dramatic as her, the part that issued the bet in the first place, has her opening her mouth and saying, "If it weren't for you needing my mouth open to get me to beg, you could fuck my throat like this. Barely even have to mo—"

And that, it seems, is the final straw, because he snaps and suddenly Tav's on her knees, facing Raphael and held up with Haarlep's arms around her waist before she can even realize she's moved. She blinks, trying to readjust when Raphael steps closer, right at the edge of the bed, eyes blazing even before the glamour drops in a rush of flame, grabbing her face and holding it far too tightly for comfort, claws stinging like they're about to break skin.

Tav should hate that, too, but she's so thrilled at having gotten an actual reaction that she's sure she looks far too pleased with herself. This is the first time he's touched her; he's even warmer than Haarlep. It's only the bet that keeps her from asking him to do what he wants to her, please, fuck her, use her, just as long as he keeps looking at her—

When Raphael kisses her, she moans into it, gripping at his shirt, his shoulders, his hair, his horns. He swallows her sounds and makes plenty of his own as she takes full advantage of her first time touching him, snarls and growls and a noise just shy of a whine as she bites his lip, so she does it again, suddenly desperate to hear his lovely voice rough with lust.

He pulls her back by the hair hard enough to hurt, staring at her, and he looks fucking wrecked, even though she's barely touched him. She pulls him in, this time; he lets her. He lets her explore, too; she's intensely curious about what he tastes like, how different his mouth feels from the mortals she's fucked, what differences she can note between him and Haarlep. He jolts forward when she bites his lip again, harder this time; he feels the same size, at least.

It's not as though he lets her out of the kindness of his heart, of course. He explores her, too, hands greedy as they pinch and grab and yank her closer by her hips. (Haarlep moves forward as he does, keeping her full; she's impressed by it, not that she plans on breaking the kiss to tell them so.) The very edge of her knees hang off the bed, leaving her slightly leaning towards him as the mattress dips with their weight. She takes the opportunity to wrap her hands around his neck and hold him to her, just like he's doing to her.

When she eventually has to break for a breath, she rests her forehead against his and asks, breath fanning out against his face, "How long have you wanted to do that?"

It's meant as a taunt; it sounds like a genuine question. Raphael smiles at her in a way that's really more a baring of teeth as he tugs at her piercings none-too-kindly, making her gasp and rock back against Haarlep. "As long as you have, I'm sure. Had I known you so corruptible, my first offer would have been far more interesting."

Tav laughs (corruptible, honestly, as though she wasn't one of the worst of her group of miscreants), sliding one hand up the back of his neck to tug at his hair. The move surprises him, has to, because there's no way the full-throated groan that comes out of his mouth is a noise he'd intended to let her hear. She has to pull him to her slightly to reach his throat, doing her best to leave a mark that'll show on his skin. (It's tougher than the skin of anyone she's slept with before, but she loves a challenge, is more than fine with her jaw aching from overuse at the end of this.)

"You'd need sharper teeth for that, pet," Haarlep says.

Tav pulls back just to glare at them, their rhythm not faltering for a second. "I don't hear him complaining." On the contrary, he hisses in irritation as she stops, getting a grip on her hair to pull her back. (The string holding her ponytail together finally gives up the ghost, which is far, far longer than she'd expected it to last.) She hums as she gets back to it, sure he can feel her smile against his neck, his grip on her hips going even tighter.

Raphael makes this noise as she bites down a little harder, not quite a gasp; it has her shove herself back against Haarlep and the three of them are so tightly pressed together that the fabric of his stupid fancy doublet is pressed against her clit and she's just starting to shudder out her release when—

He snaps, and she's brought back to just desperately turned on. She's having too much fun to be properly irritated but leans back and snarls at him anyway, for appearance's sake. "Bastard."

"I'd be more inclined to give you what you want if you asked nicely."

"Absolutely not."

His smile twists into an expression of actual frustration, to her delight. "Are you really so opposed to Haarlep wearing you? They will remain in my service, and you seem to have no issue with the company they keep."

Haarlep rests their chin on Tav's shoulder. "More than doesn't mind, master. I asked her to strip for me, but she didn't want anything until—"

Tav twists, simultaneously exulted and frustrated by how little freedom the move nets her. "Shut the fuck up."

Now it's Raphael's turn to look pleased at her expense. "I insist you continue."

"I didn't even have to pretend to be you," Haarlep says, pleased at having their master's attention back, even if only because they're discussing her. (She should not feel smug about that, what is wrong with her—) "The second I looked at her like a client rather than a doll, I could taste her want on the air."

"Evocative phrasing," Tav says, pleased she sounds dismissive instead of horridly embarrassed. "Or is that literal?"

"Curious thing," Haarlep scolds. "That killed the cat, you know."

"Very much the mouse, currently," Tav reminds them. "Besides, if I weren't curious, we wouldn't be here, would we?" She grinds back against Haarlep, feeling Raphael jerk inside his breeches as she does so. "And while we're on the subject of curiosity, how much of this do you actually feel, Raphael?"

She waits until he opens his mouth to answer to clench around Haarlep, thrilled at how he cuts himself off from making any noise at all, even more thrilled at the irritation on his face, the want in his eyes. Before she can feel too smug about it, he narrows his eyes at her, his smile widening in a way that's far more worrying than the anger had been. "Concerned about what use I'll make of you once you set your pride aside and ask for what you want?"

"I don't know that concerned is quite the right word," Tav says, choosing to disregard the rest of what he's said. (Very, very bold of him to disdain her pride, given the absolute state of affairs that is his home, his goals, and his general demeanor.) "I suppose I'm trying to figure out if it'd feel any differently if you weren't fucking me by proxy, for either of us. Not to say I'm not enjoying myself, of course." Here, she drops her hands from Raphael and reaches behind her, pulls Haarlep in, eyes fluttering as they purr out their pleasure with her decision, swearing she can practically feel the noise reverberate inside her.

Raphael doesn't grab for her hands as she does, but she can tell it's a near thing from the sneer on his face. "This close to Haarlep, not trying to suppress it, I can feel it as well as if you were that soaked around me."

"Good," Tav says with a vehemence that surprises herself, raking her fingers through Haarlep's hair and tugging. Raphael's jaw slackens slightly as she does; Haarlep makes a noise that sounds more irritated than anything. Preferences, she supposes, and an indication the connection doesn't go both ways. "So you could feel my mouth and cunt at the same time, if you—"

"Step too far, pet," Haarlep says, almost pitying, as they put a hand on her back and shove her forwards.

Tav disagrees; she's got her mouth open and eyes up even before her hands catch on the sheets beneath her. Raphael looks torn for only a moment or two before caving, unlacing his breeches and finally baring him to her gaze. (She imagines sticking her tongue out, eyes pleading, helped speed that particular decision along.) She licks a stripe from base to tip before taking him fully into her mouth, muffling the moan she can't help when he thrusts forward. He tastes surprisingly similar to the other people she's blown (she'd been expecting sulfur), though the size of him is already enough to make her jaw ache, the ridges just-shy of uncomfortable against the roof of her mouth.

He holds her gaze as she does her best to take him all, teeth bared in a possessive snarl. "You need not settle with having this but the once, dear. When you've reached the limit of what you can bear, beg and you will find how indulgent a master I may be."

"Your every need taken care of, your every desire satisfied," Haarlep sighs, thrusts almost lazy now. "The Archdevil Supreme's most cherished pet. Well, secondmost."

It's hard to look dignified and in control of herself with wet eyes and saliva dripping from her mouth, so she doesn't try, letting her eyes go wide, beseeching, waiting until Raphael looks beyond proud of himself, before rolling her eyes. She's sure he'd love that, is just as sure she'd enjoy herself just fine for a day or two until the boredom drove her half-mad, clawing at the walls of her gilded cage and her so-called master.

Raphael doesn't seem to appreciate that, thrusting forward. This is hardly her first time pissing off the person she's fucking, so she breathes in through her nose to let him into her throat as he does. He's clearly not ready for that, a wonderfully rich sound coming out of his mouth, grip so tight in her hair she's worried he may pull out more than a few strands, hips stuttering in an unsteady rhythm as he comes. (More than a human man, though not to an absurd degree; she wonders if that would carry through if she fucked the human glamour. Something to explore another time.)

It's quicker than she'd hoped the whole thing would be over, but she can shove down the disappointment and cover it with smug pride, even if it means he'll take it out of her hide in less-fun ways. Still, she does her best to be a giving partner, so she hollows her cheeks and sucks him through it, letting her expression go pleading as a parting gift. (It's not begging, it's teasing; perfectly safe, if not entirely wise.) He hisses through his teeth, fucking in and out of her throat as she does, eyes fixed on her mouth. She can only taste him when he pulls back, too far inside her on the deeper thrusts for her to feel much of anything other than the sheer size of him.

When he's finally finished, she waits for him to pull out entirely before sticking her tongue back out, showing what still remains in her mouth, before swallowing, wanting him to see her do it. She gets most of it, a few drops trickling out the side of her mouth, but the way he twitches, even still soft, more than makes up for whatever ground she's lost in submitting.

Raphael's expression is furious, wanting, calculating, hateful, hungry, all at once. Tav thinks she wants him to look at her like that forever. He rests a hand on her jaw, thumb coming up to collect the bits she'd missed and pushing them back in her mouth. She takes them, obedient for as long as his interests align with hers; in this, they very much do, her chasing the taste of him, sucking his fingers, desperate to prolong the contact however long she can. He doesn't drop her face right away, thumb still in her mouth, index finger lightly pressing the hollow of her throat.

When he does let go of her, she feels immediately and irrationally upset, pushing herself up and saying, "The limit of what I can bear? I can take anything you throw at me."

Haarlep says something in Infernal, the words entirely unknown, the tone delighted. She wants to claw at them for the interruption. This is between her and Raphael, not them, no matter how much she's enjoying their movements, even without them letting her over the edge. Raphael seems to read that frustration, because the sharp anger on his face melts into something cruel and pleased, and says, "Some might call you foolish, to taunt a devil."

"Some might never enjoy themselves as much as I am currently," Tav says.

Raphael hums in agreement. "A hedonist. I had thought as much, finding you here, but it is a pleasure to see I was right. Haarlep?"

Tav expects Haarlep to respond, either in Common with words meant to rile her up or in Infernal to discuss in more direct terms how best to take advantage of the time they have. What she's not expecting is for Haarlep to immediately speed up, every thrust hitting a spot that makes her see stars, makes her arms give out underneath her so she's resting her cheek on the sheets, back arched, one of their hands on her clit.

She comes in what must be only seconds, but Haarlep doesn't stop, fucking her through it and spilling inside her with a satisfied sigh. Tav can't help the grin on her face that really isn't helping with the whole jaw aching thing.

"You weren't lying about being indulgent—oh!"

Haarlep hooks their arms under both of hers and pulls her until she's back on her back on top of them with her legs spread, on display much like before. Raphael watches Haarlep's spend drip out of her; her face flames at the attention even as she spreads her legs to give him a better view. Her feet are dangling off the bed, and she spares a brief, longing thought for if he hadn't spent himself so early, at pulling him back in until—

Until he drops to his knees and knocks the fantasy right out of her head and the breath right out of her lungs.

"What are you doing?" she asks, breathless, even though it's really quite obvious.

Even with her on the bed and him on his knees (on his knees, fuck), he has to bend down to reach her sex. For once, he doesn't bother with words first, licking her own slick off her inner thigh and using his fingers to spread her apart. There's a beat where he just looks, eyes blazing. She can feel herself clench on nothing, knows he can see it from the low laugh she feels more than sees before he finally puts his mouth where she'd wanted it. The forked tongue is almost like—well, it's rather—

Fuck, no, she doesn't have anything, there's no comparison. She keens at it, overstimulated from having just come, unsure if the sensation's more painful or pleasurable, even less sure if she'd mind either. She knows she doesn't want him to stop, a hand going down to his horns to hold him to her without permission from her brain. He groans as she does, the vibrations making her hips jerk up again, his nose brushing her clit as if she were riding his face (and there's a mental image, but nothing compared to him on his knees, something she'd not even thought feasible enough to fantasize about—)

It's clear he's not trying to make her come again. At the least, that it's a secondary goal to cleaning her out, thrusting his tongue inside her far too soon. That, she could handle. (She's let another Talossion shock her half-to-death just to prove she could bear it better than they could; overstimulation is a familiar indulgence.) But he's looking at her from between her legs, eyes wide open, a gleam in them like he'd be happy to eat her out for however many hours they have left and keep her there after besides; that has her so close to begging for nothing in particular before she takes her free hand and slaps it over her mouth.

Haarlep grabs her wrist and pulls it aside, tsking in disapproval, their tail coming up and curling around one of her breasts. Tav would try to yank her arm back if she weren't so busy resting her legs on Raphael's shoulders to tilt her hips up and give him a better angle, something he greedily takes advantage of. It's sloppy and clearly more for his own desire to taste her and Haarlep than to bring her pleasure. But that doesn't matter, because he manages to do both, anyway, her eyes rolling back in her head and a low moan leaving her mouth as she comes again.

Two orgasms. Okay, that's more what she'd hoped for—

Raphael stands, her legs falling back to around his waist, and rolls his hips against hers, fully hard again. Tav forces her gaze forward again to meet his, his expression savage, near-bestial, as though he's barely restraining himself from fucking her senseless. (She spreads her legs a little wider, and then wider again when he makes a pleased sound, low in his chest.)

"Are devils built differently than mortals, or is it not just incubus spi—fuck—"

He slides the first few inches inside her without letting her finish her question. The stretch that she'd enjoyed so much before is dancing between pleasing and painful now, still twitching out her aftershocks from his tongue inside her. She whines, the sound pitiful enough that she looks at Haarlep with her mouth slightly open to try and tempt them into kissing her or really, occupying her mouth in any way that'll be less embarrassing.

And there, that expression on their face is far too calculating, again. There's something she's missing there—

Tav's attention is diverted from her confusion by Raphael grabbing her hips and pulling her down to meet him until he's fully seated inside her. She moans and reaches for him, trying to pull his clothes off or pull him to her or push herself up so she's in his arms rather than Haarlep's, her indecision between her options meaning she doesn't accomplish much of anything. He leans down, one hand resting next to her head on the sheets to prop him upright, and just looks at her for a long moment.

She's too relieved when he finally leans in to kiss her again to question why he's not keeping up his commentary, opening her mouth for him with barely any coaxing. His mouth's wet with her—but no, not with her alone, an almost-sweetness to it that's something different. Haarlep, maybe?

No, definitely Haarlep, heat coiling in her gut and suffusing through the rest of her body as she lets their spend linger on her tongue before swallowing. She can feel Raphael smirk, wants to knock the expression off his face but can't quite muster an urge to rebel with the silk against her back and the devil against her front. She'd love to blame it on the incubus sex magic or whatever the fuck's going on there, but there's a thrill just in having his attention, not that she'd ever admit as much to his face. Doesn't want to admit much of anything right now, actually, so when he pulls away from her, she yanks him back in before he can say whatever terrible thing he's planning to.

He huffs out a laugh against her mouth before acquiescing and kissing her. Tav doesn't like the idea that he's mocking her, but the idea that the sound's borne of genuine fondness is almost more terrifying, so she resolves not to think of that or anything else, taking Raphael's tongue between her lips and sucking on it, chasing the taste of Haarlep, delighting in the noise he makes as she does. It's an almost jarring sensation, but certainly not unpleasant, the rush of arousal.

Even if begging seems all-the-more tempting now. She'd pray to her god for succor if she thought he'd listen, but he's as likely to smite her for ending up in this situation as actually answering her prayer.

Besides, the idea of turning to Talos for help in this feels like admitting defeat, in its own way. That she'd need her god's help just to keep her damned mouth shut would feed Raphael's ego just as much as her begging would, and there's no guarantee he can reach her in the Hells, anyway. No, the only one she can ask for any sort of mercy is Raphael.

He wouldn't grant it. She doesn't think she'd want him to.

Tav has to break the kiss to gasp at a particularly rough thrust, clawing at his shoulders to try and get a hold of something. He moans, either at her desperation or at one of her hands brushing the base of his wings, bringing them up to block out her view of anything other than him. (It's not necessary. She wasn't looking anywhere else. Besides, all she'd spot is one of his portraits.)

"You've held on longer than I expected," Raphael says, voice strained.

She makes a face at him, her annoyance instinctual and genuine. "Don't flatter me. It won't work."

"Of course not," he says, ever the businessman, tone so carefully practiced it's almost certainly a lie. "But you have impressed me. I knew your will was a formidable thing from the moment we met; that you're even capable of words after Haarlep's attentions is a testament to it." He leans in, his breath hot against her ear for a long moment before he continues. "Our agreement may not be a formal contract, but I have an addendum in mind I think we'd both be satisfied with."

Tav twists underneath him, finally managing to bring her legs up and wrap around his waist, the new angle making both of them groan. She can't quite get words together for a bit after that, but he seems willing to forgive that discourtesy when he's buried inside her, when she's holding him to her as tightly as she can manage. "Go on. Satisfy me, then."

Raphael smiles, a mean twist to the look. "I could consider that begging."

She pulls him up by his hair to kiss him, quick and hard, just so that she knows he'll be looking at her face when she pulls back rolls her eyes again. "Contract negotiation's begging to you? I must say, that casts rather an interesting light on our first meeting."

His lip curls, claws digging into her hips and pulling her down on his next thrust. "My, but you are a contemptuous thing."

"Tempestuous, really," she can't help but add.

"Oh," Haarlep says, and Tav startles, because she'd fully forgotten they were there, even with her head lying in their lap. When she turns to look at them, irritated at the interruption, they're smiling at her far-too-knowingly, one hand lazily working themselves. Her mouth waters, even if letting them into her mouth seems a terrible idea if she'd like to win. "What a match you make. Do you know you're both looking at me with the exact same expression right now?"

Tav's gaze snaps back to Raphael's face, watches his do the same to her. And that feels unbearably—something she doesn't dare name, so she looks back at Haarlep, a carefully practiced annoyance on her face. "Was that all you had to say?"

Despite the playful expression, Haarlep looks less charmed by her than Raphael does, something distinctly malicious in their eyes sending a chill down her spine. Like they'd like to break her down into a mindless toy, just to say they could. And it's not that she thinks Raphael's any better. Knows he's much worse, in fact. But there's a comfort in knowing he'd want her to be herself enough to mourn what she'd lost.

A moot point, as she won't be losing and she hasn't gambled her soul anyway, but still.

"I've not the patience for your antics, Haarlep," Raphael snarls, pushing himself up slightly to give him the room to run a hand down her front. Parts of her she'd never noticed as particularly sensitive seem to come alive under the touch, unable to keep herself from arching into it. "In exchange for the answer to your question, I will ensure Haarlep uses your form only when you make your way back to this House."

"I don't get anything new from that, devil," Tav points out. "I'll get the answer once you fail to get me to beg."

"So quick to dismiss the chance to let go of every burden on your shoulders until sunset," Raphael says. The cadence of his voice as he speaks, low and mocking and mean, makes a far more compelling argument than his actual words. "Experience a pleasure unlike any you've sampled on the material plane. I know you're curious, mouse."

"Well, of fucking course I am," Tav says, annoyed. "I'm curious about everything under the sun. Or under the endless clouds here in Avernus, I suppose. I'm curious about what it would be like to become Absolute, hardly means I'm going to do it. And as for 'letting go of the burden on my shoulders'—" She doesn't think her impression of him is half-bad, and he must agree, because as she does it, he twitches inside of her even as he affects a disdainful sneer. Gods, but he's a narcissist; she hates how little she minds it. "You misunderstand me. Something like this suits me far better than abject submission."

It's not to say that she's necessarily opposed to the latter. A cleric of a god as selfish as hers doesn't live long if they aren't willing to bend. But if he wants that from her, he'd better fucking earn it.

"Is that what you want from this?" Raphael's claws dig into the meat of her thigh, not quite enough to break skin. "Am I to be the purring villain trying to tempt you from the path of righteousness?"

"No," Tav says, but she's breathless enough that it's completely unconvincing. "Though we can revisit that, if it's something you've spent much time ruminating on."

"Unwise to make offers you don't intend on following through with," Raphael says, though something in him relaxes, a certain confidence settling back on his shoulders.

Ah. She hadn't necessarily meant to admit she would be interested in doing this again, but alas, alack, what's done is done. "I've made no promises, only that I would consider it."

For a few long moments, Raphael doesn't respond, just studies her face. She's not sure if he's trying to read if she's being honest or something else, feels a little like squirming away from such open curiosity, but there's nowhere for her to retreat to, and that's thrilling, in its own way, even before the heat thrumming in her veins, spurred on by every thrust. "And what would you want, mouse?"

Something in her sours. "Really? You can't trick me into begging that easily. What do you take me for?"

Raphael laughs, surprised, genuine. The sound makes Tav's stomach flip. "Well, that depends on how you tell me, my dear. Indulge me, and I guarantee I will only claim victory if I feel you've truly begged."

That's a command, and entirely undisguised as such; she grapples with the conflicting urges to let every half-forgotten fantasy spill from her lips and to defy it just to remind him she's not his to boss about. (Perhaps to encourage him to convince her otherwise.) But her consistent inability to keep her mouth shut wins, as it so often does, and she says, "I can't say I'd hate that, for a start. You suit the role of the villain."

He frowns until it becomes clear she doesn't mean it an insult, leaning in so that his chest brushes hers, him still mostly-clothed. Entirely clothed other than free enough to fuck her, actually.

"And I'd like this off," she says, gripping his shirt and glaring up at him. Raphael arches a brow at her, waiting for her to move. Tav rolls her eyes but gets to removing his shirt for him. "If you insist on me doing all the work, you could at least do me the decency of letting me on top."

Raphael lifts his hand up to snap, then reconsiders, one hand on her ass and the other holding her close to him, arm against her upper back, picking her up effortlessly and settling down against the headboard with her in his lap. He doesn't slip out of her, but there's still a jolt as they land on the bed. She has to bite back a snort at the peeved expression on Haarlep's face as they move out of the way; she doubts either of them would appreciate it. "Is that why you refused to let Haarlep set the pace? Have you thought of this?"

The question should be a taunt, but it comes out too desperate to know by half; she shouldn't admit anything, but the tone has her nodding before she can think better of it. She starts moving again, working her way back up to the rough pace from before. "Yes. From the first meeting, in fact."

He groans, grip going tighter; she's unsure if it's because of her cunt or her candor. "And here I thought your heart beat that fast from fear."

"Well," Tav says. "That, too. You did steal me away to the hells right as I was planning my grand assault on that camp, you ass."

Raphael grins at her, smug and ever-so-pleased with himself. "Perhaps I wanted you on less sure footing."

She sighs, finally succeeding in getting his shirt open, frowning when she sees the frilly collar is part of an undershirt underneath. "You definitely managed that. I didn't realize my soul wasn't your actual goal until later."

"The Crown is the prize," he says with the confidence of someone who's spent lifetimes focused on a single goal. "Much as I would enjoy you bound to this House of Hope, I remain optimistic you will sign and fulfill the deal I've offered you, no matter how fine a consolation prize as your soul would make."

"You know, I don't know that talk of my hypothetical eternal servitude is my ideal pillow talk," Tav points out, idly distracted by how to get this shirt off his shoulders. It has to be magic that gets them on over the wings, isn't it? But then, there's a hole in his pants for the tail, she remembers it from that first meeting. (She hadn't necessarily been trying to look at his ass as he made his offer, was more focused on if he had any hidden weapons that would indicate any potential ways she could defend herself, but. You know. She'd noticed it, had all manner of ideas about it as their relationship turned more allied than adversarial.)

"Oh, my dear, isn't it?" Raphael asks, voice suddenly harsh, and her gaze flits to him from where it's resting on his chest. There's an edge there, one she hasn't seen yet tonight, more like Haarlep's urge to possess her completely than the desire to have her in a baser way.

It makes her think of Hope, for just a moment, and the guilt for doing this while she suffers as she has been, no matter how Tav had avoided promising anything, threatens to rend her in two. So she does what she's always done in situations like this: shoved that dissonance down, lifts her chin up, and challenges him right back. "What would you do, if you had my soul?"

He blinks at her, clearly surprised she's turned the question around rather than answer. "Your fate would depend on the means of your downfall, of course, it'd hardly be satisfying otherwise. Would this be if you failed in giving me the Crown?"

"If I agree to give you the Crown, I won't fail," Tav says. (If she signs, she'll follow through as far as she can; if she fails, she'll be a mindflayer and her soul will be of no interest, besides.) "Say you simply claimed me from the City of Judgment, as a god would their flock."

Unsurprisingly, even the suggestion he'd ever have the power to do so has him entirely sidetracked from that cold hunger. His eyes practically roll back in his head before they flutter shut, too, though that may be because she's finally got the undershirt unbuttoned, running her hands along his chest appreciatively. Haarlep continues not to be an exact copy; Raphael's less vascular, softer around the middle, more hair on his chest. She finds she prefers it; the reality of the would-be Archdevil as opposed to the sculpted perfection of his copy.

"What, no answer?" Tav says, affecting a pout. "I indulged you, won't you indulge me?"

His claws dig further into her hips, one of them just breaking the skin. Tav can't tell if he's too focused on the way she feels around him to answer or if he's really thinking about it, but there's a long stretch of silence. She takes advantage of it to learn what gets a reaction out of him. He's much more responsive like this, seems to prefer her setting the pace. She'd call him lazy for it if it bothered her; instead, she finds she's mostly curious about if this is the role Haarlep usually plays or if he's reserving this for her. Can't decide which option she likes more.

"Haarlep?" she says sweetly. As if they've been waiting for an invitation, they press themselves against her back, arms wrapped around her stomach, nipping at her throat. "Is this usually what he has you doing?"

"Oh, of course not," Haarlep says, tone dismissive. Raphael's eyes open, face scrunching in irritation. "When he's feeling adventurous, perhaps, but mostly I have him as I had you—"

"Haarlep," Raphael snaps.

"What, you're going to leave it at that?" Tav protests.

"I wasn't planning to," Haarlep says, a little peevishly. "Not when I can see how much you'd like to hear more." One hand slides further up her torso, flicking at her piercing and making her gasp. "No need to settle for picturing it. Stay here and we can show you every night for the rest of your days."

"Could show me now," she snaps. It's not the best retort, especially by her standards, but it's absurd. They have her, here, now, wet and eager and already having admitted to wanting to do this again. Besides, even if she were the type to be content lounging about as a prize rather than a person, there's a worm in her head that'd turn her into a mindflayer, and no one wants that. (Excepting the Emperor, of course, but she's made her feelings on that as clear as she can get away with without being abandoned to turn immediately.)

And on top of that, she'd hardly be Haarlep's, if she were going to agree. Which she's not. But she knows damn well who here's the one actually tempting her.

Haarlep clearly knows, too, if the half-pitying, half-mirthful sideways glance they shoot her is any indication. To her surprise, they don't call her on it beyond that, just rests their chin on her shoulder and murmurs, "Even if he'd let you, I don't think you'd get off him if I had your soul on the line, would you?"

Tav scoffs. "I'll remind you that you don't." She says that last bit with just the slightest bit of magic behind it, enough to sting, if not to actually hurt. "Besides, you're a poor excuse for an incubus if you can't think of a way to manage both. I'm hardly trying and I can think of a few." Haarlep scowls; she can feel it where their cheek brushes hers. Their tail curls back around her leg, tight enough to hurt, the tip of it brushing her clit enough to tease but not enough to offer any actual satisfaction.

Far more satisfying is the groan it prompts from Raphael, a sound almost like he's been punched. (She'd rather have him in the human form for that, see the bruise form on his handsome face even if he'd heal it away and rip her apart for the insult. Unless she asked first; she has a feeling he may be rather easily persuaded.)

"Mortals," Haarlep sighs against her ear. "You always make things so difficult. I could show you pleasure eternal if you'd just give in—"

Tav opens her mouth to retort, something about the fight being more fun than anything Haarlep could give her. They don't let her interrupt, shoving two fingers in her mouth and pushing against her tongue to force her mouth open. Tastes them, tastes herself under it, the two mixing in a way that she enjoys enough that she only barely manages to resist the urge to lave her tongue over them and chase it.

They hum. Tav is sure she's not imagining the irritation she can hear in it. "He was right about your stubbornness, at least." Their fingers curl until they're holding her jaw open from inside her mouth; she feels uncomfortably like a caught fish waiting to be reeled in, as much from the thought of Raphael talking about her here as the hold.

Moreso, if she's being honest with herself, but there'll be time enough for that later.

She grabs Haarlep's wrist and pulls their hand from her mouth. They let her, letting their claws nick her bottom lip and drawing a little blood. "C-can't distract me that easily. You have something to show me, and you—" She punctuates the word by raking her blunt nails down Raphael's stomach. "Never answered my question."

"It's as though you've learned nothing from our previous deals," he says, tone strained, eyes closed as he rests his head back. "Be specific, dear. You've asked a few."

Tav lets her nails dig a little deeper into his stomach, even if his skin's tough enough that he probably doesn't feel much. "Oh, did I? How rude of me. Let me try again: if I were yours, body and soul—" The groan that comes out of his mouth is beautifully unbecoming. She wouldn't mind hearing it again, actually, but she sneers down at him for the desperation anyway, just to see his eyes go even more blown. "You know, I've never interrupted you, you could do me the same courtesy." (A blatant lie. She's fairly certain she did so a few minutes ago.)

"I like you more and more, mouse," Haarlep says, tail pressing harder against her clit before sliding away. She looks down to see it curled tightly around the base of Raphael's hardness. "I'd hate for my brat to spill himself in your pretty cunt before you're satisfied."

Raphael snarls, though the grip he has on her hips indicates Haarlep's not far off. "You would both do well to show me respect in this house."

Tav tilts her head to the side, narrowing her eyes as she studies his face. He makes a pretty picture like this, hair disheveled from her pulling and from the constant switching positions, pupils dilated so wide that there's more black than flame, chest heaving with every breath. She'd have been more inclined to stay and dine if one of the many portraits had been of this, she thinks. But then, she likes that it's not, likes how he presents himself as all-powerful only to be so eager to be under her here. (And Haarlep. Part of her almost wants to make him her enemy just so she can see how much damage mocking him about getting off to debasing himself to his own image could do. Another part of her wants to make a deal to watch next time.)

"I don't think you want that," Tav says, carefully, because he could still kill her so, so easily. Could lean up and rip her throat off with his teeth without her armor, could burn her alive, could simply lock her in the dungeons and leave her to turn until she begs him to take her soul rather than lose it entirely. But she doesn't think he will. "I think you want me to be as eager to put you in your place as you are to put me in mine."

Raphael sneers. "You think so highly of yourself."

"Tell me I'm wrong," Tav says, feeling surer with every word out of his mouth. "I won't beg, but I'll otherwise be the perfect damsel for you for the rest of the night. You can have my simpering submission, my perfect, obsequious obedience, knowing you'll have earned none of it."

Raphael's lip curls further. A veritable paragon of disdain, if not for the way his hips rock up into hers.

She grins as he doesn't offer any sort of verbal retort. "No, of course not. You'd get bored if I gave in without making you work for it. I'd certainly be disappointed, after all your talk." Hope whittled down to the marrow of despair, only one little voice she should really listen to, and gods, what a voice it was—

Haarlep puts a hand on the back of her shoulders and pushes again, gentler this time. Curious, she lets them press her so she's chest-to-chest with Raphael, unable to keep from a little satisfied hum as she rests her cheek on his chest so she can look up at Haarlep with a questioning expression.

"Far be it from me to deny you a show," Haarlep says, seductive croon at odds with their thoughtful expression. Tav's breath catches in her throat as Haarlep lowers themself onto her, a hand on either side of Raphael's head. The contact's enough to have her head swimming even before Haarlep kisses Raphael, all tongues and teeth. Raphael groans, low in his chest, a noise she feels as much as hears, watches the tension in his shoulders go slack from the spittle.

She's horrified to realize the twist in her gut is far more jealousy than arousal.

Haarlep pulls back, and Tav delights and despairs in the sound Raphael makes in equal measure. "I thought so." They pull her up a bit, ignoring her grumble of protest to whisper right in her ear. "Enjoy yourself, pet."

They vanish. For a long moment, the only sound in the room is both of their breathing.

"What did they tell you?" Raphael asks, eyes the slightest bit unfocused.

Tav hesitates before answering. She's not sure why; it's nothing objectionable. "To enjoy myself. And if I'm being honest..." She rests her hands on his chest, murmurs out a lesser restoration and watches as his gaze goes sharper. "If I'm going to have you desperate, I'd vastly prefer it at my hand." And, well, it seems only fair to restore herself, after, though it doesn't feel that dramatic a change, badly as she wants him without the influence of anything at all.

For once, the devil underneath her is speechless, though she can't say what exactly did it. Gods, she hopes Haarlep wasn't only thing keeping this from being a mistake. She leans back down to kiss him, gentler than she has yet, trying to coax him into coming back to her.

To say it works would be an understatement. He turns the kiss open-mouthed and filthy in moments, only stopping to bite down the line of her throat when she breaks the kiss to breathe. Should get him to stop—it's going to be very difficult to say she fought her way out with his marks all down her skin—but instead, her hands to go his head, combing her fingers through his hair to encourage him to keep going.

When he makes his way down far enough that he's sucking a bruise above her collarbone, she manages, "You know, I got these piercings for a reason."

He groans out her name like it's a curse before sitting up and sucking one into his mouth with no preamble, his wanton moan muffled by how much of her he has in his mouth. She makes a noise that she'd be hard-pressed to call anything other than a wail, tells herself it's because of the touch and not her name on his tongue for the first time, doesn't believe it even for a second.

Raphael pulls back and pulls her down for his next thrust, making her hiss through her teeth and grab at his shoulders. "My dear girl," he grits out. "Tell me what it is you want."

He'd asked this of her before. She'd gotten distracted, had barely shared anything (though in her defense, she'd been lust-drunk on incubus spend and spit). "Knowing you have me for hours yet: we don't have the time for all I've wanted from you."

She says it to see if he'll say her name again; he rewards her with it, even rougher this time as he bites at the junction where her neck meets her shoulder. "Let's negotiate more, then. A return to my house after you defeat that brain and deliver me my crown—"

"—let's start there, then," Tav says, annoyed and somehow relieved that he's trying to press his advantage here. "Thought of making you beg me for the damn crown. Perhaps I'd wear it while you lie flat on your back beneath me, desperate just to keep my eyes on you while you bring yourself over the edge—"

Gods, the noise he makes at that. Tav brings a hand between her legs but he pulls it away and replaces it with his own. He's too-rough, though that doesn't stop her from leaning into the touch. "Go on."

"Do devils need to breathe?" she asks. His brow furrows; in hindsight, something of a non-sequitur. "Could have your neck beneath my boot for that regardless, but I must say I prefer it if—"

Raphael kisses her again, seemingly unable to help himself, though he breaks it after only a second, his breath mingling with hers. "Tell me you'll come to my bed again."

She grins at him, because that tone can't rightly be called anything but begging. "Tell me what you've wanted first."

He doesn't answer immediately, letting her adjust their positions so it's less of a strain on her back. He ends up leaning against the headboard with her still in his lap, able to rest more of her weight against him without toppling them both. "After how deftly you handled my commander, I thought of you coming to me for your own reward, rather than your spawn's." She can't help but laugh at the naked jealousy in his tone, though she's no better. "You'd done so well for me, I would have granted you your heart's desire."

"Oh, how magnanimous of you, deigning to fuck me," she says with a little eyeroll to cover her shudder at his condescending praise.

But then, the archivist had sent "Verillious" in here as a gift for Haarlep, not for Raphael. And Raphael's flirtatious, has been from the start, but he's only ever paid her attention until Astarion had wanted a deal, nothing more than a passing glance for all her other companions. For her, he'd practiced his little speeches, studied her enough to know she hated the Emperor's leash on her more than the gods she was up against, found her breaking into his home and asked for her form and nothing else—

"Do you know what Yurgir said to me, when we first found him?" she asks. He shakes his head. "That he could, ah, smell you all over me—"

Raphael's hand slides from her clit to the base of his hardness in a quick, urgent movement, resting his forehead on her shoulder and groaning.

Tav should mock him for it, but instead she finds her voice going low and encouraging. "Go on. Prove him right, mark me inside as well as out."

"Damn you," Raphael snarls, shoving her onto her back and thrusting once, twice before spilling inside her. She sighs out her satisfaction against his mouth, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. (His rhythm stutters again as she does.)

Even once he's done, they lie like that for awhile; she'd protest the inevitable stickiness if not for the in-ground bath he could likely throw her into from here. Besides, they're not done. There's a few hours yet before she has to face the consequences of this. Her party will hardly trust her sound judgment in their next course of action if she comes away from a heist looking like this.

She rests one of her hands on the bruises on her neck. Could heal them away, she supposes. She's certainly said all manner of things in bed that she'd never intended on letting leave the room. Raphael watches her, a preemptive sneer on his face. Tav lets her hand drop. She tells herself she can heal it later, when it won't start a fight, though even the thought of healing away any of it rather than letting them linger as a reminder feels oddly disappointing.

Raphael's smile, smug and pleased and guilelessly relieved, makes her heart skip, as though she needed any further proof this was a terrible idea.

"Don't be an ass," Tav snaps, not meaning it at all.

"Ah, you'd be disappointed if I suddenly turned altruistic," he says, hissing out the last word like an insult. She doesn't deny it; he's right. "Are all your fantasies of your maintaining control?" He sounds more curious than anything, like he really wouldn't mind her wanting nothing more than to put the infernal in its place. 

Tav shakes her head. "Just as many the other way around, honestly. I'd not have challenged you in the first place if you forcing me to beg held no appeal."

Raphael hums, satisfied with her answer. "As I thought. You don't want me to stop being an ass, then."

She can't help but giggle at how annoyed he sounds at her choice of words.  "If you're upset about base profanity, don't invite a damn sailor into your bed."

"I didn't need to invite you," he reminds her, a mean look curling up the corners of his mouth. "Made your way here all on your own, tied up and helpless—"

"And what a waste, for you to not even take advantage of it," Tav snaps, cheeks flushed.

"We've plenty of time to rectify that," he murmurs, looking over her. "See if you can truly take whatever I throw at you."

Supplicate and ask to be drowned, to be blown asunder, to be destroyed—

Tav jolts. Those are two lines of thought she doesn't need crossed any more than they already are. "I suppose we do. Though you haven't had much luck yet."

"Luck is not chance, it's toil—"

"—fortune's expensive chance is earned," Tav recites the following line, almost on instinct. "So let's see if you can earn it, devil."

Raphael groans and kisses her again, already stiffening inside her. "My dear Tav, you make it very difficult to let you go after this."

Should take that as a threat. She takes it as a compliment instead and wraps her legs around his waist again. "Make me beg and you can get a cheap approximation to content yourself with, at least. Or else think of another way to lure me back—"

And then there's no talking for awhile yet, aside from his sibilant, degrading insults and her desperate, failed attempts to prove she doesn't enjoy them, enjoy him and his stupid dramatics and his obsession with her and even his doomed, moronic plans. For now, she can indulge in him; later, she'll bring her will back in check and do what needs to be done, whatever that may be.

(If she leaves the House of Hope thinking the Crown's not so terrible a price to pay, well. He makes something of a convincing orator.)