Oth thanked the barmaid and started on his second tankard with all the diligence and commitment he ought to have been applying to his classes. It was early yet, and the tavern was only about half full with the usual student crowd and some travelers or others passing through town. The evening entertainment was a group of three burly looking dwarf men (or possibly women?) playing some kind of stringed instruments and banging on what looked to Oth like pans from the kitchen, but he wasn't especially musically literate so they may well have been sacred objects. The drinks here weren't especially good, but with enough of them surely Oth would be able to forget the miserable day and stumble his way back to his dormitory to black out in the blessed dreamless sleep of the heavily inebriated.
He'd made his way about halfway into the second tankard when a group of adventurers came in, excited jovial laughter and coins spilling all over the place. They'd clearly had a successful raid or something, or perhaps were just criminally naive about flashing money around in sleazy watering holes. Oth wouldn't normally have paid a group of adventurers any attention whatsoever, but one of them was ridiculously, heart-stoppingly beautiful.
He was an elf (of course), and tall (as they usually are), blond hair dipped purple at the ends where it brushed his shoulders, dressed in some kind of laced-up leather adventurer nonsense that seemed more stylish than practical. Tall, tightly-laced boots that did appear to have seen some action, given the dirt and scuffs, so maybe the outfit had some practical uses not immediately apparent as well. He was touching people's arms and backs as he greeted them with the confident ease of someone who did not expect to be rejected (Oth could never- the entirely real possibility someone would recoil in horror from his touch was too great), offering smiles and coins alike as if they cost him nothing. His laughter carried over the din and Oth hadn't been able to pull his eyes away from the elf's lithe, fluid movements since the moment his dirty boot had hit the tavern floor. He was the kind of pretty, effeminate, loud, playful person who would likely never look twice at a boring loser like Oth. He probably wanted a big strong masculine man, like the green-skinned ogre he was saying something to, long thin fingers wrapped around meaty green forearm like it belonged there.
Then the elf was scampering across the room, navigating the crowd (now significantly greater than it had been when Oth arrived an hour ago) with admirable grace. He pressed a coin into the bulky dwarf performer playing a kitchen utensil and said something that had all the musicians laughing. The dwarf holding a pot said something in return and the elf ran a finger down the musician's bulging, muscular chest and opened his mouth to speak. Oth strained to hear, even through the noise of the room, and tried his hand at casting Eavesdrop. He'd only been able to actually execute that one a few times (even though it's a basic fucking spell a baby could cast), and unfortunately none of them had been during exams, but in a stroke of luck it held for a moment and he heard the elf's mellifluous voice.
"Sorry, big boy, but I don't really do muscles." He waved a manicured hand to generally encompass the dwarf's whole situation, hip cocked flirtatiously sideways in spite of his words.
"Pity. Little thing like you needs a good rogering."
"Ooh, and I don't really bottom either. Sorry, babe."
He said more after that but Oth's spell wore off, perhaps because his concentration wasn't that amazing with his heart pounding in his chest loud enough the musicians could have brought him on as a backup drum if they ever got tired of the pans they were clanking. If the elf didn't 'do muscles', did that mean he liked shrimpy losers? Not fucking likely. If anything, it meant he liked other fashionable, pretty fems like himself. Still, the possibility...
Oth was being ridiculous (what else is new?). But it had been so fucking long since he'd last been interested in anyone, and even the possibility of intimacy was so tantalizing. The fantasy was already unraveling in his mind- the elf kissing his neck, pushing him against the tavern wall, purple ends of his hair brushing softly against Oth's skin... madness, surely. Impossible madness.
The band struck up a lively tune (more upbeat than the ambient stuff they'd been playing before, presumably this had been why the elf had approached them in the first place) and there was a bit of a commotion as tables were pushed aside to make a little dance floor. In minutes it was teeming with moving bodies twirling and sliding together and apart. None of them mattered but one purple-tipped haired supple figure moving as effortlessly as if the music lived inside him. He pulled his long hair up onto his head, held in place with a leather strap tied with the precision of obvious habit, and even from his poor vantage point at the bar, Oth could see a barely glowing rune or script of some kind tattooed on the back of his neck. If he'd been a better student perhaps Oth could even say what it meant, but he was of course distracted again by the elf's swirling hips, erratically visible through the moving bodies of the crowd on the makeshift dance floor.
What good did it do to pine over this adventurer? He was so clearly at ease, comfortable in his skin, flirtatious and confident and certain. What interest could someone like that have in Oth? None. That was the obvious reality. All else nothing but fantasy and madness. And yet...
Oth distractedly sipped at his tankard, watching the elf's wrists rotating in the air as he moved to the music, hands twisting and spinning, the warm firelight catching and reflecting on his shiny purple fingertips. And all Oth could think of was those long, thin fingers wrapped around his cock, or his neck, or pressing into him, opening him up...
Gods it had been so fucking long since he'd had anything but his trusty crystal dildo (best fucking impulse buy of his life- he'd stumbled his way through the interaction with the sales clerk at the Naughty Dragon in shamefaced uncertainty but once he'd felt the firm head of it pushing into him the first time he'd known it had been worth it). And the elf had said he didn't bottom, surely that meant he topped, right? What would his face look like when he pushed inside? Would his eyes flutter closed, like they were now, body moving in music-induced bliss?
Then the elf's eyelashes moved again and he looked straight at Oth, their eyes locking through a gap in the crowd.
Oth jerked his head away immediately. Fucking idiot, staring at the adventurer like that, of course he was going to notice. And there was no way he'd misunderstand what Oth had been thinking. He knew from being told by every tutor and professor he'd had just how expressive his face was (and how prone to inappropriate daydreaming). Oth chugged the last two gulps of his drink and slid it on the bar counter, standing from his stool and gesturing (well, flailing around wildly like an idiot) to try and get the barmaid's attention so he could pay his tab and run away before he could make more of a fool of himself tonight. Why did he think it was a good idea to get drunk in public? Always better to do it alone in his dormitory jerking off in shame. Senseless of him to try and do something different tonight, but he'd thought it worth trying to go to the tavern at least once more before losing the opportunity entirely whenever the dean's letter reached his father and he'd be forced to return home.
Unfortunately the tavern was now as busy as Oth had ever seen it and the haggard barmaid had either not noticed him or was just so overwhelmed she couldn't attend to all the customers needing things from her at once.
"You'll never get her attention that way." The lyrical voice came from right behind him and was painfully familiar. Oth turned as the elf's pretty mouth quirked up in a teasing smirk. "Here, let me help." He leaned forward into the bar (pressing gently against Oth's side, warm leather brushing the exposed skin at his arm from when he'd rolled up the sleeves of his robes earlier) and raised a long slim arm to catch the barmaid's eye. She came over immediately and Oth mumbled about paying his tip and exchanged the required coin with all his usual charm.
"Uh, thank you." Oth risked a glance up at the elf (his eyes were so purple up close, pale on the inside with a darker ring on the outside) and immediately regretted it. There was no way he'd ever be able to look away. It simply wasn't fair people could be so fucking pretty. "So, um. I'm, um. I'm gonna go. Bye."
"Wait," The elf said, though he didn't need to. Oth hadn't moved. "Do you have other plans? Somewhere you need to be?"
"Yes."
"What are they?"
Oth's mind, never especially quick to provide him with useful material, turned up a blank.
"Liar, you don't have plans." But he was laughing, so he didn't seem especially bothered by Oth's obvious deception. "Come on."
Oh Gods. Long slim fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling. Nothing in the world could have stopped him from following then. He thought for a horrifying moment that he was going to be introduced to the elf's friends and have to socialize, but in a minute it was clear they were instead going up the tavern stairs.
Soon he was pulled into a little room, one of those travelers rented by the night. It was similar to ones Oth had stayed at during family trips to their summer home on Xalthindri, though smaller and more strewn with random items than any from Oth's childhood. The elf had clearly been planning outfits or something, since clothes were left tumbling out of a bag in the corner. The adventurer (having let go of Oth's wrist when unlocking the door to the room) sat on the bed and began rummaging through a bag on the floor (not the one with all the clothes spilling out). Uncertain what to do with himself, Oth sat in the little chair facing him.
"There we go!" The elf pulled from the bag a long, curved pipe and a pale pink cube. Oth felt a pang of giddy anticipation. "You do smoke?"
"Yes."
The elf grinned at him while he lit the pipe and took a long pull, pink smoke curling out into the air between them. Oth was mesmerized by his lips on the mouthpiece, his chest moving in its leather lacing as his lungs inflated, how his face looked when he tipped his head back and let the vapor out between his parted lips. Oth accepted the pipe being held out to him when offered and took a hit, the warm tingling feeling of the smoke in his lungs settling on top of his buzz from the drinks he'd had downstairs. Amazing what drugs can do. The adventurer pulled the leather strap from his hair and shook the tumbling locks down around his shoulders, purple ends brushing his delicate collarbones. Fucking gorgeous.
"What's your name?"
Oth startled. How long had he been staring at the elf? The pipe had been set aside on a table by the bed at some point, though Oth had no memory of it being taken from him, and he felt an acute pang of regret that he missed the moment when their hands might have touched.
"It makes you sad to tell me?"
"Tell you?"
"Your name. You don't want me to know it?"
"Oh. No, that's not... Sorry. Uh. I'm Oth. Um. What's your name?"
"Sylyarus."
"Oh."
"Everyone calls me Syly."
Oth nodded.
"Sorry I didn't tell you my name. That wasn't... I'm just really nervous."
"Why?"
"You're just really, really pretty."
Syly laughed, head tipped back and long hair cascading down his back.
"I like you."
"Really?"
"I mean, I don't really know you yet, but yeah. So far."
Oth wasn't sure what he should say to that. The silence stretched out between them awkwardly.
"Come here."
Oth stood and stepped forward, uncertain what it was the elf wanted. Syly wrapped his long fingers around Oth's wrist the way he had before and tugged. Oth wasn't expecting it and fell forward, gracelessly sprawling onto the bed at Syly's side. Syly laughed and laid back on the bed as well, so they lay facing one another perpendicular to the mattress, faces inches apart.
"So, Oth... what do you do?"
"I'm a student. At the university."
"Oh yes, I saw that big castle just outside town. We were trying to figure out what it was."
"Yeah that's Alcombey Academy."
"What do you study?" Syly tilted his head and Oth was momentarily distracted by the smooth skin of his neck.
"Runes. I'm supposed to be a wizard. I'm shit at it, though. I'm failing all my classes right now."
"Why are you studying that, then?"
"Uh. It's what my father said I should do. And I didn't have any better ideas, so." Oth shrugged, looking down. His eyes couldn't help but slide back to Syly's long, slender legs.
"Why does your father want you to study runes?"
"He wants me to take care of some magical objects we have. It's not necessarily a bad idea, at least not in terms of ideas my father has had, I'm just too dumb to do it."
Syly made a little noise at that, and Oth looked back up at his face.
"What do you actually like, if not runes?"
"I don't know."
