Monthly story - male hobgoblin x gn reader (nsfw) (Patreon)

Hi folks! Here's March's story for you, featuring a male hobgoblin baker, a gender neutral reader, an orc bestie, mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers, and a meddling forest deity who clearly ships you with your hobgoblin...

Nsfw content: reader receives oral, penetrative sex, use of the word 'entrance', and use of arousal as lube...

Wordcount: 6075

You had a problem.

Not a ‘leak in the roof after a storm’ kind of problem, which is easily fixed with a ladder and a few tools, but the kind of problem that had grown over years. And it wasn’t the kind of problem that could just be… sorted.

It was the kind of problem that caused your chest to hurt whenever you walked in a certain direction in your little village. It was the kind of problem that set your heart racing when you caught a flash of dark, iron-oxide skin and long, thick, black hair. It was the kind of problem that had you associating the scents from the bakery with the ache in your chest…

It was the kind of problem that meant you spent half your life avoiding the village altogether, just so you didn’t have to risk a coronary every time you saw him.

The problem wasn’t even his fault.

It was entirely yours.

Durren never seemed to have any kind of issues around you.

The hobgoblin had been found by his adoptive, centaur parents as a young child, abandoned at the side of the road, and had been brought back to the village and raised as their own, since they hadn’t been able to conceive. At the age of eight, he’d hauled Rathrak off you, where the larger orc child had been laughing his ass off at the fact you’d decided to adopt an opossum from the rubbish heap. The stocky, eight year old hobgoblin had heaved the orc back by the scruff of his neck and stared him down briefly, before the two of them had come to blows. They’d not stopped until Rath’s uncle had literally lifted them both up by their collars, clonked their heads together, and told them to be friends.

Durren had made Rath carry the damned opossum around for a week until the little fucker had bonded with him too, and the three of you had somehow, against all odds, become best friends. One human with a scruffy little opossum, and two huge best friends.

Except Rath had stayed your best friend into adulthood, and Durren had become something else to you. Something more. At least, in your heart.

Dancing with Rath too at the May Day celebrations had been a joy, of course, but one year, when Durren had shyly raised an eyebrow at you after Rath had spun you around as the musicians wrapped up another dance, your heart had stuttered, and you’d tripped over Rath’s big boot. Durren’s hands had shot out to catch you, and you’d looked up as you’d literally toppled into his arms, and as you’d met those gentle, amber-ringed eyes, that had been it for you.

“Steady,” he’d rumbled. “You alright?”

Mute and breathless, you’d nodded, Rath had punched you in the arm and muttered something about fetching another mead, and Durren had eased you back to standing. The rest of that night had passed in a blur, but while you’d not done more than dance with him, it felt like you’d woven the pattern of your heartbeat irrevocably into his that night.

Now, years later, as you slipped out of the village, moving like a shadow through the morning mists that still coiled lazily around the houses, like creeping fingers testing for cracks in the shutters, you saw the dancing firelight in the bakery as the oven door was opened. You didn’t order your feet to stop moving, but they did. Stock still, you watched as the hunch-shouldered hobgoblin scraped the burning logs out of the bread oven now that it was at temperature for the first batch of bread. The clatter of smouldering firewood as it hit the metal container was only a little muted by the damp morning, but it was drowned utterly by the hammering of your heartbeat.

Soft-spoken though he was, Durren was strong as an ox, and where his hair was piled up in a scruffy bun atop his head, it revealed the thick column of his neck and the roundness of his muscular shoulders. But it wasn’t necessarily even his physique that attracted you — if it had been just that, you’d have been as drawn to Rath as you were to him, since the orc was even bigger. The two of them had almost matching, soft paunches protecting their iron-strong muscles and bones underneath, and on the rare occasion you joined them in the tavern and they allowed themselves to be goaded into an arm-wrestling contest, it was always a stalemate. Turned out kneading dough all day was as much of a workout as chopping firewood.

“Fuck,” you hissed at yourself. “Get moving.”

With a strange wrenching sensation originating somewhere near your sternum, you turned away and stepped silently into the trees that surrounded the small village. You had a long knife at your belt, a short cape around your shoulders for warmth, and a foraging bag at your hip instead of the short hunting bow you often carried.

As if the game in the forest knew they were safe from your sights today, you spotted a small herd of deer almost immediately. They all raised their heads, some chuffing in alarm, until you just shook your head and turned away, heading deep into the woods. The earthy scent of damp moss filled the air, with the rich background of the decaying oak leaves that formed the carpet at your feet. After a few hours’ of relatively fruitless foraging though, the scent of jasmine wafted across your awareness and you paused.

No jasmine grew in this part of the forest. Honeysuckle fairly choked the trees down on the sunnier, southern slopes near the hazel groves, but up here where the oaks stretched their limbs luxuriantly like soldiers after a long watch, there were no scented flowers, and there wouldn’t be until spring ticked around in seven months time. Right now, in the drifting steam of an autumn morning, there should be no flowers at all, let alone jasmine.

“Sylvanus,” you breathed, going still and listening.

Soft hoof-falls in the leaf-litter behind you drew your ear first, and you turned slowly, respectfully, keeping your head bowed. You’d only encountered the Lord of the Forest a handful of times in your life, the first having been a moonlit summer night when you’d been thirteen and had had a huge argument with Durren and Rath over something inconsequential and had run headlong into the forest. Despite the fact that your father was a ranger and had raised you to read the forest the way Liara could read tealeaves, you’d blundered around, blinded by tears and prickling pride, until you’d collapsed in a glade and cried yourself into a stupor.

The protector of the forest was a little like a cervitaur, with a huge stag’s body and a human torso, but instead of a human head, he had what looked mostly like a deer’s skull, and his antlers were colossal, bone white, and draped in lichen and vines of flowering jasmine. His black eye sockets smoked softly, with a pinprick of green light at the centre, and at the base of his skull, thick, brown hair tumbled all the way down his back to the point where his human spine met his cervine withers.

That first time you’d met him, you’d been terrified of him, but he’d been gentle with you, and every encounter since had been courteous and kind. He knew you by name, and he called it softly as he approached you now.

“You smell of pain, my friend,” he went on. “But my forest doesn’t taste of your blood. Not today, at least.”

Last time he’d said that, you’d cut yourself on a wicked blackberry thorn and he’d stepped out of the trees a few minutes later, taken your hand in his huge grip, and after a wash of golden light had passed over it, he’d released you to reveal the gash mended and his own palms smeared with your blood. Then, as if it had been the juice of the berries from the vine that had hurt you, he had licked the blood off his skin with a long, black tongue.

“No,” you sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“Lying to a god is a dangerous thing, my friend,” he said without sting.

You laughed, though it came out a little hollow. “I mean, it’s nothing serious. It’s just…” You rolled your eyes, not sure how to broach it, or even if you wanted to. How petty would the heartache of a little human seem compared to the intricacies of an entire forest ecosystem?

Sylvanus let out a long, huffing sigh that made the air around him shift and shimmer like the heat on a summer road, though his breath still billowed in the cold. The god was of all seasons and none, existing outside of time. “Your hobgoblin,” he said, and your heart skipped a beat.

“I…” your shoulders dropped in defeat and you shrugged. “Yeah.”

“You have not told him how you feel?”

“I don’t want to ruin what we have. I don’t want to lose it.”

Sylvanus tilted his skull-head in a way that reminded you of a cocked eyebrow, and he folded his massive arms across his bare, tanned chest. He had rust-red tattoos or markings that snaked down the centre of his torso from his throat where they made a kind of chalice shape, then down over his thick torso to his hips, disappearing into the tufted fur of his red deer body. Despite growing up with two huge best friends, it was still all too easy to be intimidated by Sylvanus’ sheer size and presence. “Sounds like you’re already losing it, if you keep pushing him away.”

“I’m not pushing him away,” you scowled, looking the god in the eye. Well, eye socket.

“You’re here in my forest instead of talking to him,” he said flatly.

Your mouth opened and closed for a few seconds before you began to laugh quietly. “I’m… collecting berries?”

“How’s that going?” he asked, pointedly eyeing your empty gleaner’s bag and the little woven basket you often used to contain the softer pickings that were more prone to being crushed.

“I think you can tell,” you mumbled.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Sylvanus said, his voice warm and earthy as a lazy riverbank on a summer afternoon.

This was the chattiest he’d ever been with you, and his huge muscles were loose, his stance relaxed. Almost playful. “I’m listening,” you replied cautiously.

He whickered a low laugh and gestured upwards with one hand. From the earth beneath it, a raspberry bush erupted, its slim branches unfurling with leaves, and as you stared, great, fat berries dangled from every stem, weighing the whole thing down until it looked fit to bend back down to touch the earth.

“You can have every berry from this plant, provided that you take them to Durren as a gift.”

“That’s it?” you laughed. “Alright…”

“I’ll know if you don’t give every single one to him…” Sylvanus said with a sterner edge to his otherwise playful timbre.   

You stooped and began to pluck the perfectly ripe raspberries from their stems and place them into the small basket. Gods, each one was nearly the size of a hen’s egg. “No sneaking one on the way back then?” you smirked without looking up.

He didn’t answer right away, and you snuck a look up at him from where you knelt on the ground like a supplicant at the altar of a — well, you supposed you were at the feet of a god after all. And here you were, mouthing off at him like a cocky teenager.

Sylvanus didn't seem to mind though. He’d folded his arms across his chest again and was chuckling softly.

“Fine,” you chirped. “No stealing from the god’s gifts. Got it.”

“Be off with you, you pesky little human,” he laughed, reaching down and whisking the last raspberry out of your fingers and popping it into his own mouth. He shooed you with his red-stained fingers like you were a stray chicken in his yard, and you shook your head, levered yourself upright, and inclined your head at him.

“Thank you, Sylvanus.”

“I care about you, my friend,” he said earnestly. “I can’t bear to see you sad.” As you turned your face away in embarrassment, he added under his breath, “Nor him.”

You paused. “What?”

Sylvanus had gone still, halfway through turning away himself, and he looked back over his great shoulder at you and said, “You’re not the only one who comes to the forest and spills all their secrets to the trees, you know?”

You blinked. “Durren comes out here too?”

The forest god shifted his head a little but didn’t answer, and then he was moving away into the drifting mist a little way off, while you stood there with the laden little basket in trembling fingers. He vanished into the fog and you turned for home with your heart thudding wildly again.

Durren had his back to the open door of his bakery when you got there, and suddenly your chest was no longer full of simple, cloying anxiety, but a whole flock of starlings all whirling and wheeling to get out. What if you opened your mouth and all that came out were blackened feathers instead of words? You swallowed and tried to muster the courage to knock.

The hobgoblin rolled his neck a little, cricking some tension out of the thick muscle and heavy-set bones, and he gave a soft sigh, shoulders rising and falling. He’d taken to doing that a lot in the last few years. Then he turned to reach for something on a nearby counter and came to a dead stop when he found you hovering in his doorway like a stray.

“Hi,” he murmured, his deep, rough voice as low and soft as the afternoon sun behind you, sinking honey-gold down towards the treeline. His kind, crinkling eyes caught the light like a pair of gold coins and your heart stopped again for a few moments. Forget the sweet treats he baked, the baker himself was bad for your heart.

“Hi,” you said, rather pathetically. No feathers though. “I, uh… I have these for you.”

You held out the basket. You hadn’t made any kind of move to enter his home, but when his molten gaze rolled over you and then the basket of raspberries in your hands — which definitely didn’t have a little lingering tremble to them — he smiled, showing his thick canines for a second. His flat nose lifted a little and his tapered, almost elven ears drew back a fraction.

“Berries?”

“Raspberries,” you confirmed.

“Come on in then,” he chuckled. “I was thinking of making a tart with some of those almonds I bought last month. These will be…” he paused and his breath seemed to catch as he looked from the punnet in your hands then up to your face, “…perfect.”

You watched as he dusted his great big hands off on his apron before taking them from you, but just as he turned to set the basket down on the scrubbed wooden table behind him, he faltered. Picking one of the raspberries up in his fingers, he held it out to you. He held it at head height, not hand height, and you opened your mouth without thinking. He slipped the berry past your lips and let his thumb drag briefly over your lower lip.

Flavour exploded across your tongue, sweet and yet somehow still a little sharp, and you just barely bit back a throughly indecent moan. “Yeah,” you croaked. “I’m sure you can do something with those…”

He smirked, nodded once, and turned away. “Yeah.”

If Durren had given it to you after you’d given the whole lot to him, technically it wouldn’t count as stealing from Sylvanus’ gift, right?

You walked back to your little cottage in a daze, and spent the rest of the afternoon absorbed in the mindless task of applying a beeswax and oil balm to your boots to keep them supple and weather poof. The battering-ram knocking that startled you out of your reverie not long after dusk made you screech in shock and drop the pristine boots to the floor, and in response you heard Rath’s deep, booming laugh. “Come on, we’re going to the tavern.”

“I’m… I’m not really in the —”

“Get up or I’ll break your door down,” the orc growled. “It’s Liara’s birthday and you promised.”

“Fuck,” you hissed. You’d forgotten about the celebrations for the naga.

“I heard that,” Rath snickered. “Durren will be there…” he added in a sing-song tone that promised nothing but trouble.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you said just for comedy, but you really felt it.

When you opened the door, Rath looked you up and down and shook his head. “Get fucking changed,” he rumbled. “You can’t go to her party dressed like you just fell out of a blackberry thicket. You’re still covered in mud, and is that —?” he plucked ostentatiously at your hair and withdrew an honest-to-the-gods oak leaf. Laughing, he crumbled it into little bits on the doormat and slammed your own front door in your face. “Five minutes, you vile little opossum.”

You rolled your eyes and complied, emerging ten minutes later in something far more respectable. “Better?” you snarked, your voice testy and sharp.

“Infinitely,” he said. He slung an arm over your shoulders, the weight of it almost driving you through the flagstone that guarded your front door as you shut the cottage up behind you. “You don't smell like deer shit anymore either.”

“I didn’t smell of deer shit before, you great brute!” you barked back, cursing yourself for adding a bleating little addendum to that: “Did I?”

“No,” he chuckled, squeezing you to his side for a moment. “I’m just messing with you. You smell good now though. Durren won’t know what hit him.”

Your heart clenched again. “Please don’t meddle, Rath. I… I don’t want to lose this.”

Your other best friend just mumbled something under his breath in orcish about ‘a pair of fucking idiots’ and swept you inexorably towards the tavern like a landslide down a mountain.

Liara sat at the heart of the celebrations, with her purplish tail coiled demurely underneath her and surrounded by garlands of flowers, and sweet pastries; the latter of which had been baked, no doubt, by Durren. The birthday cake itself was a spectacle, with icing that looked just like tree bark, and butterflies and flowers that almost seemed to move in the lantern light the longer you looked at it. One thing you noticed though was that there wasn’t a single raspberry in sight in any of the dishes on the groaning table. No tarts or jam. He hadn’t used your berries after all.

You tried not to let it sting. Perhaps he’d put them to one side and simply forgotten about them. Maybe he hadn’t wanted them. Maybe he’d just been… polite.

As the celebrations kicked up a notch and the laughter and music soared, you set down your tankard and stepped outside. The door closed behind you, muffling the sounds of merriment, and you tilted your face up to the stars with a sigh that sent a ghost of breath dancing across your vision.

Like a wave cresting and falling, the noise from the tavern surged briefly as the door opened again behind you, and you expected to hear Rath’s rough bass admonishing you for being so boring. Without turning round you grumbled, “No, Rath. I’m just not feeling it, ok?”

But the hand that settled itself on the small of your back did not belong to an orc, and neither did the warm, mead-spiced voice that answered you. “You alright?”

You jerked and looked up into those familiar, amber eyes. “Durren,” you exhaled. “Sorry. I thought…”

“Yeah,” he said, and withdrew his hand. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Disappoint?”

“You thought I was Rath,” he said. “You two are always hanging out together, and I know you arrived here with him earlier. It’s alright. I figured the two of you would get together eventually.”

“Together?” Your mind began to spin like a coin on a table. “What do you mean? We’re not… Durren… We’re not together.”

He blinked like an owl. “You're not?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “He’s not —” you cut off abruptly. He’s not you.

“Oh.”

A silence drifted around you like a veil of autumn mist.

Eventually, you drew in a long, slow breath, then said awkwardly, “That cake is incredible.”

“You liked it?” he replied, his features softening a little.

You nodded and he stepped around you to stand beside you instead of slightly behind and blocking the doorway.

Looking up at him, you watched the way the moonlight glanced along his features — different from a human’s, but so familiar to you after all these years. You wanted to touch the points of his red-ochre ears and trace your fingertips along the heavy brows; press the pad of your thumb to his sharp, thick canine; hear the rumble in his chest when he was truly happy…

“Not a raspberry in sight though,” you said, unable to stop yourself from making a self-deprecating jibe. “They were a literal gift from a god, you know?”

“I figured,” he replied evenly, his eyes still on the stars.

“You did?”

“Mn. Too late in the year for them, especially of that quality. You and the Lord of the Forest must have made some kind of deal for them.”

Your eyebrows rose. “You’re a canny hobgoblin, Durren.”

His lips twitched at the corner and he shot you a sidelong look. “Not as dumb as I look.”

“You look gorgeous, not dumb,” you blurted, then flushed hot under your skin.

He did turn to look more fully at you then. “Didn’t think hobs were your type.”

“How would you know what my type is?” you snorted.

“True. Until two minutes ago, I thought Rath was your type.”

“I mean, I like ‘tall, strong, and handsome’, for sure,” you said, elbowing him in the ribs. “But Rath is too loud and boisterous for me. I prefer someone… more softly-spoken, and… sweeter.”

You watched Durren’s breath catch again and he blinked slowly; once, twice, three times. “What are you trying to tell me?” he finally demanded in that low, steady voice of his.

“That you're my type, I guess,” you shrugged, nerves thrumming. “But it’s alright if… you know… We’ve been friends for so long. It’s alright if you don’t see me that way.”

“See you —?” he repeated, astonished. “Fuck, you’re all I can think about.”

Another beat of silence swung between you before you turned and stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Jokes are more Rath’s thing,” he said. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Turning to face him square, you felt your heart in your mouth for a second. “I didn’t want to ruin what we have,” you said, and when he took your hands in his, squeezing oh so gently, you felt tears prickle along your lashes. “I love you so much,” you whispered, as though his gentle gesture had squeezed the confession from you like honey from a comb; syrupy and slow and unfathomably sweet on your tongue.

Durren drew you in close; pressing your cheek close against his chest while one hand went around your shoulders, the other behind your head to cradle it. Then he gave that low-frequency rumble that was half-groan and half-purr. You’d only heard it once or twice in your whole life. The last time had been when he’d lain back in the sun-drenched meadow that summer past, surrounded by a riot of wildflowers, and tipped his head back, arms hooked behind it. The groan he’d exhaled then had stuck in your mind, and the sight of his bare biceps in the sun had been a thing of true beauty. His shirt had ridden up too, to show the soft curve of his belly and the dark hair that trailed down from his naval to below his waistband.

“Come on,” he said a moment later, stepping back and releasing his hold on you. Well, half-releasing you. He slid one hand down from the back of your head to your shoulder and squeezed his fingers fondly around the joint. “Since you mentioned it, I’ve got something for you.”

“Mentioned what?” you asked, your heartbeat still so loud in your ears.

He took you by the hand and led you through the familiar houses of the small village until you reached the bakery at the edge of the settlement. No one bothered to lock their doors, so he just pushed it open and ushered you in ahead of him.

The fire had been tidily banked in the grate on the right hand side of the little kitchen and living room downstairs, and in its dull glow you could just about make out the wooden staircase that led up to his bedroom.

The scent of raspberries and almonds and powdered sugar filled the space, and you inhaled, moaning softly before glancing at him. The two of you shared a smile, and he beckoned you to follow him with a twitch of his head.

Durren lit the candle on the kitchen table and drew back a chair for you, before fishing out two spoons from a drawer. From the countertop, he picked up a wide, flat dish and your eyes widened when you saw the raspberries glistening like polished rubies on the top. With a shy smile, he set down the dish and slid into the seat opposite you. He handed you a spoon and said, “Dig in.”

“You weren’t going to share it otherwise?” you asked, spoon hovering above the dish.

He shrugged. “Figured I’d need a consolation prize after watching you dance the night away with Rath again,” he admitted. “But I’d hoped to share it with you all the same. Somehow.”

You ate a few bites straight from the dish in silence, eyes fluttering closed, simply enjoying the hobgoblin’s incredible talent for mixing ingredients and creating pure magic as a result. “Damn,” you breathed. “This is so good…”

“Divine, almost?” he laughed, one eyebrow rising.

“I’ll have to thank Sylvanus next time I run into him in the woods. Something tells me he knew how this would all play out anyway.”

“All of it?” Durren asked, resting the hand he’d been using to eat down on the table.

“I hope not…” you murmured as a little rush of bravery swept through your whole body.

You read the want in his eyes clearly for the first time, and you briefly bit your lower lip before rising slowly from your seat and circling round to him. His eyes tracked your every step.

You jutted your chin in a sharp gesture, and you watched his jaw go slack for a second when he realised exactly what you wanted from him, and he pushed his chair back from the table. He didn’t stand, but just sat there, looking up at you like he was dazed. His thick thighs were softly parted, but you climbed into his lap and put your hands on his shoulders.

Straddling him, looking down at him, you let your eyes glide across his handsome features, from his blown pupils, down the stubble on his strong jaw, to his softly-smiling mouth. Then you leaned forwards and planted a hesitant kiss on his lips.

He groaned deeply and his hands found your waist. Those huge hands held you there tentatively to start with, but his grip grew suddenly tighter as he drew you close to him, griding you in his lap with a lifting of his own hips that felt entirely involuntary. As pleasure coursed through you, you tilted your head back and an involuntary groan escaped you too. You rocked your hips in a few, luxuriant passes, feeling him growing hard beneath you even as your own arousal stoked in lockstep.

“Durren, please…” you moaned.

“Upstairs,” he replied with a tight rasp to his deep voice. And without so much as a warning, he hooked his hands under your thighs, and simply stood up with you still in his lap.

You didn’t mean to let out the undignified yelp, but it escaped you anyway and the pair of you laughed as you buried your face at the curve of his neck. He smelled sweet, like honey and spices, and you inhaled deeply as he walked you carefully up the stairs and laid you down on his bed.

“Been wanting to get my mouth on you for years,” he murmured, his hands pausing at your waistband. “…Taste you… All those summers we spent bathing in the river… Gods, you made me ache for you.”

“Oh gods, please,” you gasped at the confession, and you helped him undress you with trembling fingers.

Before you let him have you though, you insisted that he also shed his clothes, which he did with just the tiniest hesitation. His plain white shirt fell away to reveal the curves of his muscular torso and arms, and the swirls of black hair across his rust-red skin. You’d seen him before but never like this. Never with him bearing down on you while you lay back on his bed, dizzy with desire.

He undid the laces of his simple, brown trousers and kicked off his boots, and as he slid everything down in one go, you saw his thick cock standing tall and flushed a deep red already. It twitched as you stared at it, and pre-come glinted at the slit.

“I want you,” you whispered, and Durren’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

His left hand moved reflexively to his cock, squeezing the base just a little before he climbed onto the bed between your legs and growled, “Not distracting me that easily. I’ve waited years for this…”

And without waiting a moment longer, he put both his hands on the inside of your thighs, and put his mouth where you’d evidently both been dreaming of for so long.

Your back arched and you cried out at the sensation of his tongue and the heat of his mouth. You thought he was going to devour you, and the noises he made as he enjoyed your body — eyes shut, hands gripping the muscle of your thigh so tight you thought he might bruise you — were enough to take you almost all the way to climax in a mere few minutes.

With a gasp, you curled in on yourself and blurted, “Stop, wait, Durren… wait!”

He drew back, his lips wet and a little swollen, and frowned. “You alright?”

“Fine,” you laughed. “I’m just… close.”

He scowled. “I thought that was the point.”

You shook your head. “I want you… inside.”

Durren’s eyebrows rose just a little. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He paused though, and used his hand to caress you, collecting your own arousal and adding it to his. As you watched him, fairly burning up with anticipation, you saw how much of a mess he’d made too. A long, drooling line of pre-come dripped from the slit of his cock and as he swirled his grip up his shaft, he moaned and grunted. “I’m not gonna last long. Not this first time…”

You nodded again. “I don't think I will either…”

Durren made a soft, punched-out noise, and then came to kneel a little closer. He traced his thumb over your skin, smearing the combined mess of you across your entrance in a gesture that felt simultaneously obscene and tender, then guided the tip of his cock to your entrance, working you all the while with his other hand so that your pleasure spiked just as he slipped inside.

Slowly, allowing you time to adjust, he eased into you, his progress made perfectly easy by the sheer amount of slick coating him from the pair of you. Hobgoblins, it seemed, were messy creatures.

He took his time, letting you adjust to the girth of him as well as the length, and when he was fully seated inside you, he paused and asked, “Alright?”

Looking up at him, you saw that his warm eyes were focused intensely on your face, checking every little expression that flickered over your features, and you smiled. “Perfect,” you said, and his lips curled into a lopsided smile.

He took his time as much as he could, moving slowly and grinding in torturous circles while you both got used to it, but before long, his hips stuttered and he picked up the pace again a little harder and a little faster after that. Somehow he managed to keep pleasuring you while also nailing you so perfectly and so deep inside you saw stars with every stroke, and by the time you felt your orgasm cresting, he was panting and gasping praises at you.

“I’m going to come,” he finally grunted, ramming his hips up once more against you. “Oh gods, you feel so good. You’re perfect… I’m —” with a short shout that nearly made your ears ring, he snarled, drew back his lips to reveal his canines clenched in a rictus of pleasure, and he spilled inside you.

His fingers spasmed where he was touching you, and that momentary loss of control on his part was enough to send you tumbling over the edge as well.

“Oh gods,” he moaned as you clenched around his sensitive, spent cock in waves of ecstasy. His head lolled forwards and his muscles trembled in the aftershocks of his orgasm while yours still tore through you like a riptide.

Your body went lax a moment later and he withdrew carefully, collapsing onto the bed beside you with his breathing still a little ragged. Durren gazed up at you with a dopey expression on his rugged face, and you raised a shaky hand to swipe the sweat-damp hair back from his lovely eyes.

“You alright?” he asked again.

Nodding slowly, you pressed a kiss to his muscular shoulder and he shivered and laughed.

“We should clean up,” he said after a while. “Stay here. I’ll get a cloth.”

Not long after that, you dressed in one of his shirts and nothing else, and the pair of you returned downstairs. While he knelt to stoke the fire for some added warmth, you sat at the table and snuck a few more mouthfuls of the raspberry tart. When he raised his head and saw you picking at it, he laughed and said, “Save some for me.”

“You’re sweet enough,” you countered, making him roll his lovely eyes. “But you made it, so I guess you’ve earned the right to eat it.”

“The same go for making you all hot and bothered?” he asked with his dry, deadpan humour.

Your whole body flushed and you felt the weight and girth of him inside you again for a moment. As you shifted in your seat, you fixed him with a look that made him smirk. “You can eat me out whenever you like, Durren,” you said bluntly.

“Good,” he replied, standing and coming to lean across the table on his forearms. “Now give me some.”

“Which one?”

He smirked, but his gaze dropped to the table before landing back on your face. Tempting as it was to put your fingers in his mouth just to be a minx, you did actually give him a mouthful of the dessert.

“That might have had divine origins, but I know which I prefer,” he said, and your heart nearly stopped again.

You shook your head, laughing.

“What?” he asked. “Too much?”

“No,” you replied with a chuckle. “No, I was just thinking how my poor heart is going to need some time to recover after all this.”

“Mine too,” Durren said. “C’mon. Let’s sit closer to the fire for a bit. Bring the tart if you want. We can finish it together.”

You didn’t remember falling asleep in his arms on the hearthrug, but you stirred to find yourself in Durren’s bed again, and with the hobgoblin curled up around your back like a protective bulwark. He was warm and he had his arm slung over your waist, and just then, you couldn’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be in the whole world.

_

Hope you enjoyed it!

I've had a really rough time lately, health wise, and I'm still not very well, but I'll try and put a few things up on here as and when I can for you! Take care of yourselves.

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