It takes a little longer than expected—Ethan convinced you to go digging for your old GameCube and get that set up as well—but finally you settle in between him and Eleazar on your small, ratty couch for an afternoon of beer and gaming. The atmosphere is almost nostalgic for you; you ended up throwing a few sandwiches together for you and Ethan and a bowl of those weird fruits and nuts for Eleazar to go with your beer and the magus’ soda, listening to your friend chattering about the game he’s setting up. While he was watching, Eleazar offered only the occasional soft, murmured comment, already sounding overwhelmed at what he was seeing. With a smile, you take both a long sip of beer and your controller as you start up a good old match of Brawl.

If it wasn’t for the nearly-naked magus taking up a good portion of the couch, forcing you and Ethan to squeeze together on the other end, you’d swear that you were back in your college dorm room chilling with your roommate and friends after a long day of classes.

You shoot Eleazar the occasional glance as you press up against his bare side. The magus was quick to discard most of his clothing, only leaving the loincloth wrapped around his waist. Not that you mind, of course—you want the magus to be as comfortable as he needs to be to settle in to his new life. And not that you’d say it out loud, but the view is very, very nice. His spicy scent wafts over to you with every breath. His oddly-cool skin brushes against your arm. His eye-lights flare with naked interest as they stay glued to the screen, watching the match between you and Ethan.

Wait, what were you doing again?

You shake yourself out of your thoughts just in time to watch yourself get blasted to kingdom come. Ethan lets out a laugh over your groan of defeat, and takes a smug bite out of his sandwich. “Gotta keep your head in the game, Anon. Something on your mind?”

No, you say while glancing at Eleazar. You take another sip of your beer and stuff the rest of your own sandwich in your mouth, and vow to slaughter Ethan in the next match.

After another few rounds, you feel a clawed finger give your side a gentle poke. “May I join in, Anon? I believe I have the gist of this tourney.” You ask if he’s sure, and he gives you a confident nod. “This ‘vid-ya’ is like nothing I’ve encountered in Eyghlewhyn, but I am no stranger to demonstrations of talent in the arena of combat.”

Ethan’s quick to pounce on the idea. “Hop on in, El! But no magic bullshit to win, alright? It’s just a game.”

“Eleazar,” the magus deadpans as he accepts a controller from you. “And of course not. I fear my magic wouldn’t work upon these devices anyway.” His voice drops into a low murmur as he stares at the controller, turning it this way and that in his hands. Yeah, let’s not give it a try, you tell him before showing him the different buttons.

Eleazar is bad. Very bad. It makes sense, since he hasn’t ever even played a videogame before in his life. However, his flailing around and wild use of his in-game abilities lets you land more than a few good hits in on Ethan. By the time the match is over, you’re far ahead of your friend, and turn to offer Eleazar a high-five while thanking him for the help. The magus cocks his head at you, but mimics you and nods in understanding once you give his palm a firm, congratulatory slap. “’Twas quite the experience, though I fear I shall have to practice some more.” No problem at all, you say, he’s welcome to it at any time. The glow in his eye sockets grows warmer as he gives you another nod.

“Man, no fair gangin’ up on me like that.” Ethan groans as he lets his own controller drop into his lap and sinks into the couch. With a smug grin, you look over and remind him that it’s just a game. Ethan grunts and stands up, taking another swig of his beer. “Fuck it, I can’t play like this. Mind if I get comfy, dude?” He pulls his shirt off, baring his own toned upper body, and you’re left staring and stammering.

This is another thing you remember fondly about your college roommate; his complete comfort with his own body. You recall plenty of sweltering days walking into the dorm room to the sight of Ethan sprawled on the couch in nothing but his boxers or, if you were really lucky, a sweat-soaked jockstrap. You never minded his walking around or playing games in his underwear, and he never seemed to notice your staring; or at least, didn’t care. Though nothing ever happened between you—the many female classmates he’s bring over to ‘study’ with made his thoughts on the matter clear enough to you—he’d featured in plenty of your fantasies over your time in college together.

He fumbles with the button of his pants, the alcohol seeming to affect his dexterity as he stares right back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Come on, Anon. Jess hates it when I do this, and you’re cool, right?”

Finally, you nod. Right.

After a few minutes of effort, Ethan gets his pants open and kicks them off; he has to grab your arm for support before he plops back onto the couch next to you, and you stiffen in more ways than one. You try not to look, but can’t resist. He’s wearing a jock. And now you’re squished in between two nearly naked, fairly attractive men. Operation Contain Your Erection the Second ends in failure before it even starts. Well, at least you can hide it by hunching over.

You can feel Eleazar’s eyes on you occasionally as the matches continue while beer after beer is opened and chugged down in a vain attempt to calm your nerves. Ethan pats your back and tells you to slow down, but his touch on your shoulder and the feeling of his bare thigh against your leg just makes you take another swig. Your performance suffers as a result, and match after match ends with you getting spanked hard.

“What’s the matter, man?” Ethan’s getting tipsy too, judging by the slight slur in his voice. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

Dinner! You’ve been playing together for a good few hours, and it’s just about that time. You jump up and rush into the kitchenette, calling over your shoulder that you’ll order a pizza.

“Sure, man, take your time,” Ethan calls out after you. “Alright, El, so, lemme show you. See, when you get cornered like this, what’cha can do is…” You shut out their voices as you take the opportunity to adjust yourself behind the counter; it’s really tempting to blow a load right there, and you can’t stop yourself from giving your turgid erection a few pumps while you fumble with your phone. Finally, you get your little situation taken care of, for now at least, and finish ordering the pizza. You have about 20 minutes until it arrives, so you move back over to the couch to let the two know.

“What is ‘pizza’?” Eleazar asks as he pours some of his drink into his open maw.

“Only the best thing for a night with the boys. Thanks, Anon, I’ll help pay for it.”

You nod and reach for your beer, only to find it missing.

Not missing, in Eleazar’s hand.

That’s your beer he’s drinking.

You stand frozen, watching as the last of the golden ambrosia drops down his gullet and, with a gulp, is gone. The sadness of having your drink stolen quickly gives way to concern for the magus; you never realized just how many things could be toxic to Others until going down the shop aisles earlier in the day. Tentatively, you ask if Eleazar is alright.

“Of course, Anon, why wouldn’t I be?” His speech is already slurred, as if his tongue doesn’t quite want to cooperate. He suddenly seems to realize that you’re staring at the bottle in his hand, and sets it down a little bit too hard on the table; it makes a solid ‘thunk’, and you’re pretty sure there’s going to be a nice dent under there. “Forgive me, Mas- Anon. I only wished to see how it tasted compared to the bubbly brew you bought for me.” And how was it? A look of deep concentration crosses Eleazar’s face, the lights of his eyes narrowing into pinpricks and the tip of his pale tongue hanging from his slightly-slack jaw. “It was… good. Not as sweet as the wines we have in Eyghlewhyn,”—even he stumbles over the name of his home—“but it had a good flavor. And was bubbly. Although my head feels a bit heavy…” Indeed, his skull is already starting to sway back and forth.

“Uh, you sure you’re alright, El?”

“El-e-a-zar,” the magus replies, though whether he’s emphasizing each syllable out of a sudden surge of frustration with your friend or due to his uncooperative tongue you can’t tell. “And I have already told Anon I am just fine. Right, Anon?” His lower jaw opens in what must be his version of a wide grin as he looks to you.

Right. And by the way, why didn’t Ethan try to stop him? You look to your friend with a raised brow.

Ethan raises his hands defensively, his own speech slurring as well. “Hey, don’t look at me, man, he started chugging while I was setting up the next match.”

Right.

You feel that familiar pain in your temples starting up, and let out a gusty sigh while dropping back onto the couch between the two. Well, hey, you can probably fit in a few more rounds before the pizza arrives, right? Ethan and Eleazar both agree, and so you start up the next match.

However, it quickly becomes apparent that the beer is affecting Eleazar a lot more than you anticipated. His character flails on the screen as his overlarge fingers push at the buttons seemingly at random, and finally flings himself off the stage while Eleazar stares at the controller in confusion. You have to gently pry it out of his hands and set it aside, telling the magus to just watch for now. He doesn’t protest, though he does let out a slightly-huffy sigh before reaching for the bottles on the table—you make absolutely sure he grabs his soda this time.

You and Ethan get into a few matches on your own, but Eleazar continues to be a distraction even when he’s not playing. The magus leans heavily against you, sandwiching you between his and Ethan’s own bare body. Both of them are sweaty from the day of walking around, and their mingling, masculine scents are in your nose. In your lungs. Staining every breath. Eleazar murmurs something slurred into unintelligibility against your shoulder as his weight increases.

You yelp in both surprise and pain as he falls over, his bony lower jaw landing right on your crotch.

“Fuck! You two alright?” Ethan pauses the game and looks over, completely unconcerned that his shifting as pushed Eleazar’s bony nose right against his hip.

“Fine. I’m fine. I’m doing well.” Eleazar slurs and mumbles as he tries to push himself up. “Apologies, Master Anon. I know not what came over me…”

You let out a strangled groan and tell him it’s alright. Well, at least that took care of the little problem you were developing downstairs. Finally, with Ethan’s help, you’re able to lift the magus off of your abused lap and settle him back on the arm of the couch. You ask Eleazar if he needs to go lay down, and the way his head flops in a drunken attempt at a nod turns you cold for a moment. Images of those toxicity warnings back at the supermarket flash through your mind as—with a lot of effort and help again from Ethan—you manage to get Eleazar standing and leaning heavily against you, one arm slung over your shoulders. Despite the magus’ bulk you actually find it somewhat easy to support him, and you wave away Ethan’s offer to help as you half-carry-half-lead the stumbling Other towards the bedroom.

“Alright,” Ethan calls out, and you can feel his concerned gaze on your back. “I’ll stay out here and run pizza interference, I guess.”

At least put some pants on, you call back while giving the door a light kick to open it.

Eleazar lets out a soft hum, his head hanging low and the lights in his eye sockets completely extinguished as you move from the lighted area of the living room into the darkened bedroom. You choose not to flip the light switch—it’d be really difficult with the magus on your hands, anyway—and stumble over to let him fall onto the bed. His large body easily dwarfs the small mattress, one arm and his legs hanging off the edges, but it’s something.

For a long moment you watch the prone magus as he shifts and settles onto your bed on his stomach, his bony chin on your pillow. His large back is bared to you, the scarred flesh rippling over the magus’ musculature with every movement. Finally, you realize what the magus in doing—the arm not hanging bonelessly off of the bed is shoved up underneath him, tugging at the knot of his loincloth. “Master… help?” One eye-light flares to life and turns to you, and the pitiful helplessness in Eleazar’s gaze moves your hands before you can even think about it. As you tug at the magus’ loincloth, you try not to consider what you’re doing too much—you try to keep your fingers away from the magus’ cool flesh as much as possible while he pushes himself up on his hands and knees, letting you reach for the intricately-tied knot. It takes some doing, and you’re sure the back of your hand gets a little too friendly with the magus’ junk, but you finally manage to untie the knot and begin the process of unwinding the cloth from around Eleazar’s loins.

Your face burns as you help the magus undress, trying desperately to keep your thoughts focused. This doesn’t mean anything. He’s drunk, and you’re helping him get comfortable. Of course, the magus isn’t helping at all; his chest drops onto the bed as he lets out a soft grunt, leaving his backside pushed provocatively up into the air. As your hand brushes over his flanks his long tail lifts, and you realize that you’ll have to unwind the loincloth from underneath it a few times. You firmly turn away from Eleazar’s bared crotch as you finally pull his loincloth off completely, but still catch a glimpse of firm, toned ass and low-hanging ballsack before Eleazar flops back onto the mattress.

“’M sorry…”

You blink and pause, looking back to the magus. Even in your current state, you can’t just leave him alone. After giving the door a quick glance, you try to find a spot to sit on the bedside next to Eleazar—he has to lift his nearest arm up so you can settle right next to his armpit, but it works. Sorry for what, you ask.

“The night was going so well. You were enjoying yourself with your friend. And I…”

You tell him he doesn’t have anything to be sorry for. You were having fun with Ethan and him, and it was cute how interested he was in the movie and the video games. Heat flares in your cheeks and you quickly steamroll over that last comment. He didn’t know beer would affect him so much, and neither did you or Ethan. In fact, it’s your fault for not being careful when you should’ve known human food could be bad for him.

Eleazar’s eye-light stays fixed on you as silence settles over the room. He seems to be thinking about something, and his jaw opens and closes a few times before he finally speaks. “You are a kind master. Some would probably say too kind.”

You ask what he means by that.

Again, he pauses as if trying to organize the words in his mind before they come spilling out from his slackened lower jaw. “Back in Elleck—Ellegg—Elegen—“ He snorts. “Back home, were a servant or apprentice to allow his indulgence to… to inconvenience his master, he would be severely punished…” Without thinking you set a hand on his back, over the crisscrossing scars furrowing the cool flesh. He grunts at the touch. “Not quite… that severely, but…”

Well this isn’t his homeland, and for the last time, you aren’t his master. He flinches, as if waiting for you to strike him, and again you feel that cold clenching in your chest. You hand traces up and down his back, brushing through the mane of fur extending from his neck down his body. You’re his—his roommate. And you’re going to help him with whatever he needs.

“So kind…” The light in Eleazar’s eye socket flickers out, and for a second there you think he’s drifted off to sleep. Then his voice comes again, soft, rumbling, and vulnerable. “Master, may I… ask an impertinent favor of you?”

Only if he stops calling you ‘Master’, you respond as a smile tugs at your lips.

“Anon, then… would you stroke between my horns?”

You blink, looking down at him. He’s holding his breath while he waits for your response. You can hear his tail anxiously tapping against the bed frame. Finally, you move your hand from his back up to the crown of his skull, settling it between his curved horns and petting him slowly and gently. Like this?

Eleazar lets out a gusty sigh, rumbling and almost purring with pleasure. He doesn’t answer, but you take his reaction as a sign to keep going. He mumbles and slurs, but the words don’t quite make sense. “Grand Magus… when… polyps…” He trails off, his breath growing slow and even, and you decide to ask him about it tomorrow morning; for now, you decide to let him sleep it off.

First, though, you need to find a place to put his loincloth.

His musky, slightly-sweat-stained loincloth.

Your cheeks burst into flaming heat at the sudden turn in your thoughts, and you give the magus a cautious glance. His eye-lights are completely out; and you’re almost entirely sure he’s dozed off. It might be the booze, or maybe you’re just an underwear-sniffing pervert—you’d raided Ethan’s hamper a couple times while you were living together for material for a shameful fap or two, and you’re almost entirely certain your friend was never any the wiser—but Eleazar is right there. He could wake back up at any moment and catch you smelling his loincloth.

Your crotch throbs, and before you can think about it further your hand is pressing the surprisingly silky material to your nose. The rich, spicy musk of Eleazar’s crotch tingles in your nostrils and fills your lungs as you inhale. That sweaty scent must be where his balls were, and the acrid, faintly-sour scent a little further higher must be from that weird slit you noticed he had in place of a dick while you were showering together earlier. You follow a waft of earthier spice downwards, and take a deep sniff. This must be the part that was under the magus’ tail; the part that was settled against his ass all day.

“Do you enjoy my scent?”

The voice, rumbling and slurred and muzzy, breaks you out of your lustful daze and sends your heart leaping into your throat. You look down and meet Eleazar’s shining eyes, the orbs of amber light flickering hazily in his dark eye sockets. You try to stammer out whatever excuse your racing mind can pull together, and freeze with an embarrassing squeak as the magus’ large hand presses to the tent in your crotch.

“Master…” The slurred word rumbles with implications you don’t want to consider at the moment. “Allow your servant to pleasure you. I want to return the favor of your kindness…”

You tremble, trying to comprehend the sudden turn of events as you look toward the open door. However, when you turn back to Eleazar, ready to tell him to stop—he’s drunk, he’s not thinking right, you already told him you’re not his master—you’re cut off by a deep, rolling snore. The lights in the magus’ eye sockets have flickered out once again, and it seems like he really has fallen asleep this time.

You’re torn, but quickly—reluctantly—pull Eleazar’s hand away from your crotch and set it next to his cheek. After giving the magus’ skull a few more tender strokes, you turn and wander back out into the living room. In your daze, it takes you a few moments to realize that Ethan has put his clothes back on and is munching on a slice of pizza from the box sitting on the kitchenette counter. The pizza came?

Ethan swallows the bite in his mouth and nods. “Yeah, had to go out into the hall n’ get it from the guy, though. Looks like El’s magic or whatever it is fucked up your doorway even harder when he got drunk.”

That’s not the only thing that got fucked up, you mutter while grabbing a slice for yourself.

Ethan raises an eyebrow, and glances down at the loincloth that’s still in your other hand. Your cheeks could probably be used as a lighter. You shove your pizza slice into your mouth and move to toss the cloth onto the couch. Through a mouthful of cheese, sauce, and pepperoni, you mumble your apology for how the evening turned out.

“Hey, s’not your fault, man.” Ethan sets a hand on your shoulder and turns you to face him. “I was the one that bought the beer, so… it’s kinda my fault El got smashed. I should’ve stopped him at least.” He shrugs, but you can see the regret in his downcast eyes. “I just wanted to catch up with you. Hang out like old times, you know?”

You smile and give his shoulder a light, playful punch. You remember more than a few of those ‘old times’ ending up with someone blackout drunk, too. Doesn’t mean you can’t get together again.

Ethan gives you a smile and returns your punch, and the two of you laugh as the tension hanging in the air finally fades. “Sounds like a plan, but right now I gotta run. Jessica’s texting asking where I am and why haven’t I called and all that. S’why I got dressed.” He gestures down to his clothes, as if he thought you’d missed them suddenly being on him.

And not because he needed to go into the hall to meet the pizza guy? You smirk at him, and grab a paper plate to give him another couple slices for the road. He lets out a laugh but doesn’t answer, instead just cuffing your shoulder again.

You finally see your friend off, making sure he’s on his phone and calling a cab while he heads down the hall to the elevator. You close the door, make your own way to the couch, and collapse onto it with a heavy sigh while putting your head in your hands. That was not at all how you imagined the day going; it was good to see Ethan again, of course, and you’re glad that you could get Eleazar some food he can actually eat and clothes he can actually wear. And it was fun taking Eleazar out to a movie and showing him what human ingenuity has been able to accomplish without magic. But the events of the past few hours have taken their toll on you.

And what the hell is that you’re sitting on?

You lift yourself up to grab it and pull it out from under you. When your fingers close down around cottony cloth, you think for a moment that you ended up sitting down on Eleazar’s loincloth, but blink in shock when you finally lay eyes on the thing you’ve grasped. A slightly-stained jockstrap, the scent of sweat and male crotch wafting strongly from the fabric of the pouch. A familiar-looking jockstrap.

Ethan’s jockstrap.

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Pub: 29 Dec 2020 21:45 UTC
Views: 514