Advice Unheeded

Pharaun Mizzrym doesn’t ask people for help.  Well, he does, but that help isn't usually in the form of advice from a colleague.  It's closer to asking someone to do him a favor and usually because his hapless target doesn’t have another choice.  Hence, Nalfein is entirely too interested in exactly what sort of horrid mess Pharaun has walked into, and why his expertise is necessary.  Perhaps that was idiotic of Nalfein, but he’s been short some good drama since returning to Menzoberranzan.

Nalfein leans on the door, tapping his fingertips along it to test for wards.  He tilts his head this way and that, then raps on the wood twice.  In front of him, Cerridwen paces in circles, her ears pricking about.  She doesn't like Sorcere.  Too many other familiars fill the towers, and she has learned to distrust most of them.  Nalfein regrets not leaving her with Gromph.

“Who is it?” Pharaun calls, trying to sound chipper but only coming off rather exhausted.  Cerridwen perks up at the sound of his voice, and trots over to the door.  She gives the door one insistent paw and looks at Nalfein.  She lets out a demanding cackle and nudges Nalfein’s leg.

“Did that give it away?” Nalfein asks.

“Why does she do that?” Pharaun returns with a sigh.  Nalfein turns and pulls open the door.  Cerridwen bolts in, still cackling as she trots over to demand Pharaun's attention.

"Have you considered that she likes you?" Nalfein asks, leaning on the door frame.

Pharaun cocks an eyebrow at Nalfein, "I've given her no reason to," he replies, though Nalfein can tell he's scratching the fox's ears behind the desk.

Put together, as always, Pharaun's trying to lean into Nalfein's good graces today.  His usual gold accents are switched for silver, hair braided loose and tossed over one shoulder, the other side pinned back with garnet-studded clips.  Plus he's wearing those robes.  The ones he clearly copied from a set of Nalfein's.  Nalfein knits his brow deeply, and trails in slow, tucking his hair back behind him as he walks.  Pharaun's gaze flicks to Nalfein, his crimson eyes tracking their way up his legs, over his hips and waist, then up to his face.

Nalfein has another engagement after this, more of a dalliance, but Pharaun doesn't know that.  He doesn't need to know.  It helps Nalfein's cause a lot better for him to think the high side-slits of his robes are for his enjoyment, not Jarlaxle's.  Nalfein leans on the desk, his nails tapping in unison against the wood.  Pharaun sits up fully and clears his throat.

"I was hoping for your advice," he fumbles out.  "I find myself in a predicament you have much more expertise in."

"What have you done now?" Nalfein asks.

"I seem to have attracted an amusement," Pharaun replies.  "You've at least heard of Vizaeth Thaezyr, yes?"

"Mm, Gromph mentioned you have a little sycophant," Nalfein drops into the chair before Pharaun's desk and settles a foot on the surface between them.  "But I don't know the boy.  Enlighten me."

"Well," Pharaun begins, then stops and stares as Cerridwen climbs up onto Pharaun's lap and settles with her head on his desk.

"She likes you," Nalfein reiterates.

"I see that," Pharaun agrees, trying to sound displeased.  "Nevertheless," he continues, "I confess the boy is all too eager to do whatever I ask of him, and I'm quite fond of that aspect, but on the other hand…He's shown some concerning behaviors."

"You'll have to be more specific on those concerning behaviors," Nalfein sighs, crossing his legs.

"Well, he broke into my chambers–without triggering the wards–to steal my spellbook.  He disrupted a summoning by Rai'gy Despana–"

"No small infraction," Nalfein remarks.  "That would've gotten most people expelled."

"I'm aware.  He might have spied on a dalliance of mine as well.  Didn't seem to enjoy that much, though."

"Please tell me you're not still fucking Archmage Despana's boy."

"I have it under control."

"You're lying and you know it."

"Oh and he asked me to vivisect him, so I did."

Nalfein pauses to let that one roll over him.  He stares at Pharaun, who stares back, absently stroking Cerridwen.  As if echoing her Master's sentiments, the fox picks this exact moment to heave a big sigh.

"You what ?" Nalfein's raising his voice, he can tell.

"I confess, at the time, I didn't think much on the ramifications of acquiescing," Pharaun admits.  "The boy has a way of being…stimulating."

"You cut an apprentice open because he asked you to?" Nalfein stands.  "Are you an idiot?"

"I would not have killed him, on my honor," Pharaun insists.

"Honey, you and I both know your honor is about as fetid as the Stenchstreets."

Pharaun looks insulted, good.  He shouldn't have even considered the proposition when it came to him.  Nalfein leans on the desk again, tilting his head ever-so-slightly.  Pharaun shifts uncomfortably, as anyone aware of Nalfein's temper would.

As they should.

"I take it you'll be less pleased to know I've slept with him?" Pharaun guesses with a wince.

"He asked you to vivisect him, Pharaun," Nalfein whispers, "sex was already involved if we're getting that bold.  Sycophantic is charitable , here, if your description holds true.  Then again, it's so you to take advantage of his infatuation."

Pharaun purses his red-stained lips, very aware Nalfein is not complimenting him.  His eyes are still lingering around Nalfein's neck, where the needlepoint tips of his earrings brush against his skin.  He really can't help himself, can he?  Poor thing.

Nalfein pulls his hair over one shoulder, tangling his fingertips in the loose ringlets at the ends.  He could toy, for a bit, weave hypnotic glamours into the ends of his hair, draw that Master of Sorcerer's pretty red eyes up, up, a pretty throat, a defined jaw, sweet lips in a tender smile…

Pharaun worries at his lip.

"It's very easy, isn't it?" Nalfein purrs, "Playing on what someone wants."

Pharaun blinks, processing the words he hangs onto like salvation.  He catches the magic fast, then narrows his eyes as Nalfein flicks it away with a toss of his hair.

"That was a dirty trick," he hisses.

"Enchantment is all dirty tricks and mind control, my dear Pharaun, but it turns off like that," Nalfein snaps his fingers.  " Real infatuation doesn't have an off-switch.  That's why you don't feed it."

There's a rap at the door, catching Nalfein's attention.  His eyes drift to Pharaun, settling into a sharp glare.

"You didn't," he hisses.  Pharaun smiles back.

"What are you worried about?" he asks.  "Even as an apprentice you were miles ahead of him.  I just want you to meet him."

"So you can see how he reacts?" Nalfein guesses.

Pharaun's smile doesn't waver.  He's toying with the boy's affections, stupidly, if he's as infatuated as his description sounds.  Nalfein exhales slow through his nose.

"Fine," he steps back.  "He can come in."

"You may enter, Apprentice Thaezyr," Pharaun calls.

The door creaks open, and a young apprentice slips in, anticipation flickering in his red eyes.  Nalfein turns fully, giving the boy a once-over.

He's small–shorter than Pharaun and incredibly skinny–with pin-straight white hair that falls like sheets of silk.  His face is pleasant, but it doesn't suit the makeup covering it.  Pharaun's dark, shimmering shadows and deep-toned lip stains look gaudy on the apprentice's face.  He's made an attempt at copying one of Pharaun's favorite hairstyles: the left side pinned back and braided while the rest of his hair spills over his right shoulder.  It's clearly his first or second attempt.  The braids are crooked, and not as flush to the scalp as they could be.  It's a good attempt, nevertheless; a less scrutinizing gaze would never have noticed.

Nalfein's gaze dips down to the apprentice's robes, a decent simulacrum of Pharaun's own–and Nalfein's, as he remembers the copy is of the set he's wearing.  It lacks the richly colored organzas and silver embroidery, and in place of a spider brooch, the boy has opted for a trail of rubies about his throat, flowing in droplets like fresh blood.  It looked…cheaper than Nalfein's or Pharaun's.  The silk was of lesser quality, the stitching less precise, the rubies more occluded, littered with little imperfections.

The apprentice's eyes are on Nalfein now, sizing him up.  There's a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes, desire in its earliest stages.  Nalfein is used to such reactions, but the boy’s gaze leaves him tense and cold.

Cerridwen starts gekkering, and Nalfein flicks his gaze towards her.  Her ears are pulled back and her tail lashes as best it can as she tries to arch up.  Pharaun lifts her off his lap and plops her down on the floor, where she promptly seeks out her Master, still arched and aggressive, one word echoes from her mind to Nalfein's.

Death.

Nalfein clicks his tongue against his teeth, gesturing Cerridwen behind him.  The fox obeys, though she still looks tense.

"Is she okay?" Pharaun asks.

"Startled," Nalfein brushes off the reaction and turns to the now confused apprentice.  "Apprentice Thaezyr, is it?" Nalfein offers a friendly smile. "Master Mizzrym was just talking about you."

Pharaun lights up and snatches up the opportunity to speak before Nalfein can even introduce himself.

"Indeed!  Apprentice Thaezyr, this is a… friend of mine, from my days at Sorcere."

Nalfein's head snaps towards Pharaun, barely restraining a withering glare.  If he notices, Pharaun doesn't react, but Nalfein can tell he's avoiding eye contact after saying it like that.

"A good friend?" Thaezyr asks, a hint of malice buried in his voice.

"No," Nalfein answers, keeping his expression cold and stern, like Gromph does when dealing with Pharaun's bullshit.

It doesn't help.  Thaezyr's wandering gaze has turned into a furious glare, the malice thick in his voice apparent on his face.  The boy is inches from violence.  Nalfein needs to make the futility of that very clear.  He fixes his gaze, calm, collected, and aloof, and gives a respectful–if shallow–bow.

"Nalfein Do'Urden," he says in a dangerously soft voice.  The threat is implied, but all the more present.

“Vizaeth Thaezyr,” the boy gives his own bow, shallow but mostly so his withering gaze can hone in on Pharaun.

Pharaun, for his part, seems fully unaware of the utter fury he's evoking.  Or perhaps he's very aware, and is simply enjoying the chaos he's incited.  Regardless, he grins when Nalfein shoots him a glare of his own.

Nalfein turns back to Vizaeth, forcing on a smile.  "You know, Master Mizzrym was startlingly sparse on your classwork," he noted.  "For a student he's so fond of, I'm surprised the details are so lacking.  I don't think you could've gotten Archmage Baenre to keep quiet about my grades when I was at Sorcere."

Vizaeth twitches a little at that, his lip fighting a snarl.  "I'm quite good at necromancy," he offered, and Nalfein can hear the threat in his tone.

Cerridwen's warning rings like a grim portent now.

"Fascinating subject, isn't it?" Nalfein locks eyes with Pharaun.  "Oft misunderstood, but dangerous in the right hands."

Pharaun clears his throat.  "Indeed, Apprentice Thaezyr is proving he'll make an excellent necromancer," he agrees.  He doesn't mention other schools of magic.  His reticence speaks volumes.

"What about you?" Vizaeth asks sharply.  "What does Archmage Baenre have to boast about, exactly?"

Nalfein smiles.  "Oh a good number of things," he grants.  "I prefer enchantments and alchemy, but my skills span a wide range."

Vizaeth tilts his head and squints, as if trying to see through illusions that aren't there.  Unlike Grendan Baenre, Nalfein seldom relies on illusions to hide imperfections, but if one isn't looking, perhaps those little details are lost anyway.  Nalfein sighs and rocks back to lean on the desk.

"I have a prior engagement soon," he says to Pharaun.  The wizard pouts, clearly disappointed.  "I will talk with you about the matter you wanted my advice on later," Nalfein adds.  He turns back to Vizaeth and smiles.  "It seems my time has run out, other matters to attend to.  It was a pleasure to meet you, Apprentice Thaezyr."

"I'm sure," Vizaeth sneers back.  Nalfein nods to both Master and Apprentice and clicks his tongue.

"Cerridwen," he calls, and the fox scurries out the door before Nalfein can even move from the desk.  As Nalfein reaches the door, he glances back.

"If you'd like, Apprentice Thaezyr, I've gotten a hold of a few necromantic tomes from Thay that are a bit more advanced than what you'll learn here.  It's mostly theoretical, but if you have a talent for it, you may find them interesting."

Pharaun goes pale; he sees the threat for what it is.  Vizaeth, however, looks giddy at the proposition, confused, but giddy.  There’s something unsettlingly childlike in his bright red eyes and barely restrained smile.  Eager, Nalfein surmises, the boy is too eager.

"You'd just give those to me?" he asks, wisely skeptical.

"I have little use for them," Nalfein admits with a shrug.  "I'd happily see Szass Tam’s theories put to proper practice.."

Pharaun shifts nervously as Nalfein's gaze flicks up to him.  Vizaeth takes a moment to process the offer, though Nalfein already knows his answer.  It’s a good offer, and even Pharaun’s discomfort can be written off.  The boy is also very excited at the prospect of old Thayan tomes.  At that age, the same from Myth Drannor would’ve made Nalfein too thrilled for words.  After a moment, Vizaeth gives a significantly more respectful bow.

"I'm honored by your faith in me, Master Do'Urden," he answers softly.  Nalfein smirks at Pharaun until the boy straightens up.  He has no interest in playing Pharaun's game of courtship, but if Pharaun wants to play it, Nalfein will make his rejection just that little bit louder.

The boy rises, and Nalfein softens his smile.

"I'll have Archmage Baenre send for you when I have the tomes ready," he says.  “Pharaun, I’m sure we’ll speak more later.”

“I’m sure,” Pharaun nods.

Nalfein steps out of the office and gestures for Cerridwen to follow.  He puts Pharaun and his mad apprentice out of his mind for the moment.  More exciting prospects fill his head as he hurries through the corridors.

A few feet from Nalfein's chambers, Cerridwen perks up and bolts to the door, whining and shrieking excitedly.  Nalfein flicks aside the warding glyph and bursts through the door without breaking stride, delight bubbling in his throat.  He barely takes the time to confirm the figure in his study is Jarlaxle before leaping into the mercenary's arms.

Jarlaxle swings Nalfein in a small circle to compensate, a soft laugh at the back of his throat.  Nalfein presses his lips against Jarlaxle's neck, rumpling his silk shirt between balled up fists.

"I believe it's only been a month," Jarlaxle teases.

"Too long," Nalfein hisses against Jarlaxle's throat, then pulls his chin down to force their lips together.  He's missed this.

Jarlaxle tangles his fingers into Nalfein's hair, but pulls back after a moment.  His other hand curls around Nalfein's waist.

"You're right," he conceded.  "It's been much too long."

Jarlaxle pulls Nalfein into the kiss this time, tender and warm and full of want and adoration.  They only part because Nalfein runs out of breath, and even then they sit in this embrace for a moment afterwards.

"How has Sorcere treated you?" Jarlaxle asks, starting to sway.  Nalfein smiles and settles into Jarlaxle's arms.

"Same as ever," he says softly.  "All pompous elitism and esoteric academia."

"So nothing interesting is happening?"

"Plenty of interesting things are happening; I'm just choosing not to get involved."

"Maybe that’s just as well," Jarlaxle lifts Nalfein up onto the desk and kisses him gently, “I wouldn’t enjoy losing you to some petty wizard rivalry.”

“As opposed to any other petty rivalry?” Nalfein asks, tracing Jarlaxle’s lips with his thumb.  “And you?  How are your surface escapades?”

“Since you asked,” Jarlaxle grins, leaping into another wild tale about an adventure on the surface with his human friend.

Nalfein smiles and straightens out his robes as he listens.  He catches a few moments of embellishment in the story, ones he’s grown used to as Jarlaxle often has a flair for them.  They do make his stories more engaging, if a little silly.  Nalfein takes far more enjoyment out of watching Jarlaxle light up with each recollection.  It almost feels as if the sun has made his light brighter just by allowing Jarlaxle to bask in its presence.  In a paradoxical way, it makes Nalfein a little homesick.  He’s always craved the open sky, the gentle glow of the full moon, but now that he’s had a taste, that pull has only intensified.

Jarlaxle settles back against the desk and leans his head on Nalfein's shoulder.

"You could join us," Jarlaxle notes quietly.  "Come back up to the surface."

“What good would that do?” Nalfein asks.  “Gromph invited me back.  That’s not an invitation to take lightly.”

“Gromph would forgive you for heresy,” Jarlaxle whispers into Nalfein’s neck.

“Gromph already has,” Nalfein tilts his head to one side, letting Jarlaxle press his lips along his throat.  “More than once actually.  I don’t think he really cares what I do with my faith.”

“You know what I mean,” Jarlaxle sighs.

His breath sends a shudder down Nalfein's spine, and he gasps softly.  Jarlaxle shifts over, his lips drawing along Nalfein's skin in slow, sweet kisses.  His hands flatten against the desk on either side of Nalfein, and his hips roll against Nalfein's knees until he parts them and inches closer.

"I have a mouth, Jax," Nalfein whispers.

Jarlaxle rises, leaning intensely close to Nalfein as their lips brush each other.

"So do I," Jarlaxle's grin is hungrier than Nalfein has seen in a long time.  "How shall I use it for you?"

The silk flowers tucked into Nalfein's hair are Calishite hellebores, also known as fey roses.  They're a poisonous violet flower, but that arrogant cad Jarlaxle thinks they fit Nalfein perfectly .  They do, that’s the worst part; they’re a perfect shock of deep purple in his hair.  Pharaun’s not the only person at Sorcere that’s found himself more than a little drawn to Gromph’s prized apprentice.  That’s why he asked for Nalfein’s expertise with Vizaeth, and why he tried pawning the little obsessive off on him.  Pharaun doubts it worked, and Nalfein’s little parting threat is enough to keep him from trying again.

Parting, parting…Pharaun chews his lip.  Nalfein wears hellebores for Jarlaxle; the mercenary must like them or something.  He knew they were meeting the second Nalfein walked in, but it’s standing at the glass of a one-way mirror, staring into Nalfein’s chambers, that Pharaun really processes what that means.

Nalfein shouldn’t have teased him, shouldn’t have charmed him.  Charms can be turned off, sure, but the high they give is unlike any other.  Pharaun’s chasing that high, and it’s making him stupid, he can feel it.

Stupid enough to watch that cad fuck Nalfein?  Yes, stupid enough.

They've just stopped talking, how Jarlaxle can restrain himself is a credit to his willpower.  Pharaun will give him that–and maybe his fashion sense–but little else.  He does wonder what someone as low as Jarlaxle, as insipid, has to say to a wizard of Nalfein's prowess, but it's easy to overlook as his hands tangle in Nalfein's hair and along the skin of his exposed back.  There are more important things to abhor.

Jarlaxle pitches Nalfein over his shoulder, making the wizard yelp and laugh.  He's feeling Nalfein up as he carries him along to the bed.  Pharaun wets his lips and watches the mercenary's path, watches him strip off Nalfein's robes as they reach the bed.

He wants to be there, in Jarlaxle's place, his hands running up and down Nalfein's soft skin, riling him up with teasing caresses.  His lips would slot perfectly into that place, tongue tangled with Nalfein's, some sweet taste on his tongue.  Nalfein's nails dig into the skin of Jarlaxle's bare shoulders and he rolls his hips.  Pharaun's head presses against the glass, throat tight.

"Fuck me," Nalfein demands, only just audible from this distance.

Jarlaxle whispers some suggestive affirmation, his wandering hands dipping below the waistband of Nalfein's pants, then bringing them with.  Pharaun can feel himself getting hard.  He can't help it.  Nalfein's body–bared, slender, and slick with sweat–has stirred something ravenous in Pharaun.

He can forget Jarlaxle now.  The horrid mercenary is him; his hands are on Nalfein's skin.  He bends Nalfein over onto all fours, gropes along his skin and slips a slicked finger into his wizard.  Nalfein's gasp and whine is a pretty thing, it almost makes him take Nalfein right there, raw if he has to.  He adds another finger, and Nalfein grinds against them, moaning softly.

Even seeing Nalfein's face can't break the trance, how could it?  His beautiful silver eyes are glassy as bliss overcomes him, his soft lips part in vocal ecstasy.  The look on his face as Pharaun presses in properly, combined with the sound that leaves his throat…Pharaun shudders.

All at once he's moving, holding Nalfein's hips and thrusting in and out.  Skin slaps against skin and the sounds coming from Nalfein's throat are irresistible.  He wants more, the phantom sensations aren't enough.  He wants that soft, hot skin under his hands.  He wants to fuck Nalfein.

Pharaun palms himself, once more an outsider to Nalfein's pleasure.  His head is spinning, he needs more than he can ever get.  Nalfein took him to bed once, when they were stupid apprentices.  He’s never done it twice, and Pharaun’s only ever gotten away with mentioning it through innuendo.

Nalfein reaches up to cup Jarlaxle's cheek and asks him to stop.  Pharaun can tell from Nalfein's grin he’s not asking because he’s not enjoying himself.  Jarlaxle obliges, pulling out and immediately being flipped onto his back.  The motion is too pliant, too willing, but that's the point.

Pharaun breaks his gaze.  Jarlaxle's moan as Nalfein enters him is all he needs to hear.  He'll go mad watching this to fruition.

Pharaun's eyes drift down the small cramped hallway, and settle on a shape, trying to hide in the shadows…Vizaeth.  The sounds of sex behind Pharaun send a hungry, angry chill down his spine.  His fingers and face tingle.

If he can't have Nalfein, he'll settle for whatever small pretty creature will open his legs for him.  Vizaeth won't say no; he wants Pharaun badly, painfully.

Pharaun lets out a low purr, making his way over to the apprentice.  Vizaeth's glare doesn't even make him flinch.  He's angry?  Good.

That makes two of them.