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Gale had seen you wear his clothes before. You’d stolen his robes for warmth. Folded yourself into his cloak on long journeys. Once, you’d worn one of his undershirts to bed, and he hadn’t slept a single hour that night - just laid there next to you, rock-hard and sleepless, staring at the soft skin between buttons and praying for the strength to be good
But this? This was torture .
You stepped into the room barefoot, still flushed and warm and damp from the bath. And you were wearing his shirt ; the soft one, the one that clung to his wrists when he wrote, the one with embroidery wearing thin from age and affection.
You wore it like it belonged to you. And Gale Dekarios, esteemed wizard of Waterdeep, watched you move like he was watching a new constellation form in the heavens.
“That shirt has always been a favorite of mine,” he remarked. “But it was never quite so…distracting…until this precise moment.” His gaze dropped.
There was nothing beneath the shirt. He could see that. The hem shifted just enough to reveal bare thighs, and when you turned, his eyes caught the faintest glimpse of the curve beneath your ass.
Gale was quite certain he’d stopped breathing.
“You have no idea,” he managed, voice strained, “what you look like in my clothes.” His gaze traced the open line of the collar. “Or perhaps,” he amended, stepping forward, “you know exactly.”
He kissed you properly then, leaving no room for hesitation or second thoughts. Your back hit the desk, shifting books and scattering papers as he lifted you up onto the wood. His hands slid up your thighs, thumbs pressing in when he found how wet you already were. “You could ask anything of me,” he said against your neck, his fingers stroking between your legs, wetness coating them already. “Wearing this? I’d say yes before I even heard the question.”
And then he sank to his knees. Not from deference, though he would’ve gladly worshiped you. From need. From the desire to see you like this for him, because of him, flushed and wanting and ready. “You're exquisite,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with awe. “I could spend a lifetime here and still die feeling it wasn't long enough.”
His hands parted your thighs. He nuzzled between them like he belonged there, like he’d die if he didn’t. The first kiss was soft. Worshipful. The second, firmer. By the third, his mouth was wet with you.
Gale groaned, a deep, aching sound. His tongue pressed in, slow and thorough, and he moaned like it hurt to be this hungry. He sucked your clit into his mouth with precision, then released it just to lick again, languid and messy.
He loved going down on you. Loved the sounds you made. The way your fingers twisted in his hair. The way your hips rolled to chase his mouth like you couldn’t help yourself.
“Stay with me,” he breathed, voice muffled against you. “Let me - yes, like that, let me -” His tongue worked you over with devestatingly precise strokes, his fingers slipping upwards and into you.
Your climax broke over you fast and hot, your whole body locking for a moment as he held you steady. He didn’t stop. Not until you pulled at his hair and whimpered his name again, softer this time. Needing more. When he finally stood, his chin and beard were soaked, and his cock strained against his trousers. “You are,” he whispered hoarsely, “devastating.”
Gale was already hard; flushed, leaking because he’d been ready for you from the moment you walked in wearing that gods-damned shirt. When your fingers closed around him, his hips jerked forward, seeking your touch. “Yes,” he whispered, eyes fluttering closed. “Like that. Just like that.”
He didn’t make you wait, sinking into you with aching slowness, one long, deep thrust that filled every inch and left you both gasping. His hands found your hips. “You are a lesson in restraint,” he choked, “and I am failing it. Spectacularly. ”
Gale’s lips found yours again, the taste of you still thick and sweet on his tongue. The kiss broke only when the first roll of his hips had you both gasping. The shirt slipped off your shoulder. He devoured the skin there, nipping, tracing with his tongue. “You feel-” he whispered between kisses, “you feel extraordinary. ”
Gale fucked you like he meant to memorize it all: every clench, every gasp, every angle that made you arch and beg. His pace was deep and steady, hips grinding down just right, his hands firm on your waist to keep you still while he thrust into you again and again. The shirt bunched at your hips. His lips found your throat, your collarbone, your jaw. He shuddered, pulling back just enough to look down and watch himself slide in and out, coated in you.
Your muscles clenched, slick and greedy, and he groaned against your throat. “Yes - yes, again, please,” he panted, like each new wave of pleasure caught him unprepared. You clenched around him again, and his hips stuttered, jaw falling open on a groan so deep it vibrated in your chest. You were close. He could feel it - knew your body better than his own spellwork. His hand slipped between you, fingers circling your clit with practiced, unerring touch. “That’s it, my brilliant girl. That’s it. Come for me again - fuck, please -”
You did. Your back arched off the desk.
And he followed. His cock pulsed deep inside you in a last deep thrust. He buried himself to the hilt and spilled inside you with a strangled moan, his entire body shuddering as he rode out his climax in your fluttering cunt. He held you close, not pulling out, not moving, as if breaking contact would tear something vital from him.
You were still wearing his shirt. And as you came down from the high, that was a loss he acknowledged with a smile.
“I’ll never get it back, will I,” he murmured, breath hot against your ear. “Not after this. It’s yours now. Just like I am.”