𝔫𝔬 𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔨 𝔫𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶

Weisshaupt had been a disaster. It had pained him to see Lucanis look so defeated, and Davrin as well. None of the team was fairing well, and he told them all they needed a bit of respite, even if it was just a day or two. So of course he was going to be greedy with his time with Finn, needing to have his lover as close to him as he could for as long as he could.

Finn's comfort and affection was a much needed distraction from the dread he felt, the fear that whatever he did wasn't going to be enough to stop Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. It wasn't often that Esha's confidence was shaken, but Weisshaupt had done it.

All of that, though, he could forget about when he had Finn laying against him, hand brushing across his chest, cupping his cheek and kissing him with such affection that Esha felt like he might break beneath it, in such a good way. He didn't let the kiss remain brief, bringing his hands up to cup both sides of Finn's face and held him in place, deepening the kiss as if he worried he wouldn't get another one again.

Weisshaupt haunted them all, but he knew Esha carried it differently. Perhaps kissing the night away wasn't the right course of action, and so Finn gently pulled back, pressing a soft kiss to Esha's cheek to let him know it was okay, before meeting his lover's eyes.

"Hey," he whispered, the teasing hand falling still as his fingers spread out over his Crow's chest, tracing a slow circle over his heart. "You know I'm here for you, if you want to talk instead..."

He glanced down at his hand, then back up, chewing over his next words before voicing them.

Finn sighed, his arms were wrapped around Burhan's waist in a tight embrace as they shared their bed. His thoughts meandered to how he wanted to constantly kiss his chest, nibble his ears, and touch everywhere at the same time… But he only had two hands. "You make me wish I had tentacles…"

Burhan chuckled softly as Finn lay against him, his hand rubbing gently up and down the other man's back in soft, soothing circles. This was one of his favorite places to be, laying there with the man he adored, just relaxing with each other like they didn't have a care in the world.

At the moment, they didn't. Chores were done, people were fed, and everybody was turned into their respective houses and rooms for the night. So he could just lay there with Finn, not a worry in his head.

A small chuckle passed his lips at Finn's words, though, and Burhan couldn't help placing a gentle kiss on the top of the other man's head.

"I meant t'say, I wish I had more arms to hold ye with," he replied, smiling. "But it's good to know you're into that, at least."

He couldn't help but give his partner a teasing pinch as they lay together. He hoped the Vashoth wouldn't stop his motion though -- the soothing warmth of that large hand drawing slow circles on his back had become, without question, the most relaxing thing in Finn's world. And after a day of collecting firewood, prepping meals, and scrubbing dishes, he was more than glad to melt into it.

That noise that Finn made in reply to Burhan's question went straight to his own cock, already half-hard and growing harder by the moment. It took all his restraint not to just strip Finn entirely bare and flip him over right then and there...

But he wasn't going to do that, not tonight. He wanted to take it easy, take it slow, worship Finn the way the other man deserved to be worshiped. He wanted to give Finn something good, something he hadn't had before, and he wanted to make sure he took his time for the human to enjoy it as much as he could.

Thankfully, Burhan seemed to share the thought as Finn felt those large fingers working at his fastenings, and he broke the kiss just long enough to catch his breath before doing the same in return.

"Fuck-- fucking clothes-- just rip them off, I don't care."

Figaro was stressed. Probably more stressed than he had ever felt in his life, which was also interesting because he also felt more relived than he had in his entire life. And free, as well, and perhaps that was the problem of it. Figaro was free.... and he had no idea what to do with it. He had never left Zariel's fortress, let alone Avernus, and now he was thrust here onto Faerun and everything was vastly different than he was used to.

The sun, the smells, the bugs, the sand, the mud. How in the Nine Hells could he not complain about it out loud?

Then Finn had snapped at him to shut up, and Figaro wasn't about to let that little outburst go. He'd merely pointed out that unlike himself, Finn looked like he fit right in with the rugged and scrappy wilderness.

Partially, it was a compliment, mostly it had been to get under the pirate's skin. And apparently, the latter part had worked better than Figaro expected.

And now he was wiping the mud from his face with a groan, looking down at his hands in irritation as Finn looked triumphant in his revenge for the slight of words. Brow furrowed, he looked up at the rogue with an irritated frown on his lips, and then flicked his fingers at the other man to flick whatever bits of wet mud he could right back in his face.

Literally.

With a frustrated grunt, he wiped the mud from his face into his hands, made sure they were thoroughly coated, and dashed straight at the other man. There he wrapped his arms around him and smearing as much filth as he could onto those well-maintained clothes. Then, with every ounce of strength he had, he attempted to knock Figaro off balance, so that the two of them would tumble together into the dirt.