Mishka: The Upper Hand (NSFW)

(Disclaimer: This is what you get for having a romance novelist as a DM. Muse, if you got to this page somehow, get off it.)

\*

His mother always said orcs were savage brutes that would eat him alive. She was probably right, Mishka thought to himself. Hansel looked pretty fucking murderous today.

God. Why was it hot, though.

Mishka kicked up his feet on the bar stool next to him and tried to keep the gloating smile off his face.

Last week, he’d learned a new trick; a charming twelve-year-old tiefling girl taught it to him in a bar. She called it a “mage’s hand.” If Mishka focused just right, he could summon an ethereal hand to do his bidding. And—with a little more practice—he improved the spell, made it invisible, so that it was just pressure and weight.

The little pink tiefling girl used it to pull a kitten out of the gutter.

Mishka was using it to torture Hansel.

He’d been torturing Hansel for about—oh, fifty-six minutes now. Mishka twitched his fingers, and the hand responded. Hansel’s hands clenched on the table. His face didn’t change. He couldn’t actually tell if Hansel was hard or not, but judging from the looks he was shooting across the table, he was—

Well. Riled up, to put it politely.

Good. He ought to be.

Mishka glanced down at his cards. He’d started this little game as a way to distract Hansel during poker, but somewhere in the past fifty-six minutes, it’d backfired. He wasn’t sure if he was actually winning or not.

“You should just give up,” Mishka said. “You wouldn’t believe how hard I’m winning.”

He’d gotten Hansel close a couple times. The hand was still a little clumsy (still working out how to control it) but he experimented with quite a few things. All he was doing was stroking Hansel through his pants—

But Hansel had gotten close a couple times, Mishka could tell; had seen the momentary panic flash across Hansel’s face; Hansel wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face if Mishka made him come in front of the whole crew during poker night… just like a fucking whore that couldn’t control himself, not with Mishka around, because Mishka was in charge here—this absolute beast, six feet tall and ripped, helpless in **Mishka’s** delicate hands--

Of course, Mishka was not going to make him come in front of the crew. That would be mean.

Hansel wasn’t allowed to get off that easily.

He’d have to beg for that privilege first.

Great. Now Mishka was getting frustrated. That wouldn't do.

Hansel ground out: “You’re a fucking cheater.”

“That’s hurtful, Hans. Hurtful.” He tossed down his cards. “I’ve got a really good hand. You should just quit.” God, he’d been waiting to use that pun all night. “Well, if that’s how you really feel, I command you as your captain to fold and let me win.”

“Yeah,” Hansel said. “As you fucking wish, boss.” He set his cards down and got up.

“Well, I’m just saying, I obviously have the upper hand here. I—hey,” Mishka said, as Hansel grabbed him by the hair and dragged him up. “Hans!” Hansel pulled him by the nape of his braided hair, close to the skin, with a big fistful of hair, so it didn’t hurt. Or maybe just so that he had a firmer grip. Hans pulled him out of the hold while the crew roared with laughter. “You are undermining my authority,” he said to Hansel.

“I’m going to kill you,” Hansel muttered once they were out of earshot. He grabbed Mishka's hand (his actual hand) and pressed it against the front of his pants, where there was a hot, hard length.

“Okay, but fuck me first,” Mishka said. “I’ve really been looking forward to it.”

"Oh, you're going to do a lot of groveling first," Hansel said.

Hansel picked him up, tossed him over his shoulder, took him to the captain’s quarters, and shut the door.

\*

Mishka wasn’t even a little bit sorry.