Spicy Q&A — Part Two (Mature)

• Lance trying to sing or play his lyre without fumbling while Romanus teases him.

The melody drifting through the air is... interrupted.

You feel a smile tug at your lips but keep it down as you lock eyes with your bard. The grey in his is but a thin line, swallowed by the deep dark of his pupils. His blue hair falls down his forehead, and his hands clutch his lyre as if it's the only thing keeping him alive. "Keep going," you encourage with a sweet voice, resting your cheek on his bare thigh.

Your legs hug his right leg, and your hand is wrapped lazily at the base of his member. The head is red, the skin is warm, and you can feel his heartbeat pulsing against your palm. "Lance," you say when the bard only keeps staring. "I want to hear the rest."

You don't move your hand, even if you want to.

Lance inhales, seeming to come back to life, and then clears his throat. "The song, yes," he says and clears his throat again. You want to kiss his reddened cheek, but you're too far away. "My song."

You do smile now. "Yes."

Lance adjusts his grip on the lyre, takes another deep breath, eyes closing for a moment... and then, his face morphs. When he opens his eyes, he has the face you adore: the focused, intense expression of a performer. His right hand sweeps over the strings, and his voice soon joins the sorrowful melody that follows.

“E mais que uma onda, mais que uma maré.

Tentaram prendê-lo, impor-lhe uma fé.”

You enjoy the private show for a while, watching sweat drip down on his chest and glisten on the top of his shoulders. You see a faint trickle journeying between his abs, and you almost rise to lick it. Lance has closed his eyes again, and his voice slowly gains confidence. His accent becomes more pronounced, the lyrics undulating with the dance of the strings.

“Mas, vogando à vontade, rompendo a saudade,

vai quem já nada teme, vai o—"

You pump him.

"Ah."

The song fades but, this time, the melody does not follow. Lance's eyes fly open, but while his fingers jerk, they don't stop their movement. "Vai o homem do leme.”

Carefully, you sweep your fingers over the head. Lance hisses, neck strings straining. "Deos meos," he groans, voice hoarse and Adam's apple bobbing. Keeping your touch gentle at first, you go back down, gradually applying more pressure, and when you get to the base, your fingers keep going until you cup his balls.

You squeeze. He mumbles profanities in a long-forgotten language.

"Keep going," you say again, your voice hoarse to your own ears. It sounds more like a command. Your heart is beating as fast as his, and your breathing is shorter and faster. *You're getting wet, a want that has you squeezing him just the slightest bit tighter. *You're getting hard, a want that has you squeezing him just the slightest bit tighter.

Lance's breathing is ragged, but he finds the air to sing. His eyes never leave yours, completely dark now, and he's so hard on your hand that you know it must be painful. But his voice is beautiful still.

“No fundo do mar

Jazem os outros, os que lá ficaram.”

As he sings, you take care of him. Teasing, tugging, and pumping. Occasionally, you kiss his thigh, lips plump and tongue coy. You pump him so slow that Lance groans at the end of each sentence, and then you go fast, and cut off his words, making him grasp for air. The room fills with his smell, his breathy voice, and above all, the shaken notes of his lyre. "Em dias cinzentos. Descan – descanso eterno lá encontraram.”

You cannot help it. Kissing his thigh one last time, you lean over, hand moving up and down, wrist twisting to the right, then the left, and stick your tongue out. Lance has his chin tilted to the ceiling, his brows furrowed in deep concentration, so he doesn't see as you come closer...

And lick the precum off his tip.

The bard jumps. "Fuck," he moans, and the music stops. You peek at him from under your lashes. He looks so handsome with his heaving chest, damp brow, and clenched jawline. You could stare at him all day. His cheeks look sharp, and his hands strong, and your throat suddenly tightens because you want this man to feel good.

"Lance, you can stop," you say, taking your hand away from him, to drag it up his stomach, and chest, until finally, rest your palm on top of his heart.

It beats so strongly. May it always remain so.

"You'll sing to me after."

Lance lets go of his lyre to grab your hand. "I will," he promises, voice so hoarse, you're afraid you've damaged the poor man's vocal cords. "I will write you a new song, I pro–"

You don't let him finish. Ducking your head, you lick wide from base to tip and then open your mouth and swallow him whole. Lance moans, his other hand flying to the back of your head, fingers digging into your scalp. You hum in appreciation, taking him as deep as you can. You feel him bump the back of your throat before you go up for air. He has your hand prisoner in his, but you use your other hand to pump him as you kiss along his length, driven by the moans from above.

"Tu es perfectus ut bene sentis," he blabbers, and you close your eyes and sink into the moment with his taste in your mouth, and his skin under your palms, and his voice drifting into your ears.

• How does Alain deal with a jealous rougher/more demanding Romanus?

You grab his collar in a clenched fist and push him up against the wall.

"Oh." Alain lets out a surprised rush of air but lets himself go with a grin. You're frowning at him, your brows pushed together, and lips pressed tight. For some reason, Alain finds it adorable. "What's this? Feeling left out, little sparrow?"

"Do you think this is funny?" you hiss, stepping closer to him.

He's been busy all evening with Lady Gwen, the noblewoman his uncle pressed him to entertain. Her lands produce some kind of grain that Alain is sure is very important. It meant he had little time to spare for you, but he thought you'd find entertainment without him. "Not funny, no," he lies, his grin growing wide. Did you miss him? You have a funny way of showing it, but he's not complaining. "Just amusing."

Your eyes narrow. Alain chuckles and grabs your wrist. "Now, if you follow me—"

But with a jerk of your arm, you shake his hand away and tug him down by the collar. Alain's grin vanishes as he's forced down.

And your lips crash against his. "Fuck," he can barely grunt as pain shoots from his jaw. He'd say more, but your teeth clamp down on his lower lip, and now that pain joins the other radiating all over his face. Your hand tugs his collar harshly, pulling him into you as you bite him again, and then push your tongue into his mouth. God damn. For a moment, he's left stunned.

Surprise has him frozen as you take charge in a way you've never done before. Your other hand flies to his hair, but while you usually tangle your fingers gently in his curls, now you pull. You snatch his head to the side and deepen the kiss until he feels like you're stealing all the air out of his lungs. Alain closes his eyes as pain is slowly replaced by pleasure. He brings a hand to your waist, wanting to guide you closer, but you swat it away.

Oh, that's it.

"What's going on?" he demands, snapping his head away from you. He's never been truly annoyed at you before, but irritation buzzes under his skin. His lips are coated in your saliva, and his lower stomach is starting to buzz, but Alain’s not about to just roll over. “Sparrow, I don't mind a little rough, but this a bit too much."

Your hand is still on his collar. Alain frowns at it. "Are you planning on letting me go?"

"She was touching you the whole time," you accuse.

"... what?"

Your lips curl in a snarl. "That fucking woman. She was touching you the whole night. And you let her."

Alain's mind is buzzing. "What the... Wait, you mean Lady Gwen?"

That was a mistake.

At the sound of her name, you let out something akin to a growl and pull him into you again. Your tongue wastes no time, pushing past his lips and invading his mouth. Your kiss is hungry and rough and full of possessiveness. Alain's mind spins, but right before he can have his wits back, you finally let go of his collar to plunge your hand deep into his pants.

"Ah," he hisses when you grab him. He's half hard already, but when your deft fingers wrap around him, Alain feels all the blood rush to his groin. Fuck, now that he needs it in his brain. You're merciless. You grab him firmly and pump him until you empty him of thoughts.

Your mouth leaves his, tugging his lower lip between your teeth before letting go with a snap. You then kiss his jaw, big open-mouthed kisses mixed with rough bites. Alain is vaguely aware he'll have bruises tomorrow, but right now, he doesn't care. If there's a Lord upstairs, he must be giving him a taste of Heaven because Alain has never felt like this before. Your hand never stops, demanding pleasure out of him, and your lips pause by his ear.

"She had no right," you say, voice like steel. You bite his earlobe, and when Alain jerks, you push him against the wall again. "No right."

It comes slowly. To be fair to him, thoughts are hard right now, but even so, it shouldn't have taken him this long. But, as Alain blinks dumbly, staring like an idiot at the fire in your eyes...

Light is finally made. "You're jealous," he says, and then the nobleman laughs. He laughs, throwing his head back and wincing when it bangs on the wall. "Fuck's sake. You're jealous."

You squeeze his member. Alain's mouth snaps shut. "Alain," you say, the warming clear in your tone.

He looks back down and grins at you again. Damned it, but anger looks good on you. "Sparrow, let me tell you something," he says and grabs hold of your wrist. You frown, but his grip is strong and, as much as he doesn't want to, he takes your hand away from his pants. Slowly, Alain straightens up and grabs your other hand, and now you're the one in his grip. "If I wanted her, I'd be in her bed chambers right now. She all but invited me, you’re not wrong there.”

A cloud darkens your features, but he presses his pointer finger to your lips. "Ah, ah, let me finish," he says, turning you around. You change places — you're propped against the wall while Alain stands before you. "But I'm not there, am I? I'm here with you."

He leans over and kisses you. His kiss is gentle and sweet, and it takes you a while to reciprocate, but you do.

*if Romanus is female

Alain indulges in our lips as his hands move up your arms, to your shoulders, and finally, to the cleavage of your dress. He cups your breasts, kneads them, and swallows your gasps by plunging his tongue into your mouth. You rock your hips against him, and Alain smiles. "Got it," he murmurs, dragging his hands down your body until he grabs the fringes of your dress.

"I neglected you," he says. Your eyes look glazed, and your lips delicious, but he wants your other lips. "It won't happen again.”

Alain falls to his knees, gathering the fabric in his hands. Your thighs slowly reveal themselves to him, and he leans forward to kiss every inch of the delicate, secret skin. "Alain." You breathe from above, and he grins at the want in your voice. Your hand tangles into his hair again, but your fingers shake out of desire instead of anger.

"Let me apologize," he says, pushing your knickers aside with his nose to sweep his tongue over your dripping, delicious center.

*if Romanus is male

Alain indulges in your lips as his hands move up your arms, to palm at your shoulders, and finally, drag down your chest. He squeezes your pecs, his nails scratching your shirt right over your nipples, and swallows your groan by plunging his tongue into your mouth. You thrust your hips against him, and Alain smiles. "Bossy," he murmurs, dragging his hands down your body until he cups your bulge.

You groan again, loudly now, and lean your head back. Alain's smile against your skin as his fingers loosen your belt. "I neglected you," he says. Your eyes look glazed, and your lips delicious, but he wants another part of you now. "It won't happen again.”

Alain falls to his knees and pulls your pants down. Your underwear is quick to follow until you're bare before him. "Alain." You moan from above, and he grins at the want in your voice. Your hand tangles into his hair again, but your fingers shake out of desire instead of anger.

"Let me apologize," he says, leaning forward to sweep his tongue from your base to your tip.

• Ysabella with a Romanus who picks her up and carries her to her room.

You have your hand flat on her ass.

"Stop!" Ysabella shouts, but she's giggling, and her clenched fists beating against your chest are feeble. You jerk the shoulder carrying her, making her jump up and down, and Ysabella's giggles turn into full-blown laughter. "You menace!"

You smile too but focus on conquering the stairs as quickly as you can. Almost running, taking the steps two by two, you have Ysabella firmly secure with your hand on her generous behind and her body balanced over your shoulder.

Finally, you reach the top of the stairs. The hallway beyond is large and vast and filled with luxurious clutter. "Uh, which way is it?" you ask, looking left and right. Her castle is like a maze.

Bella's curls bounce as she lifts her head. "Why should I help my abductor?" she says, smile stunning and voice teasing. "I should be calling for the guards."

You slap her butt cheek.

"Ah!" Ysabella squeals, banging her fists against your chest again. This time, they hit a little harder.

"Do I have to ask again?" you warn. She looks at you from between the mane of her hair, brown eyes twinkling in delight, and for a moment, you think she might defy you. But she points a delicate hand to the right corridor. "Good girl."

Ysabella hides her face. You chuckle as you turn to the right. You adjust your grip on her behind, rewarding her by gently stroking it. Her dress is heavy, full of intricate frills and ruffles, and while it looks beautiful on her, it's almost too thick to feel her. You want to tear it off her, so you lengthen your strides.

The hallway is becoming familiar, and soon enough, you know where you are. Ysabella has quieted down, keeping her face hidden from you. Her hands grab your belt for purchase, and her feet have stopped kicking your back. It seems she's done putting up a pretend fight. Part of you is disappointed.

The other part is just happy you get to squeeze her butt. "Oh." She lets out, so softly, that you almost don't hear it. You caress her over the damned dress as finally, her door comes into view.

"Hang on, little lady," you say as you open it.

Inside, Ysabella's room is white and wide and full of natural light. Plants hang from the ceiling and furniture, a rug cushions your feet and a pleasant aroma comes from a large pot filled with yellow and purple flowers. You pay attention to none of it.

With three big steps, you reach the bed and unceremoniously dump her on the bed. Ysabella bounces twice on the fluffy mattress, but her third bounce is interrupted by your body lying on top of hers. "Hello," you say, your elbows propped beside her head and legs intertwining with hers. You sweep her hair away from her face, twisting the curls in your fingers.

Ysabella squeezes her arms from under you to cup your jaw with both hands. "Hello, darling," she whispers, and her lips are welcoming when they meet yours. For a moment, you simply kiss her. Ysabella is soft all over. Her breasts are soft, pushed against your chest. Her hands are soft as they explore your jaw and cheeks and finally, sink into your hair. Her lips are soft and warm, plump and sweet, rolling over yours. Her mouth is soft too, as is her tongue, sweeping over your teeth.

You kiss until air is scarce, and part gently to stare down at her. Ysabella smiles, fingertips tapping one of your eyelids, and then the other. "You are a brute," she says, kissing the arch of your cheek. Her legs move, her hips slowly rolling against your thigh. "A very bad, very rude brute."

You nuzzle into her neck, inhaling her scent as you move with her. *You're rock hard, and the light friction is both heavy and not enough. *Your core burns and your underwear starts to become uncomfortably wet.

-

You're so tired of this damned dress, you need to feel her skin. "But you like me," you say, your hand grabbing her knee. You bend it, and her dress shifts higher on her leg, allowing you to slip your fingers along her leg.

"I do," Ysabella says, kissing your temple, and dragging her nails down your back. Your fingertips find her knickers, and you knead her inner thigh before you slide around to grab her ass. It's bare now, only partly covered by her panties. "I do. I..."

She shuts up when you pinch her. "Hmm?" you tease, rubbing your nose on her neck. You lightly nib at her flesh as your other hand joins the first and you're full-on massaging her behind. Ysabella rolls her hips along with you, rubbing herself at the front of your pants.

You close your eyes in bliss. Your name drifts in the air.

"Hmm?" you ask again, not teasing this time, and blink to find her looking at you. "Did you say something?"

Ysabella nods. She licks her lips and looks to the side, and if you didn't know better, you'd say she's... hesitant? "Bella?" you ask. You let go of her to push yourself up so you can see her face. "Everything alright?"

"Yes," she says, hands seeking you once more. She grabs your collar, pulling you back down. You go, but you're frowning. "I— I have a request."

"A request?"

She nods again, teeth biting at her lower lip.

"... alright," you say. "What is it? I'll do it."

Ysabella kisses your lips quickly, smiling radiantly. "Thank you," she says and pauses. You wait... "Iwantyoutosmackme."

You blink again. "What?"

Ysabella buries her face in your chest, seeming incapable of facing you. "When you smacked me before, I— I liked it." Another pause. "Could you do it again?"

There's no response.

Ysabella shyly lifts her face and when she meets your gaze, she finds it completely dark. "Darling?" she whispers. You smile a torn, dark smile and kiss her, feeling energy crackling up your limbs.

"Turn around," you command beside her lips. You get off her, sitting on the mattress. Ysabella looks at you for a moment, but then she shivers and does as you say. She lays on her belly, her arms crossed under her head and her chest heaving against the mattress. "Good girl," you say again, and this time, you see it plainly: Ysabella trembles from head to toe.

You rest a hand on her calve and slowly drag it up. You hear her breath quickening as you press on her lower leg, then the back of her knee, and up her thigh. Her dress lifts too, and when you reach her upper thighs, you throw it over her back, revealing her entire lower body. Her knickers are see-through black, her panties the same, and her ass looks magnificent. You put a gentle hand on one cheek. "Bella."

She turns her chin to the side and meets your gaze. Her eyes are wide, and her lips parted in an 'O'. "Count," you say, and slap her.

You're gentle, holding back, but the smacking sound reverberates throughout the room. "Oh!" Ysabella squeals, her arms trembling. She takes a moment, but her voice comes from the nook of her elbow. "One."

You smile, softly rubbing the skin. And then you smack her again.

"Two."

Smack.

"Th— three."

Smack.

"Oh."

"Bella."

"Four."

The fifth is a little stronger. "Five!" she yells. Her cheek is red, the print taking on the shape of your hand. You don't know why the sight has fire burning up your veins, but it does.

*if Romanus is male

And you can't hold back. You grab her panties and pull them down before you push her knees apart to make room for you to sit behind her. "You're beautiful," you say, kissing the end of her spine. Ysabella arches her back as you lift her hips with one hand, the other fumbling with your belt. "God, Bella."

"Please," she whines, her arms reaching desperately for the headboard. "Pease, hurry. I need you."

Your manhood is free, and you hold onto her waist as you sink into her. She's dripping wet, so you go in with an easy thrust, both of your relieved moans lifting like prayers into the air.

*if Romanus is female

And you can't hold back. You grab her panties and pull them down before you push her knees apart to make room for you to sit behind her. "You're beautiful," you say, kissing the end of her spine. Ysabella arches her back as you lift her hips with one hand while the other circles around her side to press your palm firmly against her mound. "God, Bella."

"Please," she whines, her arms reaching desperately for the headboard. "Pease, hurry. I need you."

You sink your face into the crook of her neck as your fingers mimic it down below, plunging into her depths. She's so wet, she sucks your fingers in, and you can easily slide them in and out, making Ysabella sing pretty songs to the air.

• Do any of the ROs have a praise kink?

You almost missed it at first.

"God, Raf, that's it," you had moaned as he lavished you with his mouth, but you took notice of how Rafael had frozen for a moment and looked up at you from between your thighs with a blank face. He quickly went back to business, his clever tongue and deft fingers making you forget that words exist, to begin with.

The second time wasn't in a mad, passionate moment, but afterward. You lay with your head on his shoulder, completely spent, and his hand was making lazy circles on the leg you had thrown over his hip. "That was amazing," you had told him, caressing his damp chest, and Rafael stiffened underneath you. You had lifted your head in concern, but your thief looked away.

After a beat, Rafael looked back, his face hard to read, but you recognized the look: it was the same as last time. "Go to sleep, ya bum," he said, kissing you gently before closing his eyes.

Now, you put it to the test. Rafael's hands are all over. They're pressing on your spine, circling your hips, dragging up your stomach, and clutching your breasts/pecs as if they’re a long-lost treasure he has finally found. "Fucking sweet," he mumbles as he kisses your throat. He drags his tongue to the underside of your jaw, and then opens his mouth wide and takes a bite. Stars come to life behind your eyelids, and you clutch him tighter. "So fuckin' soft."

He keeps babbling something, but you do your best to gather your wits about you. You can't let yourself go by his caresses, no matter how good they feel. No matter how easy it is to lean your head back and let Rafael's lips worship your throat, to let him hold your hair as his other hand parts your legs so he can fit his hips between your thighs.

And it is all so warm. The warm summer light falls on your eyelids, and now the stars twinkle in skies of gold. You feel yourself being lifted from the bottom of the ocean to float weightlessly somewhere halfway to the surface. You're vaguely aware of Rafael's mouth moving down, to the point where your collarbones meet, his hands hugging your lower waist, searching to cup your ass the way he likes to.

"Pretty sounds ya make."

Your eyes snap open. Damned.

With a force of will that could rival the dam-building beavers, you find words again. "Raf, that feels so good," you say, a bit generic, but you're new to this. Rafael freezes. He looks up from your chest to give you a silent stare. Then, when he moves back down—

You catch his chin. "I love your hands, have I told you that?" you ask. As you speak, you sprawl your palm along the length of his jaw. You can feel the very faint stubble there, his eternal attempt to grow a bear.

Rafael's dark eyes bore into yours.

You swallow in dry, pushing the awkwardness away. "It's— it's your fingers, really. I love your fingers, Rafael. They're so nimble."

Your thief is completely still. You feel a snarky comment coming up your throat, but you push it down. Gently, your hand merges into his hairline, and you drag your nails over his scalp, behind his ear, near his nape. You feel his shiver from how close you are, and you instinctively wrap your legs tighter around him.

"Raf..."

"Watcha doing?" He finally speaks, his voice so cracked, it sounds like low thunder. Your bastard is looking at you as if you could jump up at any second and swallow him whole.

You smile, and it's not forced. Your left-hand joins the other on his face, and you hold him. "I'm telling the truth," you whisper, tugging him closer. Rafael resists for a moment, but then he comes. "I realized I never told you. You always tell me what you like, but I'm mostly silent."

"Ya not silent," Rafael counters.

Your smile widens. "Moans don't count."

"Speak for yourself."

You chuckle and are met with one of his smiles. All nervousness and clumsiness melt away when you kiss him. It's only him, and his familiar touch, and despite your rocky beginnings, Rafael always makes sure to take care of you. You want to be the one to take care of him now.

"I love your lips," you tell him when you part. Rafael scoffs and chases after your lips in an attempt to shut you, but you turn your face away. "I mean it, Raf, I could kiss you for hours. If there's a heaven, I bet mine are only your lips."

"Don't be an idiot," Rafael says, but while the words are cutting, his voice ruins it. It's tight as if his throat is raw.

You roam your hands over his hair, down his shoulders, onto the northern lanes of his back. "It's true. I love them almost as much as I love your voice. And your eyelashes." You laugh quietly. "You have pretty eyelashes, Borja. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Rafael slowly shakes his head ‘No’.

You wrap an arm over his shoulders, bringing your chests flushed together. Your nipples rasp his skin, sending little jolts down your spine. "Well, you do," you say, kissing his left eyelid gently. "You have many pretty things. You're so handsome, Rafael. I've never said it, have I?"

Even as you ask, you know it's true. Sorrow builds in your stomach, mixed with anger at yourself, but it's true: you never told him.

"... ya haven't," Rafael answers. You lean away to peek at his face and see his cheeks bright red.

"You are," you repeat because you want him to believe you. “You’re a handsome, attractive man.”

Rafael looks to the side. "You think so?" he asks, then, in a low, thin voice. You hear the vulnerability there, and your heart shrinks.

God, but you've never hated yourself more. "Of course, I do, Raf," you say. "I've always thought so."

A moment.

Finally, Rafael looks back at you. He bends his elbows so that his face is inches away from yours. "What else do ya like?" he asks.

You go to open your mouth—

But he kisses you. Rafael licks your lips and plunges his tongue inside, and you kiss him back as eloquently as you can. His hands are back on you, groping and squeezing and caressing. Yours do the same to him.

"That feels good?" he murmurs. There's a new light in his eyes, one you recognize when he's pulling a robbery or scamming someone at the bar. It's mischievous and playful, and you adore it. "I want ya to tell me."

You nod, suddenly shy. "It does."

"And this?" he asks again, turning his chin to bite your shoulder.

"Y— yes."

"How so?" Rafael asks. "I want more than that."

So, you tell him. You tell him all you've unknowingly kept to yourself, again and again, however many times are needed to until he believes you.

• Has/would the ROs ever take care of themselves while thinking about Romanus?

Hadrian hasn't, but he probably will at some point. The man is trying his hardest not to. He shouldn't use you like that, like a cheap tool to relieve his base urges. He almost hates himself when he's lying in bed, and you come to mind, and Hadrian can't help but appreciate all the details he can't in person.

He can't stare at your lips when you're talking, but he can do it now, at the image in his mind. He can picture you walking, your hips swaying, and your eyes widening when you fall on your knees before him and reach for his breeches, and dream-Hadrian says no, but you're not deterred and—

Hadrian snaps his hand away from his pants, cursing himself as he jumps out of bed. Lord in Heaven, smack me down. He kneels in front of his cross and stays there, on cold and hard ground, until his blood stops singling and his heart ceases hammering, and your image melts away like water from his sinful mind.

Alessa has not, and she probably will not. One thing about Alessa is her remarkable control. Does she think of you? Surely. Does her heart quicken, and her chest rise faster? Sometimes, they may. Sometimes, Alessa feels a wave of desire roll over her body when she's alone at night, tucked between sheets that will not warm her. Her feet are cold, and her fingers are frigid, and Alessa wishes, then, that she had you to cling to.

She wishes your hands would explore her, leaving trails of blazing fire in their wake. She wishes she could kiss and taste you. She wishes you would reach down and relieve the insistent pressure on her core. She wishes...

But Alessa stays frigid on her bed with her arms stiff at her sides, and her bows furrowed in irritation. Foolishness. Weakness. She rolls to the side, stubbornly closes her eyes, and forces herself to sleep.

Alain hasn't yet, because you've just met, and on the two nights since, the nobleman hasn't felt particularly needy. But if had? And the face of that handsome/pretty mercenary had jumped to his mind, the man would have no moral problem with satisfying himself while thinking of you. There's nothing wrong with it – you can't be hurt by what you don't know. Alain likes to live by that.

But it's rare that Alain ever does take matters into his hands if I'm being honest. Whenever he's feeling the desire to, it's not hard for him to find a partner. He'll seek someone, preferably someone he won't have to see again and lose himself in their body. But deeper in, when he's gotten to know you, it may happen that Alain suddenly sees your face in the stranger, and it's your name he fights to keep from groaning, and when it's all over he'll decide that he needs to bed you.

Or else, he'll go crazy.

Ysabella definitely would. But only after you're in an established relationship. If so, and you're apart for whatever reason, Ysabella has no qualms about using the memories of your time together to keep her company during the lonely night. She'll close her eyes, breathe out your name, and try her hardest to imagine that it's your hands who caress her breasts. It's your finger that plays with her lower lip, teasing entrance into her mouth while the other hand brushes the outside of her panties. It's your touch, Ysabella tells herself, and she'll cling to you until completion.

But what weak completion it is, and what poor substitutes her fingers make when compared with yours. Ysabella will get sad, then, resentful of what keeps you separated.

The Pirate King wouldn't. He doesn't like the act very much. He doesn't like how he feels when it's over, and he's panting like an idiot in his room, alone and pathetic. He feels like a teenager, and the Pirate has lived through too much to feel like a little boy again.

He doesn't masturbate. He rarely gets the urge to. When someone's in his bed, that's another thing. Then, he'll come awake, but alone? He'd rather just feel the chilly wind on his hair or stare at the line of the horizon. He may think of you, then, and make plans for the future, but he keeps his thoughts reined in. He may kiss you, in his imagination, or even invoke your naked body, but never to the point where his pulse gets excited.

The Pirate gets no pleasure from ghosts.

Neia doesn't masturbate. It doesn't work on her. Her own touch does nothing to her senses. She can think of you, of that little mercenary she met when she went to slaughter Aurelius, and the specter will instantly smirk, but, if anything, Neia would rather fantasize about ways to get you alone. Her hands are rough and too big, and Neia dislikes touching herself.

When she's really feeling tense, she'll usually just go out and find company, much like Alain. If she can't, then she sets her jaw, closes her eyes, and dives head-first into slumber.

Lance... maybe? I'm honestly not sure. Lance doesn't touch himself, but he may start when he's in a relationship with you. If the bard is feeling restless, he'll jump up and go explore the night — Chouriça at his feet, the moon high above, and his lyre hanging from his back.

Once you've had your first time as a couple, and Lance is far away from you, then, maybe, he can indulge a bit, but I think he wouldn't like it very much. Like the Pirate, he'll mostly feel disgusted afterward.

Rafael Borja? Absolutely. The bastard is used to spending his nights alone, and it's rare because he always has so much running around in his mind, but when he does get the urge, Rafael takes care of it. He'll use you, no problem about it. He may start with a scowl because he's recalling something you said to him that made his blood boil, and when he insults you back, you make that bloody face you do that is half a mocking smile and half a disgusted scoff, and the bastard seethes then.

He'll grab you, imagination-you, and speak fervently right next to your face, and Rafael will feel your breath washing over his cheeks. Then, Rafael will imagine himself doing what he's too much of a coward to do in real life: he'll pull you in and kiss your damned mouth until you have no more infuriating words left. He'll be rough and drink your sighs as all the while, his hand will drift down his pants.

Rafael will do this: have fake arguments with you that always end in passionate lovemaking. And afterward, when the fantasy is over, and he's back alone by himself, Rafael will feel completely empty.