Tiefling Boyfriend: Othello (complete)

The shop is built into the root system of an old tree, which over time has naturally risen from the earth, creating a perfect nook for a home or business. The inside of the shop is like any other, only with the added insulation of the rock and soil. The sign out front designates it as a simple apothecary, but your client called it something else. Apparently, the proprietor is extremely knowledgeable about poisons, so much so that your client sees them as a threat.

Walking into the store, you’re greeted by the scent of incense and the drying flora hanging from the rafters. You step inside, surrounded by a hazy fog. You look around for someone, anyone, but you know exactly who it is you are after.

“My, my, what tall, dark, and handsome figure has darkened my doorway this afternoon?” Someone steps out from the back, through a doorway over which sheer scarves have been draped in angled layers. His blue skin gives him away. This is who you are after. 

Othello is a tiefling, and no one particularly likes tieflings. He’s tall, but not nearly as tall as you. His long white hair is styled in a fluffy braid, and his horns rise straight up from his forehead. His golden eyes are totally focused on you, giving you a heady stare while he captures his tongue between his teeth.

“I’m here to apply for a position.” You remove your hood as Othello looks at you.

His grin is excited, and his eyes widen. “Oh, I have many positions for a handsome man such as yourself. You’d best be specific about what you want.”

You breathe slowly from your nostrils to keep your cool. “A job. I wish to learn the trade and I have been told you are a master.”

Othello snickers, tapping his fingertips against the line of his jaw. “So, you wish to learn under me, do you?” He nods his head. “I think I can be open to such a thing, but I must warn you - not many last with me. Few can keep up.”

You frown at him. The client had warned he could be salacious in his speech. “I cannot tell if you are speaking in innuendo or being honest with me.”

Othello shrugs. “Why not both?” He wags his fingers. “Come with me, new student. I’ll give you a grand tour of my shop.”

You nod and follow him. The job was supposed to be simple - get close to Othello, steal his recipe book, and kill him. You were warned that he had memorized the book’s contents, and he never took it out for anything or anyone. In order to get it you would have to write everything down by hand, or somehow gain his trust enough to get close to the book. Killing him would be the easy part. 

The back of the shop is a small storage room and a stairwell, with one flight of steps going up and another going down. “Upstairs is my home,” Othello purrs suggestively. “It is nothing much, just what’s perfect for me. All I use it for is the bed.”

You look away from him. Othello seems to sense your discomfort. “Then downstairs is my kitchen and laboratory. Everything I make, I make down there.” He walks closer to you. “You’re not scared of underground lairs, are you, handsome?”

You look back at him with a frown on your face. “Not at all.”

“It’s pretty deep.” Othello’s seductive purr is on full display. “I make a mess of it all the time, but it’s very easy to...”

You place your hand over his mouth. “I get it.”

Othello grins as he moves your hand away. “You don’t play games. Be careful, I could learn to love you.” He winks, then points to the stairs. “Do you want to go to the top, or bottom?”

You glare again.

Othello lets loose an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, fine then. I'll show you downstairs first. Follow me, big boy.”

He takes you down into his laboratory. It’s brightly lit, considering it’s underground, and the smell of it is indescribable. The concoctive mix of putrid, sweet, savory, and a touch of familiarity gives you a dizzy sensation behind your eyes. “Here.” Othello hands you a face mask. “I’m used to the fumes, but I find most who aren’t either get high, horny, or hypnotized.” He titters to himself. “The three H’s.”

You slip on the face mask, and the scent of lavender fills your nostrils. He must have dried lavender stitched into a pocket on the fabric. 

“Better?” Othello raises his brows.

You nod. “Better.”

Othello claps his hands together. “Wonderful. Over there is my bubbling cauldron of horrors. I do not recommend you going near that until you are at least six months in! It is constantly boiling, and constantly a pain in my ass.” He sweeps his hand over to a stove. “That is a cast-iron stove, handed down from my mother, who got it from her mother. You do anything to hurt it and I will personally shove my fist up your ass.” He gives you a good warning glare to assure you that he is not joking. “The cabinet over here is filled with anything and everything you need. I painstakingly organized and catalogued it myself. It is impossible to not find what you are looking for.”

He swings open the door, showing off all the drawers, shelves, bottles, and books within. “If you want to work with me, I expect this to be memorized by the end of the week.” He closes the doors again. Othello’s golden eyes rake over you, giving you a closer once-over than before. “You do not look like someone who wants to learn the trade of an apothecary.” He drinks you in until his eyes reach yours. The long, white lashes that surround his eyes remind you of feathers falling from the blue sky. “You look more like the sort who eats meat and potatoes day in and day out between killing wild boars with your bare hands.”

“True.” You bow your head. “Appearances can be deceiving. You should know this for yourself, Othello.”

He bites his lip with a sharp tooth. “Perhaps there is wisdom in that hairy brain of yours. But I told you before, I usually do not keep apprentices for very long.” He folds his long arms across his chest. “You last a month, and I will be genuinely surprised.”

“I’ve been warned about you,” you say in a low voice. “I think I can manage you as long as I steer clear of your libido.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “I see my reputation precedes me!” He shrugs. “I make no qualms with how people see me. They see what they want. Sometimes it works in my favor, other times it doesn’t. It doesn't hurt me either way.”

Your first week with Othello is spent mostly on memorization and studying. He doesn’t let you anywhere near his lab aside from teaching you the contents of his cabinet and method of organizing. In your  second week he puts what you’ve learned to the test, which results in a few burns and a rash on your forearm.

“I’ve been told you keep a rather hefty recipe book,” you say to him. “I would like to see the method to your madness.”

Othello scoffs. “I take that out for no one.” He taps his finger against his temple. “The most you’ll see of my life’s work will come from here.”

You smirk at him. “I figured your brain was between your legs.”

Othello’s smile is a proud one. His tongue darts over his lips, and he blows you a kiss. “Unlike most men, I have two.”

In your third week with Othello, you’re tasked with completing several orders. Othello gives you instructions and you copy them down verbatim, starting off your own version of his recipe book. It’s hard work, and the basement room is still steaming hot.  You strip down to your pants, gloves, and apron. It helps a little. At least you can breathe, but it’s still hotter than hell.

“Big boy,” Othello sings as he comes down the stairs. “Is that one order ready yet? I cannot keep waiting for... oh.” He stands on the stairs looking at you. “Why on earth are you half-naked?”

“It’s hot,” you snap at him. “It’s like standing in a steaming kettle down here!”

Othello’s eyes trail over your arms, your back. A grin creeps over his face, and his teeth sink into his bottom lip. 

“I see that.” You point a finger at him.

“So can I,” he purrs. His tail whips back and forth behind him. “Your body is frighteningly masculine, big boy. Why on earth do you wish to be an apothecary when you could be seducing royal asses?”

You wipe your brow as you look at him. “My eyes are up here.”

“My eyes are down there,” he grins. “The question stands. Why are you here and not off somewhere bedding lonely nobles?”

You turn back to the work before you. “Let’s leave a little mystery, shall we?”

“Then wear only the apron.” Othello chuckles.

Once the end of the month comes around, Othello has started letting you have more responsibility around the shop. He leaves you alone to tend to it, and even gives you special jobs. You’ve slowly collected a handful of his recipes, but nothing that your client has hoped for. 

One evening as you’re leaving the lab, Othello stops you in the storage hall between stairwells. “You’ve made it a month now,” he says with a grin. “I think this calls for a celebration.”

You’re tired, hungry, and sore from being on your feet all day. It’s one thing to be moving around all the time, but standing in front of that stove all day seems to make the pain worse.

“What sort of celebration?” you grump.

“I have a drink,” Othello clicks his tongue. “And I have lots of good food. Not to mention a surprise.”

“You can’t suck my dick,” you huff at him.

Othello rolls his eyes. “That wasn’t going to be the surprise!” He slaps your shoulder and starts up the stairs. “It’s something else. Come, now.”

You follow him, enticed by the offer of drink and food. His upstairs apartment is roomier than you expected, surrounded by windows which are covered by the branches of the tree. The scent of food lures you on, and you take a seat at his table. Othello pours you a glass, a slight smile on his lips.

You look towards his stove. “Where’s the food?” 

“Let’s make a toast before we eat.” Othello pours himself a glass. “To my apprentice. May he last another month.”

You just want food to go with your drink, but you make the toast anyway. You sip the dark wine, which tastes surprisingly sweet. 

“Wow, what an idiot.” Othello sets his glass down. “Have I taught you nothing?”

Your brow pinches as you look at him, moving the empty glass from your lips. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m a master of poisons,” Othello sighs, swirling the liquid in his glass around before taking a sip. “And I’m not a moron. You’re here to kill me.”

You try to move, but your limbs feel weak. “What’d you do to me?”

“Nothing bad,” Othello scoffs. “I just bought myself a moment to talk to you.” He pours himself more wine and drinks.

“Why is it not affecting you?” you snarl at him.

“I’m immune,” he says with a grin. “You can’t be that thick-headed, can you?” Othello stands up and walks towards you. “Who was it this time? Lord Cameron? That Reginald dick? Or is Katrina still mad I beat her at chess? I would like to know who is trying to kill me this time.”

You grunt, unable to move your limbs at all. They are like bags of sand, heavy and unattached. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Heavens, no!” Othello balks. “I have better things to do with my time than killing people trying to do their job.” He sips his wine. “I’ll make you an offer. I’ll pay you double whatever asshole hired you is paying you.”

“For what?” you demand.

“To kill them,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “Then, if you so choose, I’ll pay you to be my bodyguard.”

You laugh, and your head flops back. “Why the hell would you do that?”

Othello fixes your head so it lays on your shoulder. “Because I like you. I didn’t grow tired of having you around after a month.” He gives you a serious look. “And because people keep trying to kill me. It might be nice to have a big, strong, sack of meat around to throw in front of my supple, helpless body.”

You smirk. “You’re not helpless.”

Othello nods. “Very true. But I still have a body to guard.” He stands erect again. “So what say you? Kill your client for me, come back, and I’ll pay you whatever you desire to remain my personal guard.”

“I’d be an idiot to pass up so much money,” you sniff. “But it would also be a foolish endeavor to kill the one who hired me.”

“That bad?” Othello smirks. “Well, maybe I can help.”

Once the poison wears off, Othello prepares for you a few things. One is a smoke bomb that knocks out anyone who breathes the fumes, another is a mask to block out the smoke, and the third is a bottle of wine, tainted with a special poison. You give the wine to the lord, who dies upon drinking it. Then you use the bomb to escape, undetected, and return to Othello.

“Here is your pay.” Othello gives you a large bag of money. “Now, are you going to stay, or is this goodbye?”

“I haven’t decided.” You take off the protective mask and remove your cloak. “Give me another good reason I should stay here.”

Othello grins. “I have many reasons, but you seem averse to my charm, big boy. I don’t think you would want...”

You cover his mouth, this time with a kiss. Your fingers tangle in his hair, cupping the back of his head while your other hand squeezes his ass. His tail flicks, switching from side to side. As you pull back from him, his eyes are glazed over, his lips pouty. 

“I wasn’t expecting that.” He breathes to center himself. “I thought you had no taste for me.” He smooths his hair back while a smile grows on his face. “When did this happen?”

You kiss him again, and this time he is prepared for you. He grabs you, pressing his body into yours. He sucks your tongue and bites your neck, giggling happily as you lift him off the ground and set him on the tabletop.

“What won you over?” Othello wraps his arms around your neck.

You smirk at him. “I have a thing for tieflings.” You reach down, undoing the laces of his leggings. “A big thing.” You kiss his neck, and he moans.

“I see,” Othello chuckles. “You were doomed from the start.”

You open his leggings to pull out his cock, stroking it in your fist. “Blue is also my favorite color.” You kiss his neck while his nails scrape the nape of your neck.

“What’re your plans for me, big boy?” Othello purrs.

You bring his hips to the edge of the table and kneel. Taking his cock in your hand, you swirl your tongue around the sapphire-blue tip.

Othello bites his lip hard, grinning from ear to ear. “This is a change,” he moans. He reaches down, running his fingers along your scalp. “I’m usually the first to bend.”

You look up at him, your tongue pressed against the length of his shaft. His eyelashes flutter and fall upon his cheeks as he stretches his neck back. You take him into your mouth, tasting his skin, his warmth. You fingers fondle his sack, then slip further, moving between the table and his ass.

“Fuck...” Othello snarls. “I thought I was good!” He’s breathless as he watches you. “Look at me, big boy.”

Your eyes flick up to him again, and he shudders all over. “I can’t take it. Stand up.”

You take your time doing so, lingering on his cock and letting your tongue swirl over his glans while you rise. You stand before him, watching him tremble with anticipation on the table. His grin is wicked, and his eyes have a feverish glow to them. His tongue darts over his lip as he presses his heel into your ass and brings you forward.

“Your nickname better have some credibility, big boy.”

You keep your eyes on him as you undo your pants and let them drop to the ground. Othello looks down slowly, his eyes widening once he looks at your tumescent cock. His brows rise, and then he looks back into your eyes. “Go lay down on my bed,” he growls. “Because that will be the last rest you get for a while.”

You kiss him and he bites you, both of you laughing as he hops off the table and swats your ass until you’re laying on his bed. Othello sits beside you, inspecting and playing with you. He takes a decanter from his bedside table and dribbles the viscous fluid down your shaft.

“You’re not poisoning me again, are you?” you tease.

“I don’t poison someone to get them into my bed, big boy.” He strokes the liquid into your cock, and you shiver as it dribbles down your balls. “That’s no fun at all.” He climbs onto you, straddling your hips, and arches back, rubbing you between his firm cheeks. “This is just a little concoction to make the ride a better one.” He bends over, kissing your chest and stomach.

You moan, resting your head against the pillow as he grinds against you. His kisses are warm and soft, followed by the sharp edge of his teeth. “Are you ready?” he whispers.

“Yeah.” You look back up at him, wrapping your hands around his hips. “Go on.”

Othello eases back, holding the base of your cock in his hand. He eases down, taking you inch by slow inch. You watch closely as you disappear inside him, sucking in a sharp breath as he squeezes around you. Othello grins wickedly at you once you’re in place. He bears down lower on you, then taps his fingertips against his belly. “I think you’re somewhere in here.”

You laugh. “You’re not that petite.”

Othello’s smile brightens. “Let me have my fun.” He rises up, then sinks back down, stroking his hands down his own body as he moves on top of you.

“You’re good at this if you don’t need your hands,” you moan.

Othello’s tongue darts over his teeth. “That’s how you know you’re in for a treat.” He clacks his teeth at you. “Just lay back and enjoy it.”

You’re not sure how you manage to last that evening. Othello’s concoction must have done something to increase your stamina. He rides you, then you pummel him into the bed, throwing his legs over his head. All night you take pleasure in one another, and it seems like you have been taken over by an unquenchable thirst. You can’t get enough of Othello.

When the orgasm comes, it knocks the wind from you. Othello’s own seed spills against your stomach and chest, leaving melted pearls amongst your body hair. Grinning like a madman, Othello slips down from your lap and nestles into the crook of your arm. He curls up, snug and smug as can possibly be.

“So,” he breathes. “Does this mean you’ll be my bodyguard?”

You’re still breathless, and exhaustion has taken hold of you after being kept at bay for so long. You lay there, breathing and cooling on the soft bed as Othello kisses and pets you. 

Othello giggles, kissing your cheek. “I’ll let you sleep on it, big boy.” He kisses you, soft and warm. “But I have a feeling this will be the last night I sleep alone for a long time.” He snuggles back down beside you. “Goodnight.”

You put your arm around him and pull the blanket up around you both. Falling into a deep sleep, you already know your answer. In the morning you agree to be Othello’s bodyguard. After all, you have a thing for tieflings, especially this tiefling.