Tiefling Boyfriend: Othello (special preview)

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.”

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 stays steaming hot. 

You strip down, only wearing your pants, gloves, and apron. It helps a little, at least it feels like 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 tea kettle down here!”

Othello’s eyes trail over you, watching 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 in your favor.”

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

“My eyes are down there,” he grins. He then looks into your eyes. “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 and hungry, and irritated from being on your feet all day. It’s one thing to be on them all the time moving, but standing in front of that stove all day seems to make the pain worse.

“What sort of celebration?” You grump.

“I have 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 huffs and rolls his eyes. “That wasn’t going to be the surprise!” He pops your shoulder. “Something else.” He starts walking up the stairs. “Come now.”

You follow after, enticed by the offer of drink and food. His upstairs apartment is roomier than your expected. It’s surrounded by windows which are covered by the branches of the tree. The scent of food lures you in and you take a seat down 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 to eat with your drink but you make the toast with him anyways. 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 on poisons,” Othello sighs, swirling the liquid in his glass around. “I’m also not a moron.” He takes a sip. “You’re here to kill me.”

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

“Nothing bad,” Othello scoffs. “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?” He gives me the stink eye. “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 attached to you, heavy and unattached. “Are you going to kill me?”

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

“For what?” You scold.