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The Many Uses of Psionics	By : kgemeni Category: A through F > Forgotten Realms Views: 2327 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Forgotten Realms series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Many Uses of Psionics
- 1
The Many Uses of Psionics

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Jarlaxle was deep in concentration, sitting at his desk with head bowed and writing an extremely difficult set of instructions to a spy in Cormanthor when he felt it. Long, warm fingers wrapped around his nether region, seemingly undeterred by the fact that his pants were still on, and began stroking him in a fashion designed to get him hard. He shifted in his seat and calling across the room in a voice strained by urgency, “Kimmuriel!”

The psionist, sitting at his own ornate desk in the broad office, looked up innocently and swiveled in his plush, floating chair. “Captain?”

Jarlaxle wiggled as if he were trying to sit on a wet fish. “Stop this immediately!” The feeling of fingers impudently tweaked him in response. The drow mercenary flushed, scandalized.

“What?” Kimmuriel batted his eyelashes. He grinned impishly. “Am I not allowed to entertain you while I meditate?”

“I, am not, entertained.” Jarlaxle was being forced to pant breathlessly, beads of sweat beginning to roll down his bald head. The invisible hand squeezed lower. He jerked his head back, almost falling out of his chair, hands clenching and unclenching helplessly. “If I want you, I’d, I’ll, what is the harm of doing this personally, you scamp?”

“But I am doing this personally,” Kimmuriel said. He smiled sneakily in accordance with the feeling of someone’s mouth sucking on Jarlaxle’s length. “Doesn’t it feel personal?”

“Yes,” Jarlaxle said, slumping in his chair weakly. He took his hat off and wiped his head with a handkerchief. “But…I…”

“Yes?” Kimmuriel tilted his head and paused in his psionic ministrations.

“I want you to do it,” Jarlaxle said, his protest sounding feeble even to his ears.

“But I am doing it,” Kimmuriel said. He wiggled his fingers, either to show that he was pulling the strings, or in a coquettish wave. “Who else could be doing this? The Crystal?” He snorted.

They worked inside the depths of the Crystal Shard, outside the city, where the tower had stood for the past two months since returning to Calimport after Entreri’s final fight with Drizzt. “It doesn’t know you well enough to be the judge of what you like.” He frowned in concentration, and Jarlaxle felt two hands’ fingernails simultaneously rake down his back, scratching gently and tickling all the right areas.

“Make time for me.” Jarlaxle was openly pouting. He pleaded with Kimmuriel plaintively with his eyes. “What if I wanted to touch you?”

Kimmuriel shrugged. “No need. I can do that.”

Jarlaxle immediately felt as if a slender body were sitting in his lap and curling twin arms around him. “No, I mean –“ The bald mercenary’s attempt to explain was cut off by the startlingly real sensation of a mouth locking over his and kissing him passionately, probing his mouth with a hot, wet tongue. He choked, and then willed the sensations away. “Kimmuriel, you’re not listening to me.”

“I am,” the psionist countered. “I merely haven’t heard any complaint I can’t handle perfectly well long distance.”

“But it’s not the same,” Jarlaxle said. “Do I have to put on my eye patch and come over there?”

The too-youthful seeming psionist smiled devilishly. “I could make you think it’s the same.”

Jarlaxle’s vision swam, and he felt his surroundings fading away. He found himself in a bedroom, on a large, soft bed. Strong, delicately shaped hands were forcing him down on his back, and then a sweating, dark-skinned body climbed on top of him, sinuously rubbing itself against him.

“Jarlaxle,” the figure whispered, and traced his pointed ear with a playful index finger.

The drow mercenary’s breath hitched.

“I could make you feel pleasure, and you would never known the difference,” the light, boyish voice whispered coaxingly. “Why don’t you let me do this? It will feel just as good as the real thing…”

“But I want the real thing,” Jarlaxle said through the feeling of lips pressed against his, looking piteously into those glowing red eyes. “I’d know the difference…”

“Would you?”

Jarlaxle sat up, suddenly irritable. “Yes.” The dreamlike setting crumbled to pieces and vanished like mist, leaving him in his chair at the office, scowling and crossing his arms. “Now no more of this playing. Either you want to have sex with me, or you don’t.”

“What if I don’t?” Kimmuriel asked, raising an eyebrow. “What would you do then?”

“Leave you alone and go back to my work,” Jarlaxle said.

Kimmuriel blinked at him, looking faintly startled.

The psionist opened a portal to their shared bedroom and pulled him through it.
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The Many Uses of Psionics