Drastic Changes of Heart

Five

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A/N: Annnnnnd here’s one more! Hope that you still like this!

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That night found all four of them in the common area drinking, snacking, and talking of all things pleasant. Despite the fact that there were two drow sitting in the room everyone seemed to be in fairly well spirits. As if the presence of the dark elves didn’t bother anyone.

Jarlaxle let out a hoot of laughter and slapped Entreri on the shoulder, “Of course he’s in!” he exclaimed. Then with a wave of his hand and another slap he continued, “He’s would just LOVE to stay until the week long festival is over with!”

The assassin glared at the other elf, trying with all of his might to put all of the displeasure of the drow’s antics into that one look. But, as always, Jarlaxle was immune to almost anything that Entreri could dish up. Including his ‘Glares of Death.’

He sighed, bringing his almost empty mug to his lips, not one to drink, the assassin thought it would be best to pace himself. Yet, at the same time, he had a feeling that the only way he could get through the week, since Jarlaxle seemed so keen on to staying, was to be as alcohol dependant as possible. Perhaps he could even blame his unsocial-lism on hangovers.

He let out another huff of breath placing the now empty mug on the table top to wave over one of the bar wenches for another only to find her already at his shoulder with larger tankard of the inn’s trademark brew.

He blinked at her questionably when she smiled and placed it in front of him, picking up the drained mug. “Don’t worry about paying for it, cutie, it’s on the white-haired beauty at the bar,” she added with a wink before walking off.

Entreri turned and tried to see through the crowd of people to find the person that she was talking about. Sighing again when he got no where he turned back to his companions and picked up the large tankard. He cautiously took a sniff, then dipped his finger in it to taste.

Well it seemed normal enough, complete with the lack of poison but no one could be too careful. He held the mug out to Drizzt and practically shoved it right under his nose. “Here,” he demanded, “Take a drink and tell me what you think.”

Do’Urden blinked long and slow at him, “Excuse me?”

Entreri growled, “Just do it, drow.”

The ranger suspiciously took the drink from the assassin’s fingers and brought it up to his nose, taking a whiff before dripping his finger in and placing that slim digit in his mouth to taste. The human stared at the finger, surrounded by those full lips, completely transfixed on the sight. Lavender eyes looked up from the mug to meet grey, all wide and innocent.

He felt the rage build up inside of him. Rage at Drizzt for making one small movement so undeniably erotic and rage at himself for noticing. He reached out and swiped the tankard from the long slender hands, “Give me that,” he hissed through clenched teeth. He brought the mug to his lips, taking a long, large pull and swallowed. Then kept swallowing, refusing to let the slight fizz that burned his eyes bother him. Right at this moment he wanted to erase the image of that delicious mouth out of his brain forever. Even if the drink was poisoned, he thought that it was better than have images of Drizzt Do’Urden dance across his closed eyes lids.

Before he knew it, he had hit the bottom of the mug.

And once more the wench was there with a full one, “’Been told to keep yer glass full,” she said with another smile and wink. “Me thinks sum-one likes ye!” she giggled as she walked off, taking the empty glass with her as she left the full one.

Entreri gripped the mug and turned in his chair, the legs scrapping against the wooden floor, catching the attention of the other three at his table. He was just about to stand and go to the bar and telling whatever little ninny of a girl that he wasn’t interested when the crowed parted, people moving to sit down at vacant seats. His eyes fell on the person that was buying him his drinks or the elf rather.

His long white hair was in a million tiny braids threaded with black stone beads that no doubt clicked whenever he moved his head. It was impossible to say for sure with all the noise of the inn. His right hip was leaning against the stool, his black booted foot, propped up on one of the rungs. The form fitting clothing that he wore was no doubt made from the finest of silk, all in shades of black and dark grey that contrasted drastically with his pale face.

He turned his gaze away from the wench that had brought the assassin his drinks only to rest it on Entreri. The white elf smiled and titled his head to the side, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow at the human before lifting his own glass for a distant, silent toast and taking all a large gulp. The only indication that the stranger was indeed nervous.

Entreri turned back to his table, chair legs scrapping once more, noticing the looks of the other three. “What are you looking at?” he mumbled, his bad mood only escalating.

Cattie-Brie smiled, “What are you looking at?”

He glared at her, smiling inside when he noticed her flinch, “None of your business.”

Do’Urden frowned at him; somehow the look made his bottom lip jut out slightly and take on the form of the most wonderful pout. Entreri hissed and gripped his mug once more blaming Jarlaxle for his twisted up nerves. He once more drained it and another was in its place.

“Yer keeping me far ta busy t’night, cutie,” the wench said as she walked off, shaking her head, short brown hair brushing across her slim shoulders.

He grabbed at the new mug of ale and stood, his vision swarming for a span of .8 seconds before it cleared. He gave each table occupant another glare before turning on his heal, his tankard still gripped in a tight fist, and sought out the pale elf.

The assassin’s grey eyes met clear crystal blue before Entreri jerked his head towards the steps that led up to the rooms. The elf’s eyes darkened before he gave a nonchalant shrugged and picked up his own glass, this one filed with the reddest of wine.

“Damn elves,” he muttered under his breath as he made his way to the steps, “and their damn prissy wine.”

S%S

Damn Jarlaxle too, he thought as he was shoved against the door of the elf’s locked door. He figured it would be easier to leave the other man’s room then to force the elf out of his. Soft lips grazed upon the side of his neck nipping and sucking at his pulse point but still the assassin found himself unable to relax. Masking his discomfort he quickly grabbed the pale elf’s shoulders and switched their positions so that the other was now pressed against the solid wood.

The elf moved his head, trying to catch him on the lips for a kiss, but he quickly ducked and latched onto the smooth skin of the other’s throat. “No kissing,” he hissed in-between his nips hard enough to cause red marks form upon the milk whiteness of the elf’s flesh.

The taller man just simply chuckled, “I knew you were that type, just by looking at you,” he paused to let out a soft groan when the assassin found a particular sensitive spot just behind his left ear. “Is there any other rules that you have?” he continued, his words slightly more husky than before.

“No talking,” Entreri was quick to reply, “and I get to be on top,” he added as an after thought.

The elf opened his mouth to protest but all complaints were thrown to the wind when the human began to touch him with long sword callused fingers. And shortly after that all thought and words completely left him for good and all he could do was scream in pleasure.

S%S

Entreri slowly snuck out of the room when he was sure that the other man was fast asleep, being an elf, it proved to be somewhat of a difficult thing, but he was a veteran on such things. He firmly shut the door behind him, his pants still slightly unlaced, his shirt unbuttoned and un-tucked, boot laces tied together and thrown over his shoulder, on his opposite shoulder he had rested his sword belt, and his cloak hanging from his arm. If anyone passed by him this late at night, there was no question as to where he had been. Even if his cloths were in some order, the rumpled appearance of his hair and the growing purple mark just under his jaw bone would completely give it away.

It was good, well at least it was better than what he had expected but his skin still felt too small for his bones. As if he was lacking something that he quite hadn’t figured out what it was. It wasn’t a new feeling, he had felt that way since Jarlaxle and he had first gotten to the town. At first he had blamed it on hormones and the fact that he really hadn’t lain with anyone in a good long while. But now that he got that little problem out of the way, he realized that the uneasiness was still with him. Needless to say, it put him in even worse mood.

I slight, soft giggle pulled him out of his thoughts. He paused, his fists clenched tight debating whether or on to tough out the strangers in the hall or duck into the closest unlocked door and deal with the occupants.

“You, my dear, are far too drunk,” Jarlaxle’s voice drifted to his ears.

“Or not drunk enough!” Cattie-Brie enthusiastically answered.

“Well, I have more in my room,” Jarlaxle answered her, and when the human assassin heard no reply he figured that she just nodded because soon the quite footfalls were heading his way.

Entreri did one thing that he never remembered doing since he was a small child.

He panicked.

He reached out his hand and gripped the door knob closest to him and when he found that one locked, the panic only got worse. He ran from door to door, finding each one locked as the drow and the Human Beast got closer.

He neared the end of the hall, and just around the corner was the duo. He took a deep breath, ready to except his fate when he tried one last door and went tumbling into the room filling with the glow of candles.

He sighed with relief when he shut the door and leaned against it, his shoulders slumping as his racing adrenalin calmed and left him drained. Dignity be damned, he’d gladly deal with whose ever room he broke into than see the look on Jarlaxle’s face at the mussed state that he was currently in.

“Can I help you?” came the musical tones that he knew all to well, and with those floaty words there was a small splash of water.

Entreri slowly opened his eyes and stared at the vision before him.

Drizzt Do’Urden was leaning in his tub once more, the divider that separated it from the rest of the room was folded back to let the candle light cover the dark corner. The flames danced across the span of his ebony shoulders and down the slender, but tone arms.

The drow was half hanging out of the copper tub, his bottom half completely submerged while his arms hung over the sides. The blade of a tightly clenched scimitar reflected off of the candle light and made his eyes appear to be small flames of lavender. And in his other hand was a half full crystal of wine.

At this point, Entreri didn’t know which was worse.

Jarlaxle and Cattie-Brie in the hall, or a naked Drizzt in a tub of hot steamy water.

That was when the assassin knew that all the Gods and Goddess of Faerun, both good and evil, hated him.

TBC…

A/N: WAH! For some strange reason I LIKED this chapter!! It was way too much fun to write!