Two is trouble, four is...

John quickly found himself regretting his earlier statement about knowing how to mix drinks once he discovered that, although his mother had plenty of **** gathering dust in their cabinets and owned a full set of cocktail glasses… they somehow didn’t have a shaker to mix them with. He had to make do with a standard cup and coaster, something that his fae guest didn’t hesitate to make fun of. Her tune changed once he served her a fully human-portioned sidecar though.

She wasted no time in literally diving in, dunking her head into the drink to take a great, heaving sip with all the skill of a college frat veteran. John freaked out and dragged the pixie back out, to a litany of inventive and aggressive swears and struggling, but he eventually convinced her to use a thimble he scavenged out of a sewing kit as an appropriately sized cup. After making sure that Adorabelle wasn’t about to literally drown herself in booze, he carried the drink back upstairs and let her go at it while he continued tidying up the mess that his return home had caused. There was less than he’d expected.

Despite smashing through his window, Tricia’s drone had left no fragments of glass on the floor, and after his last return home in a whirlwind, he’d put enough things away that this arrival only mildly worsened the mess. If he hadn’t been expecting guests, John might’ve found it close to acceptable.

If I toss that pile of clothes into my chest, then I should be able to close the closet. I can put any stray stuff in there too and pull it out later. Alright, let’s start with that.

He knelt next to the foot of his bed and opened the chest, bringing up the menu detailing what it held, floating over an otherwise empty box.

What happens to this if I die? Do all the things inside of it just cease to exist or explode back into the real world? Can anyone else access this stuff? Magic is really fucky.

“Hey, Adorabelle?” he asked as he grabbed a handful of the nearest pile of clothes. The pixie replied with a noise somewhere between a hum of assent and a drunken moan, but she leaned off the side of the cocktail glass to look at him, her wings fluttering to keep her weight from tipping it over. John tapped on the menu and held up the pile of clothes, “What does this look like to you?”

They vanished from his hands and appeared as a list of icons spreading across the storage chest’s window, filling up a row and a half. Adorabelle stared at him and put down her thimble to applaud sarcastically, “Nice party trick. If you can do that with a woman, then I’ll be really impressed.”

Huh, now that’s an idea. I bet I could do it with Theft... Nah, too dangerous. Who wouldn’t notice their clothes magically disappearing? I don’t want to get in trouble with Erica or Mrs. Wentworth for a pair of boobs. I can find enough of that on the internet.

John tossed in another two dozen shirts and a few pairs of pants, quickly tidying up the mess. For the first time in months, he could see the carpet near his closet. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that… at least it looked more ‘presentable’ now.

Clothes out of the way, he still needed to deal with his bed and the broken window. The latter wasn’t something he could fix easily with what he had on hand, but he double checked that there was no stray glass in the window frame before taking a pair of books and placing them to block off the hole.

If anyone asks, a baseball was hit through it by some kids that ran away. It’s cliched, but it should work, right?

Last on the list was his bed. Unfortunately it was still damp from the seawater he’d brought back with him and it smelled like salt. John took a whiff of his own scent; he smelled pretty strongly like the ocean too. It was a pity he wouldn’t have time to take a shower before Erica arrived. They’d be here any minute now and he was not ready for that. Neither was Adorabelle.

When he looked over at the fae, John’s lips flattened and he raised an eyebrow at what he saw. Her dress had been stripped off and discarded on top of his mouse, where the ****-soaked leaves were airing out. The pixie herself was fully immersed in what was left of the sidecar, sitting in it like a personal hot tub and sipping handfuls in between drunken tittering.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

John sighed, “Adorabelle? Hey. Hey, c’mon. Adorabelle!”

“Whazzup, fuckerboy?” the fae slurred drunkenly. Her hair was messily plastered to the sides of her face from the **** dripping from it and a few floating suds conveniently covered his view of her naughty bits. They must’ve been illusory or magical, as they shifted when she turned to face him. “This is some good stuff…”

He wordlessly grabbed her dress and several tissues from the box that sat on his desk for… reasons and wiped it down as delicately as he could before reaching for the pixie. She flailed at him as he scooped her out of the drink and reached back for it with a dramatic whine.

“Sheesh, you’re worse than most dwarves,” John muttered as he started cleaning her off. Adorabelle had trouble standing and teetered back and forth, making it hard for him to press the tissues against her chest.

She batted him away ineffectually, “Careful with the goods… you can’t… afford…” halfway through her thought, Adorabelle trailed off and giggled, “that tickles!” He pressed his thumb against her belly button to soak up the liquor there, and she hugged his fingers. “You’re nice.”

“You’re drunk.”

“So?”

John gave her a look, “Erica’s going to be here any minute. I’m cutting you off.”

The little pixie gasped and practically swooned. “You can’t!” she moaned in protest and struggled out of his grip to grab the cocktail glass, hoisting it up and trying to hold it away from him like a precious trophy. “It’s… it’s mine… all mine!”

“Yeah, no,” John carefully extricated the sidecar from her hands and set it on top of his computer tower, out of range of the grabby gestures that Adorabelle made at it. She immediately tried to fly up to it, resulting in her wings beating a hazy, useless pattern that only carried her a foot off the ground before she fell back towards the desk. John caught her and carefully set her down, offering the pixie her dress. “No more for now.”

“Fine, dad…”

Someone knocked at the front door.

That’ll be Erica and Tryn. Oh boy...

Since she was in no shape to fly herself, John picked up Adorabelle and carried her downstairs, ignoring the way she mumbled complaints as she tried to tug on her clothing, “Stupid huge, bossy, cute fuckboy.” She managed to cover up her breasts and was struggling with the thorn belt when he got to the door.

The moment he opened it, a red blur of hair nearly knocked him off his feet.

“Master!”

John felt the fairy in his hands tumble into the air, and though her wings beat sluggishly, he still gestured desperately at the berserker standing in his doorway for assistance. Erica caught Adorabelle as she fell, looking from the drunken fae and back up to him with a grimace.

“What’s Snow doing here?” Adorabelle asked.

“How much did you give her, dude?”

A decidedly Tryn voice came from the decidedly not-goblin girl clinging to John’s chest and jumping up and down happily, “Master, Master, Master!”

John sighed and gestured inside to Erica, “Too much. Make yourselves at home.”

“…I don’t have to pay her, right? I uh… never asked,” John said, finishing the bit about Tricia. It’d taken a bit of time to handle introductions, particularly when one of the people in question was drunk off their ass and another practically had her hand in his pants, but with Erica’s help, John had managed to get all four of them situated at the kitchen table to discuss the past few hours. He’d told his side of the story first, captivating Tryn and Adorabelle with his tale of sunken horror while Erica stared on with a serious expression.

The berserker shook her head, “No, we’ll cover that. Don’t worry about it. Benefits of the contract. It’s useful for something every now and then.”

Next to her, Adorabelle snored loudly from the teacup they’d turned into an impromptu bed. She’d started out swearing loudly at every twist of the story, but by the halfway mark was yawning and had fallen asleep around his recounting of Ulthar. Tryn on the other hand…

“She fixed everything right? Even the important bits? Especially the important bits… you need those to fuck me!” The goblin was full of energy, wiggling constantly in her seat in a way that made her ample chest jiggle distractingly. John had trouble keeping himself from staring and occasionally caught Erica glancing in Tryn’s direction too. At least it wasn’t just him.

“I’m fine, thanks, Tryn,” John said. “So, how’d you two meet up?”

The ever-present excitement on the lovable redheaded slut’s face faded, “Well… after Master disappeared, I didn’t know what to do… I thought I’d ruined everything and it was all my fault!” Guilt crept into her expression and Tryn refused to look at John, “I went home and cried in my bathroom until my break was over. Then, I had to go back to work…

“I thought that maybe… if I did a good enough job serving the customers, I might be able to do something for Master… or just forget it all. Sometimes it’s easier to pretend nothing happened.” Both John and Erica winced at that, but the goblin continued in a brighter tone, “But then when my first customer came in it was okay because they were Master’s friend!”

“After we split up, I ran into an old… friend,” Erica continued the story, a scowl on her face, “who works for the club. I managed to get some useful information out of him and was wrapping up to go find you right about when you were having some fun with short stuff over there. Dante’s really not big on unlicensed magic, or respecting people’s privacy, so it might not surprise you that he’s got cams everywhere. I pulled a few strings with security, got a heads up on where you were last spotted to meet up and found a bloody mess instead. Give me some warning next time, dude.”

John winced. If he’d called Erica the moment he found the crime scene, maybe things would’ve gone a bit differently. “Sorry.”

His partner nodded, oddly solemn for the moment, then was back to her cheery demeanor, “Lesson learned, alright? Anyway, that locket must’ve been a one-way trip with limited tickets, because there wasn’t any way into that barrier left behind in the bathroom. So, I followed up on my only lead.”

John listened raptly as Erica continued to recount their play for his freedom with Mrs. Wentworth, Tryn interjecting to tell him all about how she’d punched some dumb meathead wearing a cock cage right in the unmentionables. His eyes widened when Erica explained that the goblin meant Frank. It… explained a lot… and left him with a lot more questions too.

The strangest thing was the reaction that Mrs. Wentworth had to their appeal.

“Wait, she didn’t turn you inside out for challenging her like that?” he asked incredulously. From the interactions he’d had with the terrifyingly powerful witch, she did not take well to anyone that undermined her authority… but she had simply let them go. Why?

He tried to pull up the quest that she’d ‘given’ him, but it wouldn’t open, despite being listed on his Progress Screen. Strange.

Erica nodded, her expression grim, “Yeah, it was really weird, dude. If anything, she seemed amused. I’d watch your back if I were you.”

No kidding. I’ve got a bad feeling about this… maybe if I lay low for a while, she’ll forget I exist? That’s probably wishful thinking…

Still, he had to be impressed by his partner’s metaphorical balls. She’d stood up to the single most terrifying person he knew and threatened her no less… and all for his sake, because he’d been in danger. John hoped he’d have that kind of courage someday.

It wasn’t just Erica, Tryn had put herself in the line of fire for him too, and he had conflicted feelings about that. On the one hand, it was bold as fuck and John would be lying if he said he didn’t find it at least a little attractive. Daring redheads were a trope for a reason. On the other… she barely knew him. They’d had sex once, and only a blowjob at that, but she’d been willing to face Mrs. Wentworth on his behalf. That kind of devotion was either true loyalty he could respect or the kind of crazy that ended up on the front page of Bluedit.

Maybe it’s both? Who am I to judge, though.

Speaking of the goblin, John glanced around the table and realized that somewhere near the end of the conversation, one of their company had gone missing. He was about to call out Tryn’s name when he felt something brush against his pants and heard an unmistakable sound.
John lifted the tablecloth to look between his legs, where Tryn knelt with eager eyes and her manicured fingers halfway through unzipping his pants. Gone were her trapping of false humanity and the Ashcroft uniform, replaced with an outfit that was obscenely slutty. She smiled at him and gave his cock a squeeze through the fabric with her free hand, “You’re done now, right, Master? I’ve been waiting so patiently…” It took all his control to keep the sudden boner in his pants to half-mast, and John gritted his teeth with effort. Despite the goblin’s pleasingly demure tone, he could see the flaming look of passion in her eyes. If he didn’t do something, she’d rip his pants off then and there.

For a moment, John let himself indulge in that fantasy. His body craved the opportunity to take another ride on the Tryn express and his cock throbbed sympathetically to that desire… but… his soul simply wasn’t in it. Exhaustion clung to his mind like a shroud and stress tainted his blood.

“No, not yet. I… I can’t. Sorry, Tryn,” he said with a hint of a sigh.

“But… but why? You want to, don’t you?”

The look of pure frustration in her eyes almost hurt, and her fingers slowed their removal of his pants but never fully retreated. She didn’t want to obey him, but her body instinctively rebelled against her need. John took one of her smaller hands in his and peeled it off his exposed boxers. “No means no.”

She looked up at him with pleading eyes and something shifted behind them. Whatever she saw in his sparked an understanding that allowed her irritated need to bleed away into calm. John was caught off guard as she leaned in to kiss his bulging underwear. “As you wish,” she whispered into the cloth, then retreated without another word. A moment later, she re-emerged on her side of the table, clad in the illusion she’d worn at his door and hopped down from her seat. Both John and Erica glanced at the goblin as she rummaged around in the cabinet beneath the sink.

“Uh, what’re you doing?” John asked.

Tryn turned around with an oversized rubber glove on one hand, the other tucked underneath her arm, “Cleaning, of course! If I can’t be of use to Master one way, I’ll try another!” She gave him a wink and got down on all fours to grab a spray bottle, giving everyone watching a view of her soaked panties. Now John felt guilty and he looked over at Erica, who shrugged. Tryn glanced back at them and gave him a confident smile, “When you’re ready, I still want you to use me as your stress ball and milk all that pent-up anxiety out of your balls with my tight cunt. Okay, Master?”

Rejecting her had sown a seed of guilt into John’s heart, but the look of sincerity on the goblin’s face lifted that pressure. She wasn’t offended by it, just respectful of his state of mind. It was a welcome and unexpected surprise. John felt at ease and he returned her grin with one of his own, “Sounds good to me.”

“Thank you…” she trembled a little bit and pressed a gloved hand to her lips to muffle a moan, smiling even more broadly than before when she took it away. Then, Tryn bowed to them both and turned to direct all her attention to the countertop of the kitchen.

Erica let out a low whistle, “She’s something.”

No kidding…