Author's Note: Okay, here's the deal. I've decided to just go ahead and post this here because even though it is very smutty, I've seen far worse on this site that didn't get pulled, so I'll take the chance. This is an apology for my truly horrendous hiatus in posting on The Call Of Arcane Lore: a 100% complete lemony one-shot for our two favorite mages. Also a songfic, because I love to write them and I was in a Nightwish mood.

Warnings: Slash, smut, lemon, etc.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonlance, or this would be canon sometime in the first few chapters of Time Of The Twins. All credit for the brilliance that is Raistlin and the smouldering hotness that is Dalamar goes to Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman, and Wizards of the Coast.

A.N.2: Song is Sleeping Sun by Nightwish. Apparently a good choice, as this is my longest songfic to date. Well, longest songfic with a single piece of music - Samhain Eve was actually quite a bit longer, but that had snippets of over a dozen songs, so I don't think that counts.

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The sun is sleeping quietly

Once upon a century

When night fell across the shining city of Palanthas, many changes were wrought. Subtle shifts overtook the gleaming metropolis, tiny alterations that combined to change the opulence and solidity of the city into something different... something ethereal, something magical.

Shadows crept through the winding streets, carrying with them the whispers of the living darkness, soft voices that murmured promises of power and seduction to the ears of those who knew how to listen. Appearances were different after nightfall: the dim glow of moonlight allowed things to shimmer and change before a watcher's eyes, twisting and contorting in the pale beams of light in a subtle dance to some unheard melody. There was beauty and enchantment to be found in the night, but it was a treasure not all could see: only those who were at peace with the darkness inside their own souls could bear witness to the magic of the nocturnal hours, when the stars danced their ancient rites and the air hummed with unspoken pledges like the songs of lovers' hearts.

Wistful oceans calm and red

Ardent caresses laid to rest

There were two in Palanthas who knew the lure of the night better than any others, two men who shared one heart, who had long ago bound their souls in chains of passion and loyalty. One a human mage who had risen far beyond what any of his fellows had dreamed, the other a Silvanesti dark elf who had betrayed his heritage and his superiors alike for the sake of his clandestine lover.

By day, they were forced to conceal the truth of their emotions from the world, constrained by the bonds of fate and expectation to the narrow borders of their assigned roles. Yet by night, with the darkness concealing them from the judgmental eyes of the world, the two dark mages were free to renew their vows in that most ancient and passionate dance of lovers.

For my dreams I hold my life

For wishes I behold my night

By day, Dalamar Argent followed the path expected of him. He played the role of the dutiful apprentice, obeying his Shalafi's every instruction promptly and without question. He made his reports to the Conclave - reports laden with falsified facts, but reports nonetheless - and ran errands when Raistlin required it of him. As he went about these tasks, he was always careful to conceal his true thoughts and emotions behind a painstakingly constructed mask - a mask he had first created years ago, when he was forced to hide the evidence of his magical talent from his Silvanesti kin.

To the mages of the Conclave, he appeared as the eager young mage awed by the powerful wizard he studied under, burdened by the weight of his task, but soldiering on with valiant determination. I am aware of the gravity of my burden, but I will do everything in my power not to fail you, he told them. Told them not with his words, but with his eyes, the posture of his body and the way he phrased his statements.

To the people of Palanthas, he was mysterious and distant, as enigmatic and indecipherable as the far-off stars. His grey eyes were cool and smooth as glass, his fine-crafted features unreadable to the common man in the street - and the austerity and haughtiness with which he carried himself caused very few to wish to make the attempt. Do not trifle with me, was the message he sent to them. I am a powerful mage, and I could destroy you with but a flicker of my will.

At night, however, safe within the walls of the Tower of High Sorcery, he was free to let those masks fall. Free to shed the skin of power and deception he had wrapped around himself, and fall into his lover's embrace.

The truth at the end of time

Losing faith makes a crime

Many would call what the two mages shared a crime, a sin, an abomination. Two souls so steeped in darkness that they no longer remembered the touch of the light, tied together with soul-deep bonds of devotion and lust and hunger and passion. Neither Dalamar nor Raistlin held any illusions as to the nature of their union: love it might be, but that didn't make it pure. Their love was as dark and tainted and twisted as the webs of lies that they wove, but neither cared - it was the truth that they were bound, and would never escape each other, and that was enough for them.

To so many, though, what they shared could never be accepted. Their love was a weaving of deception and manipulation, both using the other ruthlessly for their own advancement: what pledges they breathed in the dead of night were accompanied by whispers of conquest and destruction, their ambitions and their love so tangled that the two were inseparable. How many times had Dalamar lost himself in pleasure under the skillful hands of his Shalafi, Raistlin's voice purring promises of godhood and immortality and ultimate power into his eager ears? He had lost count long ago... but however twisted others might deem them and what they shared, Dalamar no longer cared.

They were a perfect match in that regard as well.

I wish for this night-time

To last for a lifetime

There were nights when Dalamar wished for nothing more than to remain in Raistlin's arms forever, basking in the sensation of their power mingling and coiling around them like a living thing, two distinct signatures and auras blended into a cohesive, magnificent whole. In those moments, he hated the light of day, dreaded the moment when the sun would rise again and force him back into his designated role.

Raistlin was less open about his reluctance, but Dalamar had learned to read the archmage better than any other living being could achieve, and he could see his own yearning reflected in his lover's eyes. They never spoke of it, though: what was the point? It would only make the sense of desperation stronger, speaking of it aloud and making it real.

The darkness around me

Shores of a solar sea

No matter how heavy the weight of his responsibilities grew in truth, no matter how difficult and taxing it became to continue walking this tightrope of life and death, it was always worth it in the end. For each night, Dalamar was reminded of exactly what it was he was fighting for, what prize awaited him if he emerged from the tangled maze of power and politics victorious.

Raistlin.

And if he sometimes faltered, if his belief in the success of their convoluted schemes wavered, the hesitation never lasted long. All it took was a glance into molten gold eyes, or the brush of slender, burning fingers, and Dalamar found himself falling all over again. Because the one who wove their plans and laid their traps was Raistlin, and regardless of the web of deception through which they now maneuvered, to Dalamar's dazzled eyes the so-called Hourglass Mage was already as wondrous as any god.

Oh how I wish to go down with the sun

Sleeping, weeping, with you...

It had all begun a little over a month after Dalamar became Raistlin's apprentice. From the moment that Dalamar had set foot in the Tower of High Sorcery, he had known his life would never be the same: no sooner had he met the archmage's molten gaze than he had fallen under his Master's spell. Everything about the human mage enchanted Dalamar - he was a living paradox, so fragile and yet so powerful, cold-blood and ruthless yet capable of instances of genuine kindness, a wraithlike mage made frail by disease and stronger than any man had ever been. The Master of Past and Present was enchanting in his own right, and Dalamar had fallen before he realized, captured by the mystery and majesty of the human he had chosen to serve.

His elven relations would have been horrified if they knew how deeply Dalamar idolized his Shalafi: dark elf or no, Dalamar was still a Silvanesti, and expected to behave with the dignity and superiority befitting a true elf. He had cast all that aside, though, and willingly: Raistlin was his Master in every sense of the word, and Dalamar had chosen that of his own free will, chosen to lay his heart at the human mage's feet in return for a mix of power and passion that he had craved all his life.

Sorrow has a human heart

From my god it will depart

"Something is troubling you, Apprentice."

Raistlin was seated behind his desk in the lavishly appointed study, gazing distantly out of the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the sun sink beneath the horizon in a blaze of fire and glory. He had heard the elf's near-silent approach, the soft rustle of his robes and the almost inaudible pad of his footfalls on the thick carpet: his apprentice sighed, a soft whisper of air before he murmured, "Yes, Shalafi. I do not mean to intrude..."

A slight smirk tugged at the corner of Raistlin's lips - he already suspected what had brought his apprentice to him this night, but he would not act without confirmation. This was too great a risk to take without solid proof. With that in mind, he kept his voice soft and low, giving nothing away. "I have no pressing concerns at the moment, apprentice. What is it you wish to ask of me?"

Dalamar drew a steadying breath before he forced his slightly unsteady limbs into motion, moving to stand before the desk to face his teacher. He kept his head slightly bowed, afraid to meet Raistlin's eyes too directly as he whispered, "Shalafi, I... I cannot find a way to phrase this delicately, but I must ask. In the years since the War of the Lance, and even before then, you have never been known to take a lover. Is this due to a lack of desire, or... a lack of someone you can trust?"

I'd sail before a thousand moons

Never finding where to go

Raistlin lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. He had guessed that the electric attraction which had crackled between them since Dalamar arrived was what had prompted the elf to come to him tonight: he had not, however, predicted that his apprentice would be so forward. He was silent for a moment, contemplating: this earned him a swift, cautious upward glance from his student, the Silvanesti's grey eyes dark as thunderclouds and turbulent with emotion. The sight sent a tingle of desire through Raistlin's blood, and he replied softly,

"A little of both. Before you ask, apprentice," he added, his voice hardly louder than a breath: Dalamar froze, lips half-parted to speak, his eyes snapping up to lock with Raistlin's, "I doubt there is a man - or woman - now living who would prove immune to your charms."

Dalamar inhaled sharply: Raistlin heard the hitched sound of his breathing as the elf whispered, "And... do you trust me?"

Raistlin gazed at him for a moment, weighing him carefully, then a thin smile stretched the archmage's lips. "You are a Conclave spy." he said bluntly, watching Dalamar's complexion turn pale with detached amusement. "However," he continued, before the elf could begin to protest, "You remind me much of myself in my youth: too ambitious to ever truly bow to the Conclave, more than content to allow them their comfortable illusions of control while you use their plans to further your own ends. The issue of my trust lies in your hands, apprentice: would you remain loyal to the Conclave, or would your loyalty to me take precedence?"

Two hundred twenty-two days of light

Will be desired by a night

Dalamar's mouth ran dry, and he flicked his tongue instinctively over his lips, wetting them slightly as his gaze was captured by Raistlin's burning eyes. The elf drew a slow, shaky breath, his heart drumming a fierce tattoo against the inside of his ribs as he made his choice. He wanted this more than he had ever wanted anything in his life except the magic, he could afford to pay the price.

Dalamar took a few cautious steps forward, closing the distance between himself and Raistlin's chair: then, skin tingling from the intensity of Raistlin's heavy-lidded golden gaze, he sank slowly down to his knees. He watched Raistlin's eyes widen in surprise, pupils dilating in heated desire as the apprentice knelt in utter humility, his own grey eyes wide and guileless as he breathed,

"I am yours to command, Shalafi."

A moment for the poet's play

Until there's nothing left to say

This time, it was Raistlin's turn to draw in a quick breath, heat flaring in his blood at the sight of Dalamar on his knees with such unguarded longing in his eyes. Without conscious volition, Raistlin found himself leaning forward in his chair and reaching out, his slender fingers tangling into the silky raven locks of Dalamar's hair. He tugged gently, drawing the dark elf up higher on his knees: Dalamar went easily, willingly, his eyes dark and smouldering and his lips parted in anticipation. The elf tilted his head back, into the cradle of Raistlin's burning palm, as he gazed entranced into the archmage's molten eyes. Raistlin's voice was rougher than the elf had ever heard it, thick and poisoned with lust as he murmured, "An offer only a madman would refuse."

Dalamar felt his own lips curl in a smile, and he let his eyelids flutter half-shut, looking up at his Shalafi through the dark veil of his lashes as he panted softly, "Then make me yours, Shalafi."

A dark smile touched Raistlin's lips, and he leaned further forward, his breath hot and tempting over Dalamar's lips as he breathed, "As you wish, apprentice."

I wish for this night-time

To last for a lifetime

Raistlin's lips felt hot as fire against his own: Dalamar made a soft sound in the back of his throat, a half-formed moan that died in a choked gasp as the human mage's grip tightened almost painfully in his hair. Raistlin's tongue glided along his lips like a caress of liquid fire, licking through the elf's token resistance and stealing deep into his mouth: this time, Dalamar did moan, low and wild and unashamed as he melted into the devouring kiss. His own hands lifted, fingers slipping into white silken strands as he arched up into the warmth of Raistlin's body, returning the fire of the kiss but letting the other mage dominate him effortlessly. Raistlin's kiss was heat and power, lust and passion and possession all in one, and Dalamar shuddered as he felt it sear a brand into his very soul.

There was no going back... but for Dalamar, there never had been.

Dazed by the kiss and drunk on the spiced heat of Raistlin's mouth, Dalamar was only half-aware of the other mage moving: he only barely registered that he was being pushed back onto the rich carpet, Raistlin following and covering the elf's lithe body in a blanket of searing warmth. Dalamar shivered involuntarily, moaning again: pulling out of the kiss for a moment, he panted for breath, his eyes fluttering open to take in the sight of his lover's face. The raw hunger in Raistlin's eyes made desire coil heavy in the elf's core, and Dalamar swallowed hard, his hands sliding down over the other mage's shoulders and along the lean, corded lines of his back. Even through the thick velvet of his robes, Raistlin burned hot to the touch: the elf trembled at the sensation and the intensity of his Shalafi's gaze, breathing deep and inhaling the intoxicating aroma of spices and sweetness and death.

Dalamar drank it in, basked in it, a mix of satisfaction and aching longing working its way through him as he cast an inviting look up at Raistlin, licking his lips again and tasting the other mage's biting flavor there as he breathed out, "Please."

The darkness around me

Shores of a solar sea

Raistlin's restraint shattered, and he took the elf's mouth again, fierce and savage as a wild creature. Dalamar moaned into the overwhelming possession, his lithe body arching a little as he sought more contact through their heavy robes: one of his slim legs lifted, hooking around Raistlin's thighs and bringing their hips together, jolting breathless moans out of both of them as heat surged through their bodies at the contact. Raistlin caught old of the elf's wrists and pulled his wandering hands up, pinning them to the carpet on either side of Dalamar's head as he tore away from the kiss only to seek out the elf's neck. Dalamar trembled under him, hips already rolling as he tossed his head restlessly, moans interspersed with shivering sighs as the archmage seared a trail of burning, biting kisses down the pale column of his throat. Raistlin was stronger than he had anticipated, holding him down with little effort, and that ease of restraint only made Dalamar's blood burn a little hotter.

"Shalafi." he whispered, his head lolling back to provide Raistlin with as much access as possible, crying out softly as the archmage bit at his prominent collarbone firmly enough to leave a mark. "Oh, Shalafi, please..."

Raistlin chuckled softly, lifting his mouth from Dalamar's alabaster skin just long enough to murmur, "Patience, apprentice." He belied his own words, though, releasing the dark elf's wrists in favor of undoing the fastenings of his robes. Instantly, Dalamar's clever fingers were working at the ties of Raistlin's own robes, eager and trembling as he pushed thick fabric aside and skimmed over golden flesh. The elf let out a long moan at the sight of his Shalafi's bare skin, unable to resist the urge to lean forward and mouth at it, licking along the strong lines of tendons in Raistlin's neck and up to his lean jaw. Raistlin actually growled low in his throat, tugging Dalamar's robes aside and raking exploratory, claiming touches over his chiseled, flawless chest.

Oh how I wish to go down with the sun

Sleeping, weeping, with you...

Dalamar made a sound like a wounded predator and hooked his leg back around Raistlin's hip, before pushing up and rolling them over, freeing them both from the tangle of their clothing in the process. He pulled back a little, pushing himself up on his arms as he looked down at his lover in awe: he couldn't imagine why Raistlin was never courted by suitors, his Shalafi was beautiful. Gleaming golden skin, lean but strong like a wild gazelle, sleek and perfect in the fire's warm glow. His white hair was soft and fine between the elf's skillful fingers, golden eyes glowing with a mixture of power, lust, and reflected fireglow that made Dalamar shudder with yearning. For his part, Raistlin marveled that this gorgeous creature could possibly have sought him for a lover: Dalamar looked like a work of art in the fireplace's vivid glow, the warm light dancing over his flawless alabaster-pale skin and sculpted lean musculature. His hair spilled like midnight silk over his shoulders, tempting Raistlin to reach up and bury his fingers in the rich cascade: his eyes were the color of a raging thunderstorm, tempestuous and enthralling, liquid with rain and afire with lightning. The elf was sleek and beautiful, graceful as a mountain cat, and Raistlin knew in that moment he would never let this wondrous creature go.

I wish for this night-time

To last for a lifetime

Dalamar shook himself from his reverie and bent down, his dark hair falling in sweeping curtains around their faces as he whispered against Raistlin's lips, "You can have me however you wish, Shalafi: I want you to take me until I beg for mercy. Make me scream, make me forget the Conclave ever existed..."

Raistlin's eyes flashed, and he surged up to capture Dalamar's lips with his own, silencing his apprentice's siren song of pleas by plunging his tongue into the elf's mouth. Dalamar sighed blissfully into the kiss: when Raistlin twisted his body and rolled them over again, the elf offered no resistance, pliant and willing under the archmage as Raistlin tore his lips away and snarled, "Oh, I'll make you scream, Dalamar." He traced a string of soft, teasing bites along the elf's jaw, pressing their bodies together and starting a languid rhythm of rolling hips as he added breathlessly, "And I'll make you beg... beg for me to never stop."

He followed that statement by sinking his teeth into the elf's pointed ear: the sudden flare of pleasure-pain in one of his most sensitive spots shocked a cry from Dalamar's throat, and he bucked under Raistlin, his bravado crumbling in an instant as his breathy pleas resumed. "Oh, sweet Nuitari - ah, Raistlin, yes, please, gods, more..."

Raistlin chuckled darkly, and gave him more.

The darkness around me

Shores of a solar sea

Events blurred somewhat at that point: it seemed no time at all before Dalamar was writing on the plush carpet, choking on his own cries as three of Raistlin's lethally adept fingers curled inside his body, unerringly tormenting his sweep spot. The archmage was smirking in triumph, his free hand curled loosely against the dark elf's shoulder with his slim fingers teasingly brushing Dalamar's throat: the hint of threat was enough to have the elf's heart absolutely racing as he shuddered and bucked under Raistlin's ministrations, swiftly losing his mind as he was inundated with pleasure.

"Ah - Shalafi, please, need you!" he all but sobbed, reaching pleadingly for the archmage, clutching desperately at his lean frame. Raistlin laughed softly, gold eyes burning hot as he withdrew his hand, earning a choked cry of anguish from the elf as he lost the stimulation of the other mage's talented fingers. Raistlin slid easily into position: instantly, Dalamar's legs lifted and wrapped around his waist, trying to draw him closer. Smirking, Raistlin leaned down to brush a tauntingly soft kiss against his apprentice's lips as he fought his own aching desire down long enough to gasp,

"Patience, apprentice."

Dalamar let out a strangled noise of desperation, arching up against Raistlin, hips shifting in frantic invitation. "Shalafi, please, please-"

Finally giving them both what they wanted, Raistlin shifted and thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one steady thrust. Dalamar made a sound like a dying feline, his nails digging into Raistlin's back hard enough to draw blood: Raistlin himself lost all the air in his lungs in a strangled gasp as he was enveloped in the sinfully tight heat of his apprentice's body. He panted for breath, muffling a noise of pure pleasure against the elf's smooth shoulder.

"Oh, gods, Dalamar..."

Dalamar whimpered, rolling his hips up, his body moving completely by instinct as his mind was wiped clean in a surge of white flame. His breath emerged in a choked whine, a name he never would have dared to use before this night. "Raistlin..."

Gathering what control he could, Raistlin withdrew - drawing another low whimper from his apprentice - and thrust back in, hard, tearing an unfettered scream from Dalamar's throat. After that, there was no control: they both gave themselves over to instinct and the fire that raged with wild abandon through their veins. Time blurred, lost in the flames of passion fulfilled - Dalamar had no idea how much time passed before he lost his hold on reality and let himself be consumed by the flames, his entire body arching and a wild cry of pleasure escaping his throat as he surrendered to ecstasy. Raistlin followed him into oblivion, the elf's name searing his lips as they tumbled together into bliss.

Dalamar came back to himself slowly, mind and body alike lazy with contentment. His eyes fluttered open to find that he was still lying on the floor of the study, limbs so entwined with Raistlin that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began: Raistlin was watching him with the languid curiosity of a sated predator, his gleaming eyes soft and warm like sunwarmed gold. Dalamar swallowed, his throat dry from screaming and his voice slightly hoarse as he murmured, "I trust that was to your liking, Shalafi?"

A slow smirk curled over Raistlin's lips, and he lifted one hand to tangle his fingers into the elf's raven hair, his lips brushing Dalamar's skin lightly as he breathed, "Oh, yes. And under the circumstances... I think you may call me Raistlin, Dalamar. I rather like the way it sounds on your lips."

Dalamar shivered a little, subtle prickles of pleasure already beginning to chase along his nerves as he exhaled slowly, warmth swelling in his chest as he whispered, "Thank you... Raistlin."

They both knew that he was thanking Raistlin for more than just the permission to use his name. Raistlin smiled - and to Dalamar's awe, it was a genuine smile, small but honest and dazzling as the fire's glow. The warmth in his chest instantly blossoming higher, Dalamar smiled himself and let his head fall against Raistlin's shoulder, snuggling closer into the archmage's side and letting his eyes fall shut in hazy bliss.

At that moment, for the first time since he was exiled from the forests of Silvanesti, Dalamar felt completely at peace.

Oh how I wish to go down with the sun

Sleeping, weeping, with you...

...

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Am I forgiven yet? I certainly hope so, this fic just about melted my brain during the writing process! As always, feedback is treasured.