Surrender II: Hunger
by Ariana Lussier
"Some say love, it is a hunger - an endless, aching need..."
("The Rose," performed by Bette Midler. Lyrics by Amanda Bloom.)
AN: No, I'm not dead, just drain-bamaged. Another vague-partner present for Nuada fangirls and dedicated to Saharra Shadow (*HUGS* and happy late birthday!). This story would not exist if not for her. Hopefully, this represents the beginning of a much more productive year, writing-wise, than the last three. However, in all fairness, I must admit that posting this story makes 2012 a more productive year just by itself. So, no, I didn't fall off the planet and I haven't abandoned any of my stories. I'll be updating my profile soon with a bit more info, as well as what y'all can expect to see from my corner office of hell in the coming weeks and months. I'm feeling rusty, as far as writing goes, so any critiquing that brings my attention to problem spots (or good ones!) are very welcome and I will fix them as soon as I can.
Disclaimer: Haven't we all been over this already? I'm not Mike Mignola or Guillermo del Toro. I own nothing of the Hellboy franchise, including the sticky popcorn husks under the theater chairs.
Warnings: flowery prose (as usual); mild bondage (of course); bestiality (if that's what you're imagining, you pervert).
Rating? Um... K+? T? U? V? I have no idea. Call it TM. Or MT. Whichever. Less than five generations ago, it was considered highly risque for a woman to show her ears or ankles. Now look at what's available. Can you imagine what humanity is going to devise for smut five generations from now? I don't know about you, but I can't wait! Then again, I'm afraid to look under my kids' beds now. I'm terrified at what I might find under my teenage great-great-great-grandson's bed.
Oh! - and, uh, when you get to the end of this, please don't hurt me... *hides*
He saw her across the crowded room, a flurry of people preparing for the festivities between them. Firegold eyes arrowed immediately to her, taking in her pale beauty and the flawlessness of her form. The harsh lights above seemed to shine upon her perfection alone as he approached, to all appearances bold and unafraid, yet with a degree of apprehension that he would be thwarted from his goal. He kept the hesitation deeply masked in case she was meant for another. His eyes caressed her slowly, his fingertips discreetly worrying first the edge of his sash, then that of his tunic as he watched her. A faint tremor of desire wound through him, drawing tighter as he waited. The more he observed her, the more he wanted her.
The more he had to have her.
Nuada watched the crowd that milled around her. He watched for any sign, even the smallest suggestion, that his advances would be halted. Within moments, his dark lips curved in satisfaction; by the benevolence of the Four, she was shockingly alone and he wasted no time in approaching her and taking her into his strong arms. Though she was stiff and resistant at first, she gradually warmed to his embrace. She went with him quietly to his home and he carried her across the threshold, the simple act enough to declare his royal claim upon her before any and all the fey. None would dare take her from him.
The prince idly waved away the servants that were ever ready to meet him and carry out his wishes. He needed no additional aid and preferred solitude for what he was about to do. He looked down at her with a dark smile of approval and took her to bath first. She waited for him to slide her into the tepid water, the only witness to the prince's slow disrobing. First, his crimson sash and soft wool overtunic was stripped away and folded neatly to be set aside, far from the water. Following those was his undertunic made of spidersilk, the ebon fabric as light as innuendo and stronger than rumor, leaving bare the clean lines of his chest, back and stomach. He combed back the white hair that fell over his shoulders with his fingers, pulling it together to fasten it in a blue jade clasp at the nape of his neck so it would not come between them, not even for a moment. He left her for only a space of a few minutes to complete last-minute arrangements. His eyes kept darting to her as he gathered a few more items necessary for his plans.
Nuada continued to admire her as he began to delicately peel away the tight wrapping that kept her perfection confined, removing the last layers that separated his touch from hers. He let his eyes slide farther and farther down the moon-pale skin that rose gracefully along her soft neck, the supple legs and the lush breasts. Steaming water cascaded over her as he gently settled her into the bath. It ran in crystalline streams over the rounds and curves of her, tracing paths that his firegold eyes followed with a longing that was rarely indulged or even set loose. His touch glided across her soft skin, the hue a few breaths warmer than the hardened ivory muscles of his own body. His deft hands, calloused and strengthened by far more experience in combat than in gentler pursuits, stroked the smooth expanse of her body, taking every second of time he wanted to learn every delicate curve, every tender crevice.
She made no sound of protest as he continued his slow inspection, his hunger for her growing more aggressive with each passing moment. The need to simply take her and the wish to draw out the exquisite torture warred within him, driving his rationality to skirt the razor's edge between sanity and madness. She lay before him in the shallow layer of water, open and willing, every inch bare to his starving gaze. The warm water seemed almost cold against the fevered flush of his skin, the contrast of both even more shocking against her serene coolness as one of his hands slid hesitantly over a beautifully formed breast. Her legs glistened with wetness, drawing Nuada's attention down, his other hand stroking her body almost absently though his entire regard was focused only on her.
On them.
On what was to come.
He took his time bathing her, memorizing the unparalleled perfection of her form. Nuada cupped clear water in one hand and poured it slowly over her breasts, watching the hypnotic rivulets caress their way down her body. A sudden cramp of aching need knotted itself low in his gut; he had to have her for his own, right now. The base urge threatened to overcome his willpower and he very nearly allowed it.
She was slow to warm to his efforts, frustrating his longing still further. He closed his eyes briefly, summoning the additional willpower to push back the primal hunger that growled impatiently within him, patting it like a favored pet before sending it back into its cage. Soon, he promised himself, once he was sure of his self-control again. Her surrender was inevitable; indeed, it had already begun.
The prince counseled himself to further patience, calling upon the power within himself, as was within all living creatures, to entice heat, whether it be for comfort or damnation. He felt, at long last, the course of an answering blush in her body responding to his will, beginning with the creamy thighs that parted at his touch. Droplets of water covered her, calling to mind the image of a feckless jewel worker flinging a handful of diamonds up towards the rising harvest moon. His hands caressed her body, letting silvery trickles of water flow between his fingers to dance their way down her lovely form. When at last she was warm and yielding to his touch, Nuada carried her, heedless of the dripping, to a laying place which had been ready since the dawning sun first blew feathers of light into the sky. It was time for her to take in what had been well prepared to enter her before she had ever crossed the border of his desire.
His fingertips idly stroked a few abstract, running designs between the drops that pearled her skin. With no more than a smiling nudge from him, her legs parted even farther, inviting more of his touch. She was ready and so was he. Moving slowly and smoothly, keeping his motions as fluid as elemental water itself, he slid his fingers inside her, testing how open she was. He put a little in slowly, conscious of how she moved under him and how much she could take. With every willing bit she accepted, he worked faster into her, pushing deeper and deeper into her until she could take no more. The anticipation and her tightness almost made him groan. His teeth indented the dark skin of his lower lip as tiny droplets of sweat began to bead at his temples. He murmured quietly to her throughout the act. The actual pronunciation of the words were nearly lost by his low tone and the fleshy, liquid sounds he was making within her, but the rich resonance of his voice still shivered between them.
Slender cords, too thick to be fragile and too thin to commit true harm, were meticulously tied around her lower limbs. The intricate wrap pattern and exotic knotting ensured that she could not escape him even if she wished to do so. Nuada moved her elsewhere, taking advantage of her willingness to slide her into a safer, much more private recess. The alcove grew hotter, fueled by his work and the closeness of the space. She sighed and settled under his watchful gaze, her skin darkening with the heat and shuddering from his preparations.
Several times they paused so he could lightly brush spiced oils over her body with hands that were as at home wielding a sword as with guiding a lover's head with a fistful of hair. She strained against her bonds, but could not break his hold upon her. After hours that passed by as both moments and endless days, her sweet juices burst from her, escaping through the tiny spaces between her bound legs, merging and flowing with the exotic oils he'd used earlier.
At last, Nuada could give in to his urge to taste her. His tongue slid along her skin, gravitating towards one quivering thigh, needing only a single deft motion with his hand to release her bonds. Her legs stayed in place, however. Perhaps she didn't realize she was no longer held captive... or perhaps she discovered that she enjoyed it. Needed it. Needed him. She knew, she had to know, that her existence was meaningless without him.
Nuada drew the tip up his tongue up towards her breast. It was his favorite part and his mouth watered in anticipation of more. More of that sublime heat, more of that tender release, more of that sweet surrender.
He could barely keep the glee from his normally somber features as he finally set the turkey on the table to enjoy with the rest of his supper.
Happy holidays and a great new year to all!