Author's Note: Yay! This is my first time writing a Elder Scrolls fanfiction, so I apologize if I get some details wrong. Also, I'd like to point out that I know the Daedra don't have genders, but for the purpose of this story Sanguine identifies as a male and indulges in 'mortal practices'.
And sadly this is unbeat'd, cause nobody wants to play with me!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
He promised to devour her whole.
Lick at her tender flesh and nip at it, leaving dark bruises and drawing the pure vitae forth and would lap at with his tongue.
He promised to trace his claws over her skin, angry red marks would rise and contrast against the sun kissed flesh beautifully he said. He'd tug on her hair while she was lost in pain and pleasure until she pleaded unholy praises to her new dark lord of debauchery. She had laughed, resuming her prayer at the alter and asking him to leave this holy sanctum if he was going to continue telling her such obscenities.
Much to her surprise, he left as she asked. But he came back. They both knew he would.
He whispered once again into her pointed ears, licking the lobes and promising that she would know so much pleasure and more. She laughed, and asked him to leave once more, dark blue gaze staring down at him as if her were a child begging to play with a new toy. He lingered before he left this time.
These visits continued, and the Daedric Prince grew increasingly frustrated with each visit.
It wasn't until he used his magic on her when she became hostile.
"Stop." The half elf frowned, the stormy skies of her eyes darkening. "I will not tolerate such foul practice in this House." She cast a spell of her own, the brilliant emerald energy rushing out from her extended fingertips. He found himself back in his realm.
No one came near Sanguine he lost himself in spurring mischief across Mundas.
The Prince returned to the chapel, seething for nearly two nights and days, he nearly killed the elfling where she knelt by her alter. He observed, his anger began to fade as he watched her go about her daily tasks. It wasn't until a man walked in when his rage returned, vengeful and hungry for blood. He was a high elf in the mages guild. Elegant and proper just as the pitiful elves strove to be. He took her hand, slender fingers lingering on those battle hardened calluses and ridged muscles under that delicate skin.
The Altmer felt his animosity, gold eyes wide with fear when the prince appeared, dark lips curled back into a snarl.
Once again, he was banished back to his realm by the little elf.
This time, he traveled to wintry land North, offering a brew of some 'special ale' to the last Dragonborn. The Prince decided that watching the novice swordsman- prophesied destroyer of Aldiun stumbling like a an newborn cot was more than enough to take his mind off of a frustrating little elf whose mind he desperately sought to fill with the most depraved and sinful thoughts. The Dragonborn had proved to be more entertaining than Sanguine thought. He had quite the imagination- and he had never seen anyone fondle a statue's breasts so fondly- his idea's ranging from brilliant to the ravings of a small, insane child that rivaled Sheogorath's most twisted ramblings.
He observed the Dragonborn for a moment longer, snickering when the the man fell to the stone floor with a groan, the only movement being the steady rise and fall of his leather clad chest. In such good spirits, he returned to his elf, striding past the warriors who drew their weapons. He gently took her hands, kissing them with his black lips gently before he wished her well and promised to resume his visits just as it had been.
Sanguine, miffed that she sent the guards away when he next appeared, calling him harmless, treated the elf to a small meal- or would have, if she had not refused to eat it. "There are forbidden ingredients in this." She noted, poking at the warm loaf of bread. "I know you take pleasure in these games of yours, but you'll have to find another way to tempt me."
Scowling, Sanguine drank his own special brew and conveniently forgot how he whined and moped all night.
He did not wake up wrapped in the silk of his bed, but rather in the sanctuary. The wool he was tucked into irritated his skin, and the mattress must have been filled with the lumpiest clumps of hay that could be found in a barn. "Good morning." The elf smiled, walking into the room. Not ruffled by his partial nudity. She placed a tray on the desk. He scoffed at the meal that looked to serve better purpose for livestock, rather than a meal compared to the feasts presented to him when he demanded it.
But along with the food, he swallowed his pride. She laughed at the expression he made. "I pity you," she snorted at that. "If this is what you eat everyday." He said.
"A beggar knows no difference between breads, because to him every loaf is a feast for a king." She admonish, taking the plate away.
"I am not a beggar." He protested. "I'm the Daedric Lord of Debauchery."
"You are Sanguine then." She mused with a small smile.
"Do you know any others who call themselves by that name?" He drawled, picking at the stacked hay he had slept on.
"Yes," She snorted, "he interrupts my prayers, whines constantly when he's drunk- he even scared away my suitor- and tried to corrupt me with soup. Quite the troublemaker, isn't he?"
Sanguine puffed out his chest and grinned toothily. "I imagine it'd be boring without him."
"Indeed." Distracted, she left the room, leaving the Prince alone to his thoughts.
The second time Sanguine stayed at the chapel he slept in the elf's bed. Alone. He exhaled a great breathe while he played with the alchemy set he dragged over to the bed- which was worse than the one he had last slept on. His first order of business was convincing her to buy better beds, he decided nibbling on an minty leaf. He rolled his eyes at himself, appearing in the room the elf slept in and laid down next to her.
The angles of her face were highlighted by the moonlight pouring through the window. Mesmerized, he studied the scene before him, weaving clawed fingers through silky blonde hair as he observed. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his. She rolled to the side, lifting the furs covering her and Sanguine closed his eyes, listening to the soft sound of her breathing until the the first light of dawn chased away the night. He kissed her good morning and goodbye, busying himself with whatever he fancied.
The most unexpected surprise awaited in his garden, however. He cradled the blossomed rose with a wolfish grin. He knew exactly who to gift it to.
Humming a tune, he walked through the town as a Reguard- after all not an unusual sight to see such a sailor these days- playing with his rose with a skip in his step. But she was not there by her alter for her afternoon prayer. Nor in her room fiddling with alchemy, or in the kitchen, helping to prepare meals for the beggars. "You," He flagged down a woman in humble rags. "Where is the priestess of this chapel?"
"You must be a... a ..." She looked between him in the rose. " Oh dear, oh dear. Unfortunately the Priestess was... she was..."
"Speak." He ordered.
"She was taken to the dungeon... under accusations of fraternizing with a Daedra..." She sobbed, "She's to be executed... after you came all this way for her..."
Sanguine was already gone, seeking out his elf, appearing behind the executioner who was cleaning fresh blood from his blade. "T'is a shame." The man turned to him, his words nearly bringing the Prince to his knees. "You just missed her."
It was only after he returned to his realm with a flower he had no one to gift it to, he realized he never learned her name.
And he never would.