It started with a look, a simple look. Solaufein had been watching her from the corner of his eye, seemingly the perfect Fey Branche soldier. He was Weapons Master now, a Matron's son and a proud noble. He thought he was being discreet as his eyes wandered over that slender form that wasn't nearly as familiar as he wished it was. And then he'd seen it: the slow curl of her lips up into a satisfied smile, a little gleam of amusement in her eyes. She'd caught him watching. He felt the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks and dropped his gaze in a properly submissive way. It probably didn't help his case that she was in the middle of discussing some affair or another with the Matron Mother. He took some solace in the fact that she didn't seem disinterested.
And she kept noticing. Every time they passed in the halls or even met and his eyes wandered, that smile returned. She knew. Once, she even said something when it was just the two of them alone, waiting for the Matron Mother. "See something you like?" she'd teased. That was something new in a female drow. There was no order to bed, just a sort of playfulness that took him by surprise. She seemed to enjoy being the shock to his system. And he never knew how to answer, so he stood there tongue-tied.
And she laughed at him.
It wasn't harsh like he expected, just a silvery sound of amusement that seemed reserved for him alone. And she found other ways to tease him as well, brushing past him in the halls with more contact than seemed absolutely necessary. It made his skin tingle and a pleasant shiver run down his spine. The problem was simple: he wanted her, and she wasn't doing anything about it except tormenting him. If she hadn't been a noble, hadn't been a priestess, he would have just used force to take what he wanted. That was the drow way. Then again, no one but a noble and a priestess would have dared baiting the Weapons Master.
Sometimes he wondered if she wanted him to try, if it was an elaborate trap. Certainly, she seemed to be spinning webs around him like no other priestess had quite managed to. But it wasn't confining. He always felt like he could run if he wanted to. The trick of the web was that it made him not want to run. It fascinated, even enchanted. And what a spider! The softly angled features of her House, intense eyes the color of stone, full lips, and the slender frame with a gymnast's muscles. More often than not he saw her in armor like a fighter, either headed to a battle or coming from one. But sometimes, like now, he caught her in robes with fabric clung to her breasts and hips. It was the first time he'd envied common cloth.
All his efforts were utterly in vain. The normal rules seemed entirely discarded when it came to his priestess—as he thought of her now even though he had no claim. His submissive looks gained him nothing and even declaring himself at her service had been met with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and that damned smile. She had to know that she was driving him insane, that she'd permeated even his dreams now. When another priestess would tug him to bed, he tried to pretend it was her if only to make the process more pleasant. It never worked with the way they demanded his attention, but it had been a good effort.
Part of him hoped it would be different with her. He would settle for less painful, anyway. Just for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine those long fingers running through his short hair and those lips against his own. "Solaufein." The voice cut through his reverie and he found himself looking at the Matron. He thought she'd been ignoring him.
"Yes, Matron Mother?" he said with the appropriate level of obedience, lowering his eyes again so that he didn't dare look at her. Out of all of Alaunraena's children, her eldest son was the most obedient. He hadn't stepped out of line since he was too young to know better. Fear of that dreaded snake-whip always kept him carefully observing her moods and tailoring every response to be as courteous and obliging as possible. It had taken him far in life, even to the post of Weapons Master.
"Escort our guest from House Duskryn to spare quarters. She'll be staying overnight."
He forced himself to swallow. It was as though the world enjoyed tormenting him. "Yes, Matron Mother." He turned, trying to keep his eyes fixed on the floor. "If you'll follow me, mistress?" He always called her by that rather than her name even though they'd known each other at the Academies. Priestesses preferred it in his experience, making them feel even more in control of him.
"Of course," his priestess said, following him casually.
Solaufein walked a little faster than was probably necessary, seeking to end his torment as quickly as possible. She walked so close to him that he swore he could feel the heat from her body. It was certainly close enough that he felt like he was going to spontaneously combust. He couldn't find it in him to say anything, still wondering if he was under the effects of a charm spell or if she was really a succubus. Demons and House Duskryn seemed to go together like salt and pepper. They moved through the corridors at a good speed until finally he reached the door and opened it for her silently.
She stepped through, then turned abruptly. "Solaufein," she said, curling a finger at him to indicate that he should follow. "I think no one will mind, don't you?"
He almost ran after her even though it put him at another's beck and call. He managed to slow himself down as if she didn't make all the blood in his body rush towards his groin, doing his best not to look overeager. Desperation was only attractive to a female when she had intentionally caused it. Which his priestess may have done, he realized. He froze when she turned. He hadn't expected it, so he'd gotten close. Close enough to make him feel like he was burning up when he realized there was maybe an inch separating him. And he knew the smile was back even without looking, equal parts satisfied and inviting. "No, mistress," he managed to get out as motion returned to his limbs, brain feeling somewhat behind the rest of him. There was what he wanted and what was allowed. He wasn't to move until she told him otherwise or released him to go back about his duties.
Her fingers traced along his jawline until they came to rest under his chin. Ever so gently, she tilted his face up until he was looking into her grey eyes. They seemed to have the power to hypnotize, like the gaze of a serpent or a powerful enchantress. The only danger he felt was from his own tenuous control. "What do you want, Solaufein?" she said. Something in the tone suggested that now was the time to spill everything out. It was certainly welcoming enough.
"You, mistress," he said. And wasn't that the truth.
"My name," she corrected with a subtle patience even as she looked at him with a definite expectation.
He was certain he was going to burn up. "You, Revered Llolfaen."
She laughed, that beautiful sound ringing softly in his ears. "I would have settled for Llolfaen," she said with that familiar amusement. Now she arched an eyebrow at him. "What do you propose to do about what you want, Weapons Master?" It was another tease with a hint of challenge to it.
"Mis—Revered Llolfaen?" Solaufein said questioningly. Surely she wasn't suggesting that he make the first move. That just...it didn't happen. It felt like his brain started to lock up while his body screamed at him to do something now, no matter what it was. But he couldn't move, spellbound.
She kissed him, lips soft against his even though the kiss sent fire running wild through his veins. Immediately, he ran his hands down her sides and let them come to rest on her hips. He more felt than heard her purr of approval at his hands on her. Apparently she was enjoying this almost as much as him, almost because he wasn't certain it was possible for anyone to enjoy themselves as much as he was enjoying himself right now. Her body was against him and he cursed mentally at his armor for getting in the way.
Not that it would be there much longer. Her fingers were dancing from clasp to clasp with the expert speed of a practiced hand. He was glad now that she wore armor so often. It made her exceedingly good at getting him out of his. "Bed," she said with a rough edge to her voice, pulling back to look at him. It amazed him how dark her eyes were now. He smiled so widely it ached even as he moved with her to the bed, letting her strip off his clothes as they moved.
His priestess. In bed. The world had suddenly become perfect. Part of him was still afraid that it would be terribly unpleasant, but most of him didn't care. He would take anything he could get.
And then she started to torture him. Not literally, but close. She was just moving so slowly, taking so much time, and with such a soft touch that he thought he was going to explode. He wanted to beg for her to go faster, but it came out as a keening sound from his throat that made her laugh again. "Hush, you can wait," she whispered against his ear. No one had ever been so careful or thorough with him. He couldn't imagine the amount of practice it had taken her to learn precisely where to touch and how. Even though they weren't familiar with each other's bodies, she seemed to know what would work on him.
There was something to it when she touched him, a sort of electric charge to every caress. He imagined it was probably the divine magic that always flowed through her veins, but some part of him naggingly insisted it was because it was her touching him. That not even another favored soul would be able to get this kind of response—it had to be her. That was a little terrifying.
But it never hurt. He supposed he was a little rough with her just because he was excited, but she hardly seemed to mind. This seemed less like the vendetta of the average priestess and much more like some kind of game that she was clearly winning.
It nearly gave him a heart attack when he realized that he'd left love-bites on her neck accidentally. Thankfully, he found out that she actually liked them there, which was in and of itself strange. Priestesses weren't supposed to like anyone staking claim on them. There were even moments where he felt like he was in control, even though he was taking a gentle sort of direction from her. It was an entirely intoxicating.
He didn't know how his family would take this, but he did know that he wanted this for the rest of his life. The odds of him finding another priestess so considerate was zero to none. When things finally settled down, the sheets tangled all around their legs, he waited for her to send him away. Instead, she started tracing the lines of his muscles with one delicate finger. He wanted to ask if he had been good, but the words weren't working for him. His priestess certainly looked satisfied.
"Isn't touching so much better than looking?" she teased him softly, touching the tip of her nose to his. It was as much playful as gentle, a combination so foreign to him that it almost made him lose his train of thought.
"Yes," Solaufein agreed, letting his hands wander over smooth curves. Her eyes flickered closed for a moment in clear enjoyment. He chuckled, his confidence returning. For the first time, he didn't feel timid in the presence of a priestess. "I take it you approve?"
"Mmm," she hummed in agreement, brushing her fingers down his spine. He inhaled sharply, sensitive to the touch. "Though I could use another few rounds to make certain."
He smiled at that, hoping she was serious. It was strange that she hadn't ordered him away, but it was nice. He liked the roaming fingers across his chest and then through his hair. Her manicured nails just brushed across the surface of his skin rather than scratching him. "Revered Llolfaen..."
She tugged on his hair, though not hard. Just enough that he felt it. "No honorific," she ordered.
"Llolfaen," he said. But he wasn't sure how to ask. It was up to her if she kept him, after all. And with the fact that he was Weapons Master, it was highly unlikely that he would be allowed to be her consort unless something was negotiated at the Matron's level. Even then, there would always be the question of loyalty. So he would have to content himself with being a toy. That was hardly a bad thing as long as it was her. "Keep me?"
She tapped his lips gently with a finger. "Oh, we'll do this again, Weapons Master," she said with that same teasing tone even though he knew it was true.
That was good enough for him. Because this, whatever it was, was worth keeping. For one thing, it felt fantastic. He wasn't used to things feeling so pleasurable in general. His life was violence and that carried over into bed no matter whether he was taking or giving. "As you wish," he said contently.
"You sound so agreeable. It makes me want to suggest all kinds of things," his priestess said. That smile was back and he knew now that it suggested what exactly she was thinking about doing to him or with him. For once, he didn,t take that as an ominous sign. To his surprise, she brushed her fingers over the couple of marks on her neck.
"Sorry, mis—Llolfaen," he said contritely, a little worried now that he would be in trouble.
"Don't be. It will be nice to have a reminder of this," she said before looking over at him. "How long until you have to return to your duties?"
He'd never had a lover who worried about whether or not he would get in trouble with the Matron, and especially not one who gave a thought to his duties and his routines. It suggested that she thought of him a distinct person instead of just as a plaything. "It can wait," he said, settling down next to her. He was ready to stay for as long as she wanted.
Sometimes, it wasn't so bad to belong to someone else.
