Celia, Celia
WARNING: CONTAINS SEXY TIMES. NOT FOR THE FAINT-HEARTED.
When I am sad and weary,
When I think all hope has gone
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on.
~Adrian Mitchell
Five more minutes.
Thassarian did not want to get up today. Military discipline could stick it where it hurts. He turned over, groaning.
A slight chink in the curtains cut a blinding line straight onto his left eyelid.
Shutting the curtains properly would be too much effort. Even turning over would be too much effort.
The light suddenly himself, he cracked open a bleary eye. And immediately sat up.
'Koltira!' The elf, in his civvies, raised a finger to his lips, legs wide, arms carelessly arranged on the rests. He looked, Thassarian thought, like an absolute cock. Bifrost leaned on his desk, forgotten and unused.
'I've grown bored in Ogrimmar. I thought I'd come watch you at drills, but you've obviously grown lax.' He laughed as Thassarian turned back to sleep, 'Seriously, Thass, sleeping off a rough night?'
'You're late by five hours, Tira. There were a couple little pieces you'd have liked.'
'A couple? How did you get even a couple of women to put up with you for an hour?'
'Wouldn't you like to know?'
Koltira ripped back the sheets, exposing Thassarian to the cool morning air. Leaning down- Thassarian could feel the elf's erection hard against his back- he whispered in his ear, his voice rough and shaky with madness.
'Yes, actually, I would.'
He turned- they shared a look- and fell upon each other with kisses. Koltira was soon unclothed and lying upon the disturbed bedsheets, one knee bought up and slightly to the side, showing off his crotch and its prize- like him, long and slender- in all its perfections.
'Turn over, Tira.'
His answering grin was tyrannical. 'Suck me first, sir.' He drew his arms to rest beneath his head. Thassarian growled, but obliged. He took the tip in his mouth- the taste was strange, but not unsavoury- and gave it a good, long, healthy kiss with a little tongue thrown in. He had no idea what he was doing, but he heard Koltira sigh with satisfaction and reluctantly turned over. On an impulse, he bit a firm buttock and licked the other, earning a yelp from the elf, who bought his knees up, revealing himself.
Thassarain took his time- he was familiar with the concept of fine asses. He licked his way up between the buttocks, and then teased the outer edges of the hole with the tip of his tongue, causing it to dilate. Once he was sure he had garnered Koltira's full attention, Thassarian slipped in, his tongue lightly probing. Koltira cried out, grabbing the sheet, and Thassarian immediately pulled out, but worked two fingers in instead, listening to Koltira laugh nervously, bucking into his hand.
'Shut up, Tira.'
'Bossy.' Koltira was breathless with pleasuring himself. 'I almost feel sorry for your imaginary girlfriends.'
Thassarian, growling, spread his legs even further, using a forefinger and thumb to open Koltira up; Thassarian finally thrust into him, relishing Koltira's groan, and enjoyed him. Koltira removed one of Thassarian's stabilising hands on his hips- much narrower than the human was used too- and circled it around his cock, pumping with their fingers entwined.
His breathing grew erratic too quickly, and Thassarian fought his own orgasm as Koltira tightened, spilling onto the bed. He collapsed beside the elf, laughing. He did not feel like sleep.
A little while after that, as the sun was rising proper, Thassarian tried again with his tongue, Koltira drowning himself out onto the pillows. As he plunged deeper, his tongue a muscle willing to conquer but squeezed tight, Koltira had cried out his name in genuine need and had sought out his hand: Thassarian grasped it as the elf moaned again and again, his half-coherent pleas tinged with genuine yearning: begging with Thassarian to stop, to carry on, to turn him around and kiss him. He did not stop until Koltira was a shaking, panting, sated wreck. Only then did he flip him over, finding the boy was wracked with sobs.
He held him, kissed him, the dawn of passion transformed into something more tender, something Thassarian was even more frightened of than lust- politics, even. He held his brother-in-arms, kissed his lips, his cheeks, his fragile eyelids, until he fell asleep, still clutching Thassarian's hand.
Thassarian woke up, hands immediately going for the other side of the bed. It was cold. It was empty.
He sat up, cursing: the sun had not yet risen. Lifting up his desheets, grimacing, he found them to be soaked in sweat and other fluids.
Fourth bell. Two more hours till drills with a regiment that was petrified of him.
Thassarian groaned, rolling over.
He did not want to get up today.
So... um... yeah. Thass misses him a little bit too much. Unfortunately for him, they're not going to meet each other any time soon.
