The next morning I awoke alone.

Thank the Gods.

I needed some time to face myself, the previous night's deflowering thundering back into my thoughts the moment my eyes snapped open. For a time I sat on the edge of the bed, my head hanging in my hands. Of all the conflicting feelings twisting in my gut, a wretched yearning for more was the most powerful. More of his glistening shoulders, more of the citrus firelight glinting through his unbound hair, but mostly I craved the feather brush of his lips. The small sensitive touches, by Oblivion even the brutality of it all. Dibella herself must have molded that mer, by the Gods. I shook myself, knocking the heel of my hand against my forehead. I had to get out of Markarth, this place wasn't good for me.

Gathering my discarded clothes I began to dress. I winced, not expecting the sore ache settled at the apex of my thighs. I suppose I should have, he'd given me such a rutting. At one point I paused to wipe a clean hand cloth over the remnants of our union that still stuck to my inner thighs. Tossing the cloth into the fire I finished dressing and bolted from the Keep. I kept my head down, furtively checking for Thalmor from under my hood as I skirted through the Keep, sticking to the shadows.

Outside I found it was still early morning. I made my way back to Vlindrel Hall without incident, sneaking in and grabbing my pack without anyone noticing. Slipping out of the city I found the cart headed to Falkreath and paid my fee along with the handful of other travelers before taking my seat, wrapping my arms around my meager belongings and trying to keep my thoughts on anything but those small flickers of fondness I'd seen in the Justiciar's eyes the night before. Or how satisfying his weight had felt pressing me into the pelts.

Of all the things to finally spur me into leaving the Reach it was because I was scared of dealing with whatever lay between a mer and I. It was humiliating, but better than staying around him and coping with the knowledge that he had used me and taken my maidenhood for his own gratification. I wasn't about to kid myself, he was Thalmor. Even if he did hold any interest in me it would be a passing phase, a loneliness brought on by his seclusion in the Keep that he sought to quell with my body. Nothing more.

The journey to Falkreath was fairly easy; the driver had hired two mercenaries to sit with us as guards in case of a Forsworn or bandit attack. Luckily nothing that exciting occurred, but the mercs did make for good conversation. One, a female Khajiit, told a tale of being chased by a whole camp of giants and their mammoths only to be saved by a rampaging dragon. She'd beat feet out of there but paused long enough to see a stray hunter rocketed off into the sky by a giant's club, the man volleyed high enough to touch Masser. It was wholly unbelievable but it took my mind off things, so that was nice. Arriving in Falkreath I made straight for Dead Man's Drink, wanting to get a room and drink away half the gold I had left.

Living at an inn was going to be out of my budget but I'd be damned if I didn't deserve a bed tonight. Tomorrow I'll check around for work, there's always someone around wanting some wood chopped. I'd spied an apothecary earlier, there's bound to be some ingredients the proprietor needs gathered up. The Pine Forest was full of deer and elk, killing a few I could tan their skins and sell off the meat and antlers. I stifled a yawn with another gulp of my drink, rubbing my tired eyes. The Jarl may have some bounties I could take if I really became desperate. Or that priest of Arkay might appreciate an extra set of hands with a sturdy stomach to help in his funerary preparations.

If I went to Riverwood Faendal would give me full reign of his home, probably even set me up with a job at the lumber mill. Still, I couldn't. Ditching the Justiciar probably hadn't gone over so hot with my better half. The first place he'd look for me was with friends. Faendal or Iriala. Well, that was certainly a short list. I should really try to make friends. The ones in Cidhna mine don't count. Real, proper functioning members of society would be a nice change. Around here I wouldn't have to hide from Forsworn or skirt around my identity. It was a fresh start, a chance to reinvent myself. I wouldn't have to thieve my way through life or sleep on a moldy cloth down in the Warrens.

Settling in on a barstool with another bottle of ale I felt a tap on the shoulder. Turning in my seat I found a road weary wood elf smiling professionally at me. He carried a satchel at his side stuffed with papers. "Sosile of Markarth?"

I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, "yes, courier?"

"Ah, good, I've got some mail for you then," he rustled in his pack for a bit before plucking out a thickly folded letter with a plain red seal, "from a friend back in Markarth." I thanked the elf and tipped him, wondering what in the world Faendal or Iriala were sending me mail for already. Had I forgotten something important? Sliding a finger under the seal I hissed as I nicked it against the stiff paper. Popping the wounded digit into my mouth I unfolded the letter and scanned the writing. It fell to the bar, slipping from my shaking hands. I was on my feet in an instant, the barstool scraping across the floorboards before clattering over. I searched for the elf, scanning each face in the inn. He was gone. I glanced over my shoulder, pleading that I'd read it wrong. Once more I examined the message as my breathing hitched.

Sosile
Do you really think I'm done with you?

.

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AN: Okay I'm sorry I have to do this to you but this story is going on hiatus. I know, I'm a jerk.
BUT college bullshit takes precedence over frisky elves and their wayward lovers. Unfortunately...
TBH I just wanted to write some sexual tension/smut. Good gracious this story turned out long as hell though.
On another note, I have some Dremora stuff in the works now. Just letting you know in case you're into big burly demon men ;)
And everyone that's been leaving reviews, y'all are goddamn great.

Thanks again for reading!