Trent stared off after the little red-headed vixen with an open out of astonishment. What in the hell was that about? He'd been defending her and he got a punch in the arm? Not that the punch really did anything, but still. He glanced over at the pixy that still hovered at eye level and found he wasn't the only one surprised. He was facing the same way Trent had been, his jaw dropped practically to his chest with wide eyes. It was amazing the little bug hadn't just dropped out of the air.

Trent cleared his throat. "Well, that was unexpected," he muttered. When the pixy slowly turned in the air to face him, expression never changing, Trent felt his ears burn slightly. "Ask Rachel to call me, will you? We've got a lot to talk about."

Then the bug did drop. His flight pattern ducked as he gave the pixy version of a stumble, then came back up to Trent's face, mere inches from his nose. "Oh, ya think, cookie-maker?" he shouted. "You just did Rachel! I didn't know she even liked you. Hell, I didn't know you liked her! And you just did her! And then, to top off this wonderful morning, you pissed of Ivy and pulled a knight-in-shining-armor routine by trying to defend what the two of you did! What in Tink's diaphragm happened here?"

Through the little tirade by the little man, Trent's lips began to quirk up until a smirk formed. "I think you just summed it up nicely," he said in a deep, smug voice, then turned and walked out of the church leaving the screeching bug behind. He didn't stop, didn't hesitate at all as he went around to the driver's seat of his car, climbed in and drove off. He kept himself cool and collected. No hysterics where press may see you, echoed in his fairly chaotic brain.

He'd finally done it. He'd finally given into his urges and Rachel had let him. His mind plaid back the images of their love-making, like in instant replay of events. She felt softer than he could have imagined, smelled positively edible and fit tightly and perfectly over him. As he began to rise again in his trousers, he very much hoped that Rachel would be calling him very soon so he could have her again.

The drive home was filled with quite speculation as Trent reviewed the entire encounter carefully. By the time he'd pulled into the drive, he was back to hard and heavy with need. He awkwardly positioned his blazer over the front of his hips when he noticed Quen and Ceri approaching him. He plastered his businessman smile onto his face and greeted them warmly enough as he tried to shuffle off to his private quarters.

"How is Rachel doing?" Ceri asked softly, her dainty hands resting on the top of her bulging belly in her billowy blue gown. Her royal blood was never anything she could hide, regardless of what she was doing. Trent was convinced she'd look regal and dignified when she was pushing her baby into the world.

Trent cleared his throat, trying not to feel himself shift in his trousers. Being close to Quen and Ceri made him flag a bit until another vision flashed behind his eyes and he'd stiffen again. It was most distracting. It wasn't until he noticed the confused and slightly concerned looks that the two other elves where giving him that he shook himself out of his trance and lifted his chin. "She's fine, if not the normal, mild irritation," he said, the hint of warmth in his voice taking the sting out of his words and Ceri smiled. "It was that blasted bug that was the main issue."

Quin's worried look returned and a frown creased the pox-scarred face. "What do you mean, Sa'han?" he asked in his low voice.

Trent sighed and shifted, feeling the blisters throb a bit at the back of his neck. "The little thing pixed me. He thought I was trying to hurt her."

Quin and Ceri exchanged knowing looks with soft smirks on their faces. It was Ceri who spoke. "And just what were you doing to her?" she asked, the laughter that bubbled below the surface leaking out only slightly.

Trent's normal, carefully guarded mask slipped and he gave them a wide-eyed, startled look with his mouth opening just a bit. Did everyone know before me? "I-I was, um," he stuttered, unable to find the right words quickly enough. "I was discussing a run that I'd like her to take." He gave a triumphant grin after finally finding an excuse plausible enough, then quickly checked it and squelched it to a soft smile.

That infuriating look passed between the other elves quietly and then they smiled at him. "I did not know that there was a need for Miss Morgan's talents at this time, Sa'han," Quin smirked.

Another flash of Rachel's moans echoed through his mind, landing in a nearly vicious blow to his gut, and lower things. He actually had to close his eyes and clench his teeth to keep from moaning in return. Yes, he thought, Miss Morgan has many talents.

"Are you ill, Trenton?" Ceri asked softly, her hand touching his forearm lightly, bringing him out of his lust-induced stupor. His eyes flashed open to see her face concerned, but her eyes glittering in a knowing way.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," he said with another smile. "Just a bit tired and sore from that damn bug's pixing. I think a shower might be in order." He gave the two a nod and turned away to walk alone into the large compound, leaving the elves alone together in the cool, crisp air.

The halls fell away from Trent as he moved through them quickly. His brain echoed with soft moans, harsh cries and screams of ecstasy. He actually had to bite his tongue to keep himself from groaning as his erection throbbed. When he finally spilled through the doors to his private quarters, he finally let out a strangled shout, falling against the closed doors. He'd thought his need for her would dissipate after finally having her. Maybe not for long, but this urgent, burning desire only grew while he remembered the sensation of sliding in and out of her. Sweat slicked his brow again as he practically ran down his stairs, heading straight for his bedroom. He could smell her on him, her sweat, her slick juices wafting up to his nose from his burning need. Another groan escaped his lips. He had to get that smell off him before it drove him insane!

As soon as he was safe in his room, the door locked behind him, his clothes began to fall away. With every layer removed from his skin, the smell of her only grew. That soft, redwood scent that he loved so much no tortured him as it triggered the memories of her writhing for him. When he hit the bathroom, he was naked leaving a line of clothes from the bedroom door. He slamed it closed behind him and stomped over to the shower, turning it on to the hotest temperature he could stand. When he stepped under the falling water, it felt like pricks of fire against the blisters that graced his back. He allowed those needle-like drops to cascade over the firm muscles of his chest, down the rippling abs to the thick, heavy need below.

Roughly, Trent jerked the bar of soap from it's holder just beside him and worked up a lather. The soap smelled of lavender, Maggie's idea of soothing him, no doubt. It was almost amusing as he slid his hand over his tip and groaned, knowing that only one red-haired witch could sooth him. His grasp was tight, trying to mimic the way her feminine sheath clenched him, slowly moving from base to tip then back. Helplessly, he thrust his hips, his head back and his eyes closed. The hot water imitated the heat of her skin and the rough drag of her nails down his back and arms. He began to work up a furious rhythm, moaning through clenched teeth when he heard the click of his bathroom door open and froze.

"Trent? Are you in here?" came the all too familiar voice of the exact object of his need.