It might take an absurdly long time, but I will finish this story, damn it.
Ahh, to feel her against him after all this time. He'd thought of it often, how it would feel to sample her. The pulse of her wild heartbeat, the heat of her skin, the taste of her lips, and all so much better than he'd expected. After so long, after so many years of dedicated abstinence, he had feared he'd lost his touch, that he'd be clumsily pawing at her flesh, that she'd toss him from the bed in a fit of disgust. He wasn't a prize, impressive titles notwithstanding, and she had her admirers, but here she was, spread out before him like a feast, writhing under his touch. Oh, the sounds she made would make a harlot blush, and he was drinking them in, devouring them, worshiping at the altar of her thighs with the same zeal he gave to the gods. This most unholy of ventures, driven by a mad desire, sanguine delights that he'd forsworn long ago but that, in the end, he had no ability to resist. How could he, with the very definition of desire crawling into his bed?
Their play was slow and deliberate, but eventually the wait overwhelmed him, overcame them both, and, oh, the hot, tight slide into her was like coming home, her limbs wrapping around him, drawing him further in, so close and so tight that they were one being, breathing the same breath, feeling the same blood in their veins. The things she was moaning, the words she spoke in his ear set him aflame, burned in his mind and pushed all the sweetness out of him until he was thrusting and ravaging her like a beast, and she, in turn, clawing at him, teeth tearing into his throat, drawing blood. Why? Why did that make him harden almost painfully, and she, gulping down the dragon's blood greedily, clenching around him, twitching and writhing in some primal ecstasy? What madness was upon them, and why had he no desire to stop it? And what in Oblivion was that laughter that grated at his ears, that lived in his mind and stole whatever tenuous peace and sanity he possessed?
He was dragged from his frantic thoughts as she shoved him onto his back and mounted him. The sheets were a bloody mess, the scratches on his back stinging angrily as he slammed into the mattress, but all he wanted was more, more of her passion, more of her madness, more of this exquisite pain. More of this unearthly debauchery.
Debauchery?
"Martin." She moaned, hands trailing over his chest, caressing his face with gentility as she rode him. "Martin, please." She begged for him, pleaded with him, dragging him out of the fog he was in, but he couldn't understand. She had him so completely in that moment, and surely she knew. He reached up, tracing the shape of her pretty lips, smearing the blood that stained them. He was close. Just a little more. There was no restraint left in him, not with her moaning and writhing against him as she was, and he devoured her, teeth nearly tearing her throat in his ferocity.
"Martin, please." But the whorish moan was gone, replaced by a frantic plea. Fear. "Wake up." He only dragged her down, capturing her mouth with his, pressing up further into her, aching to fill her, only halting those plans when her thin fingers twined in his hair and pulled far too hard, jerking his head away before pleading again, "Martin, damn you, wake up."
With a start woke the Emperor of Tamriel, last of the Septim line, and he was not at all alone in his bed. Wide eyed and flushed was Elisif DuCarne, struggling to drag herself from his grasp. Her lips were swollen and wet, clothes in a state of disarray that matched perfectly the fevered dreams he'd just abandoned. Worse than that, so so much worse than that, was the evidence that he'd been rough with her, furious purples blooming all along the flesh of her neck, and perhaps worst of all was the steady encouragement he heard from the corner of the room, a voice cheering him for his efforts, cajoling him to continue. He would have sworn he was going mad except that Elisif was glaring pointedly in the same direction, though the vindication did little for the aching hardness upon which his friend was currently sitting. Once certain that he was indeed awake, Elisif removed herself promptly from his grasp, presenting her back to him as she shakily straightened her clothing.
"I'm...oh, Martin, I'm sorry. I had only come to see if you were awake, and then I heard noises from inside and thought something was amiss-" she spoke to him with her back turned, rapidly stumbling over her words, arms crossed in front of her. She spoke the truth, meant every word of it. If she'd known his struggle was of a more carnal variety she'd have left him well enough alone. As it was though, she was well versed in nightmares.
"E-Ellie." he stammered uncomfortably, gathering the blankets around his waist in a vain attempt to hide his very persistent erection. He wasn't sure why he bothered as she had just been seated on it, but the entire thing was embarrassing in the extreme. "No need to apologize. I should be the one- totally inappropriate of me." No matter what horrid, boring, or otherwise disgusting thoughts he conjured up, it remained with no signs of going away at all, instead beginning to ache on just the wrong side of painful. "E-Ellie, I-...could I bother you to-" And before he could properly formulate a sentence she had spun around, face flushed and shining with sweat, drawing preposterously closer to his side, concern in her features.
"Yes, Martin?" If her voice came out with more than a tremble to it, he couldn't say that he blamed her. Perhaps it was the arousal fueled part of his brain screaming it at him, but she didn't seem as put out by the whole thing as he'd first assumed. Certainly uncomfortable, yes. Anyone could see that. Lips parted, breath coming frantic and fast, skin rosy. Absently a hand trailed up, touching the violent bruising that continued to bloom and spread, love bites dotting from her ear to her collarbone, and they must have been tender if her delicate tracing was any indication. Take her. She'd welcome it. Show her what she's missing. Make her scream.
"Ahh...I'll be more than happy to toss that damned staff into the fires of Oblivion. I'd snap it in two right now if it wouldn't hinder our work." His words seemed to ease her somewhat, allowing him to continue. "I am sorry, Elisif." After she made no move to leave him, he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Now, I need a moment or two to collect myself, perhaps some privacy." Her eyes widened at this and she nodded before rapidly exiting the room.
It turned out that cold water did more for him than chilling thoughts ever could, and soon he was able to function with a degree of normality, dressing mechanically as he mumbled prayers under his breath with such rapidity that he scarce comprehended the phrases. His morning ablutions worked eventually, and soon Martin was beckoning Elisif back into his rooms, and if he was having a difficult time making eye contact with her, well, who could blame him? He did though, eventually, and he took stock of the mess he'd made of her, healing her skin so that not a bruise remained. It was more for his own comfort than anything else. He had enough to deal with without having to contend with a jealous mage. He muttered a very heartfelt apology before turning away once more, this time gathering the tools they would need for the upcoming ritual.
"Are you alright, Martin? I feel the need to apologize again for earlier. If I'd known…" She frowned, "Have you many nightmares like that?"
Martin the priest blushed furiously at that question, but Elisif either didn't notice or had the tact not to question it while he collected himself. "More often that I'd like." He replied honestly before changing the subject. "Anyways, I was surprised to see you this morning. You were looking the worst I'd ever seen you yesterday. I'm truly sorry that you were not tended to before I was spent for the evening, but I made sure that you were given as many potions as possible for the pain. It seems I worried in vain, however, since you're so hale and hearty. Who tended to you?"
It was Elisif's turn to be at a loss. What could she say, really? Oh, a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood waltzed in here to heal me and kiss me silly. Yes, that would go over less than well. "Raminus did. He woke up in the night and tended to me. Must have been worried."
"That man is going to kill himself with how busy he stays. Really, he must have some supernatural stamina to heal you so soundly after all that he collapsed yesterday." This was news to her, but Elisif was a decent liar, at least better than Martin, and so she nodded.
"He is a man apart, truly. Only, don't mention it to him. Don't make a fuss. He hates it when people do that. Why, I embarrass him on the regular with my flowery gratitude." Martin smiled at her, nodded understandingly before gesturing to the door.
"Well, it's early, but I'm sure there's something ready in the kitchens. We should eat before we begin preparations."
The walk to the dining hall was quiet and slightly awkward. Elisif could guess well enough where his dreams had led, and while she wanted to feel indignant at Sanguine for his taunting, she found she could not. Whether it was because of her own dealings with the Prince or the fact that Martin knew his way around the female form even in sleep, she found it impossible to muster the proper rage. Annoyance was held in abundance, made worse by the constant cajoling of Sanguine through his Rose. From the royal chambers to the dining hall he made a great show of chanting into her mind. Sure, he's not a good heretic, but he was an excellent study. Take him to bed, you'll see. That mage you fuck would probably join you. Imagine how delicious that would be, one in each entrance, filling you up, making you scream-
"So, Martin. How did you fare in the fighting yesterday?" She asked it in earnest, her concern genuine, but by the gods did she have a difficult time concentrating on the answer, nodding when necessary but otherwise saying nothing. All the while she heard it, that steady taunting in her brain, enough to make her face red with shame and just a trace of arousal, because she knew that, if given the chance and go ahead, Martin probably would curl her toes well enough. She'd heard the stories when they were students. Add in the assassin too, just for good measure. It was all she could stand, frantically making excuses for air as she fled the hall. She dallied far longer than was polite, eventually returning to her quarters to don armor and gather her supplies, anything she might possibly need for the task at hand.
It was much later when she returned, her mind finally quiet and calm, Martin and Raminus in deep discussion. The latter was taking in her healed appearance with confusion, and it was all Elisif could do to keep the guilt from her face. She hurried to his side, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace, truly glad to see him well. After the events of the previous day, the sight of him was a balm to her nerves.
The two of them had worked out their magick circles in her absence, the hall free of obstacles and covered in chalk markings. The various relics were strategically placed, and she cast one last dirty look over at the Sanguine Rose before turning to Martin and nodding her readiness. Whatever the daedra was chattering at her was indistinguishable over the nerves raging through her. Months of work and struggle and tears coming together in this moment, and she'd be damned if some horrid, perverse Prince would distract her from the task at hand.
She watched as Martin murmured the incantations necessary, offering the relics strewn about the room in tribute to the portal he created before urging her on, and she thought despite the severity and gravity of the situation that her priestly friend looked at least a little relieved, the last song of the Sanguine Rose finally at its filthy end.
She didn't bother with dewy-eyed farewells or regretful glances at either of them. No, she was ready to see this task to its completion, ready to lay down her burden at the end of this strange road and breathe a sigh of relief. Just this one final task and the whole thing would be over. In truth she was eager to begin, and with a smile on her face Elisif stepped through the portal, hurled headlong into Mankar Camoran's Paradise.