Outtakes
Part 2
Warning: This particular chapter is NC-17 for sexual situations, to fulfill some reader's requests, and also for my own amusement. What else… ah yes, this is my first time writing an NC-17, therefore, do try not to laugh outright to my face if I get some things wrong (innocent look). This is a result of reading far too much of a certain type of fanfic. Hopefully this 'fic won't get too strange (read: kinky), or I'd have nothing to fill up a Winter/Jarlaxle story with. [insert evil laughter]
**
[Fanfic Cliché: Some characters have not-very-believable sex without a hell of a lot of reason. Sounds a bit like real life (doing things without extremely solid reasons, that is. Heheh.) What other cliches present in the story… ah yes, Spike knowing a miraculous number of helpful people.]
**
"And they bought orange Milanos!" Willow continued on her rambling, excited catalogue of the new house, which had been a concerted effort on the part of Constantine and Spike. The vampire in particular seemed to know a remarkable number of people – creatures, to be precise – who were useful in these matters.
Nalfein followed, rather bemused, in her wake as she bustled from room to room, touching, examining, vocally describing – it was like watching some sort of physical manifestation of a Clairvoyance spell gone strangely, exuberantly wrong. He had heard once that many elves were attracted to humans because of their energy – and he could vaguely see why. It was like watching a powderkeg dance around the room, trailing sparks of random dialogue, effervescent, positively rather exhilarating to experience – in more ways than one.
Willow waved a cookie at him before popping it into her mouth and then opening the icebox – refrigerator – to look at the contents, occasionally making little muffled exclamations of delight, then closing the main door and opening the smaller, adjacent frozen-section door next to it. Bent over, one slender hand on a knee with the other wrapped over the handle, her pert rump wiggled in the air, the short blue skirt riding up to reveal more leg, though not enough to see her underwear. Nalfein felt a slow smirk curl the sides of his mouth as he sidled behind Willow noiselessly.
"… And ice cream… " Willow felt a hand wander up her left inner thigh, lazily massaging, and jerked away, shoulder hitting the cold surface of the 'fridge, cheeks flushing. "Nalfein!"
Nalfein flashed her an impudent, sexy grin, then crowded her against the 'fridge, closing the frozen-section door by nudging it close with his dragon-staff. He nipped and sucked at her neck with an agonizing, mock lethargy, all the while using his free hand to slowly push up her skirt. Willow let out a soft moan and tangled her fingers in his hair, then remembered what she had been doing and shoved him away. "That's for later," she told him.
"And if I don't want to wait?" he purred.
Willow only hesitated for a second. "You still have to wait," she decided, then added a threat that Buffy had taught her. "Or, nothing later."
Nalfein pouted – an expression that looked quite adorable but also rather incongruous on the face of a two-hundred-fifty-year-old dark elven Mage Lord. Willow winked at him, and continued looking through what seemed to Nalfein like every single piece of inventory in the kitchen, then he followed her out to the living room, his good-humor restored as he watched the skirt. Suede leather and a very light brown, it was several tones darker than her skin – but enough to wire Nalfein's brain down several imaginative routes in which Willow was only wearing her blouse. Or less, if he had his way later…
Willow sat down on the color-coordinated sofa (she was willing to bet that the interior decorator was female) and switched on the television with the remote lying on the glass-surface coffee table. Nalfein sat down next to her, though he made no further attempts – a sneaked glance showed that he was feeling relatively resigned to the situation.
Everything seemed to have happened with remarkable speed. It'd been a few days, and she'd started from being an unstable, emotionally-lacking spellcaster to a more stable spellcaster with a boyfriend living on her own. Although Willow couldn't reconcile the term boyfriend to Nalfein – the connotations of clumsy gropings and awkward liaisons didn't seem to fit the dark elf, who always seemed to exude some sort of quiet confidence. He probably fit the term lover more, though the term appeared to imply that all their relationship was about was sex.
Was it? Had she actually descended to such a level? Willow watched the garishly-colored cartoons prance across the television screen and remembered a time when she'd confidently stated that she'd only sleep with someone she loved and who loved her back. She was fairly sure that Nalfein loved her – spell or no spell – but as to the other part of the equation? Was she just using Nalfein for gratification, or was there a chance that she was beginning to love him?
Nalfein muttered something under his breath and closed his eyes, apparently not wishing to watch any more of the cartoons. Willow liked the way his head tipped forward slightly when he relaxed this way, liked the way his silvery hair spilled over his ears to ebb down his neck and chest, liked the way the dark, pointed ears peered out of the silvery curtains, liked the maybe-a-smile-maybe-not, nearly unnoticeable curl to his mouth. She liked the lean, muscled body with its interesting scars from magical accidents – healed burn marks, bite marks – the long-fingered, perfectly shaped hands, the graceful ankles, the gasps and moans and curses when they…
Willow looked away, blushing. Any prolonged study of Nalfein always ended up with her thoughts wandering back to sex. It probably wasn't very… healthy.
It took some effort for her to locate her previous train of thought as she watched the cartoon. Did it actually matter if she was using him, if Nalfein seemed to enjoy it and certainly was the one who actively started it most of the time? Or could it be termed using in that sense? She was certainly fond of him and his curious, strong personality, though using love was still not entirely correct.
Nalfein seemed to be asleep, though with the weird elven idea of sleep (some sort of trance) she wasn't particularly sure. Nevertheless, she turned off the television and stood up as noiselessly as possible so as not to awake him – and Nalfein grabbed her wrist, pulling her off balance. With a yelp, she fell back on the sofa, and there was a confused blur which eventually sorted itself into Nalfein kissing her slowly while he rubbed his erection between her legs, pushing up her skirt to form tight furls of cloth at her hips and waist.
"Nalfein!" she protested half-heartedly, when he let her up for air. He smirked at her, then invaded her mouth again, smiling into it when she dug her nails into his shoulder as he slipped fingers into her panties. Willow's moans as he rubbed her clit were stifled by his mouth, then he withdrew, kneeling between her legs and raised one elegant eyebrow at her whimpers of protest.
"Still for later?" he asked mischievously.
Willow opened her mouth, then closed it again, refusing to give him the satisfaction of triumph even though her body begged for it. She pulled down her skirt and sat up, pretending to tidy her hair as she got to her feet. "Later," she said, surprised that her voice was steady.
Nalfein's expression of astonished complaint was very gratifying, Willow thought as she went up the stairs to continue her interrupted explorations.
**
Looking at the pretty, white-marble tiled bathroom had been very pleasant. Fluffy white towels and a lingering scent of soap added to the mental list of things to thank everyone for that Willow made as she looked around, thanking all the Gods that she had such friends. Rubbing her feet on the fuzzy mat she continued to wander into the next room – a large study full of books. Nalfein forgotten, the late-afternoon sunlight drawing long shadows through the tall windows, she ran her fingers over the neat spines in the shelves, slowly looking through the selection, mentally picturing herself in the cushions at one of the corners or at the seat at the dark wood desk, curled up and reading. She almost began doing that before she remembered that there was one more door to look in, and regretfully put back a book on totemic magic.
The last room was a bedroom in pleasant light blue colors, neat dresser, an antique and charmingly out-of-place wardrobe, carpeted ground, a desk with two chairs and the four-poster bed with the white sheets that matched the wardrobe but not the room. Quaint was a good word, or archaic…
"Is it 'later' now?" Nalfein put his arms around her from behind and murmured into her ear, and she jerked in surprise – she'd never ever get used to how quietly he could walk. "I am becoming impatient, beloved." He emphasized 'impatient' by grinding his hips into her rump.
"Um… " Willow pretended to consider. Nalfein growled, one hand undoing a strategic button on her blouse and slipping his hand in and under her bra to rub a breast, flicking at the nipple with a thumb. Willow gasped, nipples hardening at his attentions as he undid the rest of the buttons and removed both blouse and bra, licking the nape of her neck and the shoulders.
"Now then?" Nalfein purred as he caressed his way down her ribs and stomach, then removed her skirt and pulled down her panties – Willow's mind becoming a little too fogged with desire and pleasure to object.
"Y-yes…" The rest of Willow's acquiescence was lost in a sharp intake of breath as his fingers trailed down to the apex of her legs. It didn't seem to take too long for Willow, riding on crests of pleasure, to come around the two fingers probing deep inside her, and then Nalfein easily picked her up and dumped her on the bed, close to the edge, legs dangling over.
Automatic musings on whether or not the dark elf had used his innate levitation ability on her to accomplish that physical feat were dispelled when she watched Nalfein delicately lick his fingers clean, catlike, then kneel down on the ground between her legs, gently spreading them. She gasped at the feel of his tongue on her in lazy strokes, which eventually quickened and then began to investigate her depths as he sucked her folds, drinking her eagerly. As her incoherent exclamations and cries began to reach a crescendo he stopped, winking playfully as she protested – again, the bastard- and then began to remove his own clothing.
It was like watching a dancer perform – sensual, controlled grace - though it seemed to her that Nalfein was taking his time removing the complex folds of the robes, and folding it to place on the ground. Probably some sort of rebuke for her teasing earlier on, but she didn't particularly care, especially when he climbed onto the bed with her, gently nudging her up such that her head rested on the pillows at the centre, then shifting most of his weight on arms and elbows as he moved over her so as not to crush her. When they kissed she could taste herself, something that triggered a flood of guilty pleasure, a lot of it centered between her legs, and she grabbed at his head to deepen the kiss, rubbing a nail against the pointed ears.
Deciding to do some teasing of her own she managed to roll them over such that she straddled his waist while he grinned cockily at her from the pillows, perfectly happy to let her do whatever she wished to him – and the knowledge rather frightened her. She ignored the mouth that parted for a kiss and instead slowly licked her way down from his neck to his chest, ignoring the way he bucked underneath. He grasped her hips when she rubbed against him, pushing her insistently, but she swatted his hands away and sucked a nipple into her mouth, chuckling when he gasped in pleasure. After doing the same thing to the other side she moved on, dipping her tongue into his navel, then finally down to his erect shaft and running a nail up its length.
Nalfein let out a growl of frustration when she ignored it and pulled up his legs from the bed, moving the feet closer to him to fold his legs up higher, then took little nips down the inner thighs, slowly, licking at the tender skin at the below the joint of the knee..
"Willow!" Nalfein begged now – a first, Willow counted, with a small burst of triumph. "Please!"
"Please?"
"Touch me… please."
"I am touching you," Willow replied mildly, rubbing the skin between his legs.
"… Higher… please, Red… " He gasped, bucking his hips in emphasis. Willow decided to give in to her darker urges and held down his hips, leaning her weight on it so he would not move. She'd read about something like this somewhere once, in accident, and had been wondering if it worked… Willow blew on the head of his shaft, shot him a sultry smile when she realized he was watching her hotly, then delicately dipped at the hole with the tip of her tongue.
Nalfein's reaction was immediate and blurred – somehow Willow found herself on her back, the elf poised before her, his expression questioning, even though Willow knew that in forcing himself to wait for this he was torturing himself. This was something she liked about him – before doing it he always asked for permission, silently or otherwise, as if afraid of rejection. She was never really sure why he did it – it seemed so out of place with his normal confidence – but as with a lot of things about him, it was very arousing. As always, she gave the permission to him by pulling him down for another kiss.
Her fingernails bit into his skin when he moved into her, stretching her, their moans a discordant, primal harmony of fulfillment. Willow continued on her list of things she liked about Nalfein hazily as she wrapped her legs around him and moved against his rhythm so as to deepen the thrusts.
The way he groaned and bit out words in the dark elven tongue each time he thrust into her, or when her nails scraped bloody trails down his back.
The way he always seemed to try to start off slow, and then quickly lose control and start slamming into her, the kisses becoming frenzied, beautiful fingers scrabbling at the sheets, reaching towards ecstasy…
The way he began to chant her name when he neared the edge, sprinkled with his language, musical, incoherent, magical, exotic and highly erotic – "…Ah, Willow… mrimm d'ssinss… Quarval'sharess, Red… vith… a l'oloth, dos harventh ussa… harventh ussa!" This last broke off into a strangled yell of pleasure mingled with pain when Willow bit hard on his neck with blunt teeth, and he came violently inside her, pulsing, and sent her off the edge as well, inner muscles squeezing him until he shuddered to stillness.
Willow stared up into eyes curiously blank from satiation that took a moment to focus on her and soften – and she liked the way he smiled after sex, a slightly lopsided, endearing smile wiped clean of his normal unconscious arrogance and self-assurance, and she felt as though she looked into his soul.
Then the protective walls he built around him would go up again, and the smile would turn into a mischievous, self-satisfied grin, and though she'd mourn the loss of the unguarded moment she also welcomed this side of him back. It was so much easier to face, in a way.
"One day your nails will stain as red as your hair," Nalfein was saying calmly, as he inspected the work her nails had done on his back with one hand, leaning on the other elbow.
Willow blushed and stammered, "Well… "
Nalfein chuckled, and, still inside her – one of his peculiar preferences - rolled them such that they both lay on their sides, and he kissed her forehead, the gesture ironically chaste as he watched the sunlight that streamed in through the windows behind her with half-closed eyes. "Oloth lueth chath wun l'solen d'l'Ssussun," he muttered, then smiled enigmatically as if this statement amused him, before adding in a softer voice, "I love you."
Willow tilted her head up and saw the endearing smile again – and decided, at that moment, to accept his love and all that could, or would come with it, as she finally understood what it meant from him. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."
--
Translations:
Mrimm d'ssinss: lover (female)
Quarval'sharess: Goddess, (generic)
Vith: to perform sexual intercourse (slang)
A l'oloth, dos harventh ussa: By the darkness, you break me
Oloth lueth chath wun l'solen d'l'Ssussun: Darkness and fire in the eyes of the Light
