All right, because this place is lame, I've only put the severely edited version of this chapter here. This is the proper link: http:/ games . adultfanfiction . net /story . php?no=544195107&chapter=6 (just remove the spaces) I had to cut it down to be rated R rather than NC-17, which ff . net removed because they're lamers. If you want the full effect of this chapter, please read it-you're missing out otherwise. But if you're intent on this whole "rated M" crap, fine.

Providence

Part One

Chapter Six

Banik turned to his troll friend and asked the first thing that came to mind: "What?"

Hanzar was grinning. "Oh, nothing," he said, sloshing his cup of some unidentifiable juice. "Not a damn thing."

She could make it up to him, the stab in the side. He spent the day imagining how—no one had very much to do, of those that stayed to wait out the blizzard. The elf disappeared upstairs and reappeared some hours later with a human, who was so hung over he resembled a drowned rat. Hanzar had busied himself with his devices and was assembling another attempt at the mechanical squirrel when the human stumbled up to the bar and was brought a glass of water without even asking. Garoul spoke to him rapidly, patting his back and occasionally looking at Hanzar from the corner of her eye.

The whole inn was idle for most of the day; some went out for a few minutes, but came in after tromping in the two or three feet of snow blocking the door. How the bats made it out Hanzar couldn't even imagine, but what didn't concern him, he didn't ponder. He was glad for his overlarge chain mail pants when he even began contemplating what the night would bring.

By midday nearly everyone had retired, and those who didn't bother to go upstairs merely slept at the bar or the dozens of tables in the common room. His elf had disappeared, leaving her human friend to flirt and eventually retire as well, a human woman in tow. Banik had fallen asleep and was sitting on the floor against the wall.

One could see even through the fogged windows and falling snow that the sun had set. Hanzar got to his feet and stretched, wary of his healing wound, and headed up to the two halls above the common. Not knowing which room belonged to Garoul, the troll walked past each numbered door toward his own, where he considered waiting.

But sure enough, the elf's quick thinking surprised him again. Partially hidden and shoved under the loose gold numbers of the door only a few before his was his insignia. Removing it, he made sure he had his dagger—just in case, he never knew with this one—and opened the door.

There was one bed in the room, but it looked pleasant enough. Things were scattered all around—balls of thread, dyes, bags of salt, tall wood constructs with hides stretched over them, clothes both finished and unfinished, and a variety of weapons hanging from the far wall. It looked almost to be a permanent residence, as if she had taken up office in Booty Bay for the winter. She looked to be a professional leatherworker in the making; he thought perhaps she had taken over as a journeyman for an expert on vacation. Whatever the case was, he didn't see the one thing he was looking for: the night elf.

Approaching the bed, Hanzar finally saw her, curled at the top and so thin and small he hadn't noticed her at first. She was fast asleep and the way she was lying casually on top of the blankets, she had probably only faded out by accident while waiting for... him.

It was no problem of his that she was elvish, or even a member of the opposite faction; she was pretty and their ingrained hostilities for one another had faded enough—he excused his own personal vendetta—that he could see her as a sex object and not as an enemy.

What Hanzar hadn't expected was an elf to so brashly break through language barriers and racial ones, to disregard everything the troll had thought he knew about the night elves, and even instigate such an interaction. He sat down on the bed and when she didn't awake, he began to remove his large mail boots and equally massive, gold-rimmed gloves. Then, when he was more comfortable—he had exchanged his armored chest plate for a tunic and his mail pants for leather ones—he leaned forward and lightly brushed some of the short, unmanaged hair from her silvery cheeks. This seemed to stir Garoul into life, and she opened one bright, glowing eye.

Some part of him had almost been waiting, fearing, for her to jump in surprise and run away—or even be startled to see him there. Instead she sat up and focused her eyes on him, narrowing her brows and bringing one hand to his throat. The gesture was of touch, he knew immediately, when her expression turned to curiosity and determination.

Garoul had never been able to freely touch a living, breathing troll. When he did nothing but watch her, she sat up on her knees while he drew his own legs up onto the bed and crossed them. What she had imagined being a feverish encounter began almost like two close friends. She imagined they learned more from one another without the ability to communicate at all, than they would have could they speak and understand.

The elf drew her small, long-fingered hand up the taut muscles of his neck. While his build was lanky, the muscle in him ran deep and she guessed there probably wasn't an ounce of fat on him. Kneeling she was far shorter than him, so she traversed downward; her fingers wove down his collar bone over the fabric of his tunic, across his broad, swelled pectorals, and to the keen abdominals that poked out from the cloth. When she looked up at him he smiled a sly smile and grabbed the bottom of the shirt, pulling it up and over his head without even catching it on his tusks.

Garoul let a gasp escape at the pure joy she felt at the sight. She had repeated the entire conversation in the commons to Reich, when he managed to wake up, and he could only laugh and say, "All your dreams come true." How right he was. It was forbidden by her people; Hanzar was rough and untouched by reservations and conservative civilization; he was strange, exotic, and without any preconceptions. There were no limits, none of the boundaries Garoul had long come to despise.

Without hesitation she leaned forward, halfway climbing into his lap, and kissed the first patch of skin she saw. His scent was barbaric—it was the only word she could use to describe it. She could smell grass and sky, dirt and sweat. She heard him intake sharply when she kissed upward, across his collar the way she had come with her hand, to his sharp, square chin. She brought her hands up to examine the long white tusks, running them from the base to the surprisingly sharp tip. They had yellowed some from age but were polished and clean, and she saw his eyes widen when she very lightly kissed the end of one.

Suddenly she felt large hands on her, one clutching her side while the other grabbed her from behind, and she was pulled in for a heavy kiss. She gasped against him when she felt her hips meet his lower abdomen, for the height difference caused her to sit on his thighs in order to meet him face-to-face. She was absorbed by him, despite the slight, sloppy awkwardness of the kiss, and she eagerly wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer. Garoul felt his hands running up and down her back, and she felt the light tickle of his coarse hair brushing her forehead. Before she knew what was happening his hand was under her shirt, his callused fingers pressing against her bare skin, and she trembled against him. Quickly her patched red top was gone, joining his somewhere else on the bed, or perhaps the floor—she didn't know.

Never had a woman been able to compete with his sexual stamina, not to mention creativity. He had new respect for the beautiful, naked, flushing elf lying on the bed below him.

There was a moment of silence before Hanzar sat back and Garoul's legs fell to the bed. She sat up as well and they watched each other for a few awkward seconds before the elf decided to make herself useful. Throwing her legs over the side of the bed she moved to stand, but when she relied on her hips for support, her eyes flew wide and her knees buckled; luckily, Hanzar had managed to move fast enough and grabbed her around the waist, hefting her easily into his arms. He carried her rather roughly, but she admitted he tried.

He made his way into the bathroom and hastily set her down in the wood bath there. Water buckets sat on the oven and Hanzar was rather gratified to find they were still warm. Garoul propped herself on one end of the large bath, and looked down, rather shocked to see the dark red that still trickled down her thighs. In silence she saw him lift the buckets, putting two down and hefting the third in with him when he climbed in on the other side. Looking at her, he sighed and leaned down, offering his hand. The elf looked confused, so he pointed to the stains on her legs and said, "Stand, so I can wash you." She seemed to understand this and took the proffered hand, while the other secured her around the waist so she wouldn't topple again. Wetting a sponge Hanzar cleaned her, lifting her easily with one hand when he needed to clean between her legs. She was rather like a doll, he thought, with her light weight and smooth, silver-hued skin. When he had finished scrubbing her he took the bucket and merely dumped it over her head, taking Garoul completely by surprise.

"Why you-!" She moved to hit him, but when she did her soreness caught her and Hanzar had to clutch her against him to keep her from falling.

"Silly elf," he told her, pointing to the far end of the bath. "Sit over there." Somehow she obeyed, managing to sit without hurting herself. Hanzar brought the other two buckets over and sponged himself. He unbraided his hair and used one bucket to wash it, the other to rinse himself. When he was done, he left the bath, with Garoul still sitting inside, and hastily tied his long, blood-red hair back into a braid that fell part of the way down his back. The rest hung around his ears and eyes, wild and untrimmed. When the elf made no move to come out, he left into the bedroom.

Sitting on the bed, Hanzar sighed at the stains they had left there. At least he didn't have to clean it, he thought with some amusement, and pulled on his pants. He tied his boots and pulled on his jerkin, gathering some of her clothes as well and piling them on the corner of the bed. The troll wondered if this was worth the still healing wound in his side, and he moved his hand to cover it. He had mostly forgotten about it during the encounter, for so great had been the feeling of it that it completely absorbed all pain and distraction. He wouldn't kill her, he decided. He pushed his dagger into the pocket on his pants and buttoned it closed.

He was about to leave when he heard a thumping sound and a cry of pain. Curious, he walked back to the bathroom to find Garoul sitting up, seeming to have fallen when she tried to get out of the bath. She gripped the sink and when she saw him, she beckoned him with one hand. The troll approached warily, but when he was close enough she grabbed his waist with one hand, his arm with the other and stood high enough on her toes to kiss him. With that she managed to limp past him and back into the main room, where she collapsed on the bed. Hanzar followed her, watching the naked elf crawl onto the covers, despite the mess, and slide beneath them. He felt some pity for the creature—probably because she looked to have no pity for herself. In fact, when she closed her eyes and pulled the blankets up to her chin, she was smiling rather widely.

Strange thing, he thought, and rubbing her head lightly, he murmured, "See ya, girl," and left.