Blood Poison: part 3
How she does it:
Anders sat in the corner of the room at a table, and along came Irving’s star apprentice, five minutes early. She smiled at him in a laughing way that made her whole face light up, her whole body, and he sighed quietly through his nose while smiling back.
“Please at least try today?” he said. “Just a little? Just for me? Come on, you’re doing horrors for my reputation.” Someone had decided that she needed to be tutored in a healing spell, something that he rather had a knack for. She, on the other hand, was very gifted at anything that made explosions, fires, or holes in things. He hadn’t told her his history, but he’d been recaptured for the second time over six months ago and it was a mark of the Circle’s growing forgiveness that he’d been allowed to tutor an apprentice at all.
Her smile grew wider as she chose a chair right beside him, rather than one across the way. “I’ll try. Just for you,” she answered, and though he knew she wasn’t quite close enough for it to be so, he imagined that he felt the heat of her body along his thigh.
He looked down at her face as if trying to see if she was serious, but really, he was just looking at her. She wasn’t hideous or anything, but it was her constant laughter and the way she seemed to look at him as if he was the most interesting thing in the world that made her so lovely. He’d seen that she had the same effect on nearly everyone, but he was mostly certain that she honestly was eager for him.
“Here,” she said briskly. She gripped her chair and scooted it closer until her small thigh really was resting right along his larger one, as if this position were somehow necessary for learning. She reached for a nearby pen and jabbed the nib into her finger.
Palm up, she rested her hand on the table and studied the bead of blood. “I’m going to heal this.”
“You are, yes. Knit things together. Magic isn’t just tearing them apart.” His voice was jovial, but he felt the knots grow in his stomach from excitement. He felt as if he were fourteen all over again and breathless.
“Yes. It isn’t,” she agreed. They both stared at her blood. He felt a very small surge of magic from her and imagined that perhaps the bleeding had slowed a little, just before she settled her other hand on his robes directly over his erection.
They spent a moment in contemplative silence together, still looking at her little wound. “That doesn’t help you learn, you know,” he drawled out, his voice gone throaty.
“Not true,” she answered, and with a glance he observed that the little flirt was starting to blush, despite how impish her voice was. “It helps me concentrate.”
“You are a liar,” he accused, and then gave up. “Oh, I don’t even care.” He cast the spell to heal her finger before dipping his head to nip at the side of her throat. She shivered. He pulled her under the table with its blessedly long tablecloth (the reason why he tutored her in this room). It was his turn to shudder a moment later as her fingers clutched fistfuls of his shaggy, growing-out hair and her warm mouth closed over his earring, teeth touching his skin.
Some time later she was perched atop him under the table, both of them just starting to breathe normally once more. Her fingers scratched gently down his damp chest and she watched his face, looking for all the world like a cat full of cream. Her many pigtails were askew and he studied how her hair turned auburn where it was wet. She was his first elf and, despite how they’d been intimate twice before, he still felt a bit of relief that he hadn’t hurt her. She looked so small.
“I’m so very, utterly, ecstatically glad that you don’t want to learn healing,” Anders said with a smirk.
Her own smile faded a little. “I’ll be leashed my whole life. I don’t want to bark exactly like how they tell me to.” Her voice was low and bitter; this was a side of her that Anders hoped Irving didn’t see in his apprentice.
Anders ran his hands slowly down her thighs, his mind full of things that he would not say to her. He reached up and squeezed her bottom and said cheerfully instead, “Come on, let’s get dressed before they catch us. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow and fail to teach you again, my dear lady!”
That night there was a slip-up in the guard that gave Anders the opening he was looking for. He was gone.
How he does it:
Taliesen’s black fog of sleep was slowly being pierced, and this was unwelcome-he felt the beginnings of a small hangover to come with wakefulness. A hand was stroking over his hip and a mouth was moving over the stubble at his chin. He cracked one eye just enough to see blonde hair above him and he groaned. “Zev, go away.”
“You do not mean this, my handsome friend,” murmured the elf as fingers moved to stroke circles over the inside of Taliesen’s thigh. Taliesen felt himself responding and tried to push Zevran away, whose hand slipped up to stroke loosely, encouraging the response. “I have a very interesting story which I think you will be delighted to hear.”
Zevran’s fingers moved yet again, going between Taliesen’s thighs, and he continued talking before his friend responded. “It is the funniest thing. I am on this job, you see,” Taliesen recalled through the diminishing fog of sleep that Zevran has been gone for five days now, “and I have the perfect place to kill the woman, but she is the most terribly suspicious person, for every door seems to have five locks. This last door has a lock that-“
“No, no, NO,” Taliesen groans, his eyes pinching shut. “It’s your job. I didn’t go with you this time. You figure out the damned-“ and he stops, back arching, as two of Zevran’s fingers slip into his body and then bend at just such an angle.
Zevran’s teeth close over Taliesen’s earlobe while he massages that place inside of his friend’s body. Taliesen’s muscles strain and sweat pricks all over his skin. Zevran’s mouth moves slowly down, the rough back of his tongue laving a nipple, his teeth now on Taliesen’s abdomen.
And then he stops, delicately kissing Taliesen’s navel, his fingers halting their movement and only just shifting a little now and then. Taliesen squirms. “Zev!” He says. “Zev!”
“Yes, my friend?” Zevran’s voice is low and damn him, Taliesen can feel his smile.
“Fine, fine, dammit! I’ll go look at the locks!” Zevran’s fingers crook again insistently and he swallows Taliesen’s whole length, squeezing the head in his throat, Maker but he was so good at this. Taliesen climaxes at once directly into Zevran’s throat.
Taliesen is heaving for breaths a few moments later. He swallows once and says. “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”
Zevran clucks his tongue as he lays his head on his friend’s shoulder. “Come my friend, such hurtful insults. I am only a very probable bastard, not a real one.” And he smiles.