As he crept through hallways that were familiar and strange all at once, Alan couldn't shake the sense of foreboding which had his heart racing. There was no explaining it, he hadn't felt like this since creeping into that dragon's lair so long ago. He couldn't remember what had transpired when they broke into the guild house, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. He knew she was in the room before him. He was certain of it.
Alan's footsteps were dead silent as he eased his lean form up toward the ornate oaken door. The pounding of his heart nearly drowned out the sounds he so dreaded to hear, but not quite. No, there was just enough getting through the muffled door and his racing pulse to torment him. The rhythmic creak of a bed shifting under the movements of those upon it, the slick slap of flesh against flesh, but perhaps worst of all was something he was all too familiar with. Soft and beautiful, there were those sounds Elizabeth made when she was truly enjoying herself. Whimpered moans, wanting little cries, gasps at a particularly solid thrust, but none sounded forced. None sounded frightened.
His hand darted forth to try the handle, but it was no use. An ominously solid lock kept the door tight. Sweat beaded on the old thief's brow as he gazed down at the yawning keyhole, but then he shook his head as if to clear it. Since when had a lock of any sort proved a barrier to him for very long at all? His toolkit was soon unrolled upon the ground, and he fell easily to one knee. Gathering a few picks from the loops of the leather wrapping, he turned to the lock. Alan froze at what he saw there.
The already overlarge keyhole yawned wider, as if inviting his gaze to linger on the scene framed within its darkness. Beyond the door, within the room, a glimpse of his wife was visible. She rode astride a form he couldn't see, save for a man's hands resting above the swells of her hips. Her flat belly undulated as she rolled her hips, rising and falling with a quick rhythm. Her long blonde hair lay in unkempt tangles down her slender back, bouncing and swaying with every rock of her hips. That pale, pristine flesh glistened with perspiration, lamplight within the room reflected off of her form from every angle. And yet he couldn't see her face no matter how he tried to angle his view through the keyhole.
It was surreal to watch. She definitely didn't seem forced. Then, as if she sensed his gaze, Elizabeth half turned, still straddling the man beneath her. Those firm, pert breasts of hers were thrust up by the arch of her back, and she lifted delicate hands to stroke over their swells, teasing long nails over the peaks of her nipples. Her wedding ring glittered in the light on one hand, the only decoration she wore. Those hands slipped down further, caressing over her own body, over the flat of her belly, and then further. One hand moved to grasp one wrist of the man she rode, and as her bucking rhythm gradually sped, she guided his hand up along her body, toward one breast. Her other slipped down between her slick thighs, disappearing from Alan's view.
"Oh! Mmh, Harder, oh yes!" Her clear, ecstatic voice snapped Alan out of his reverie. Her cries were punctuated by heaving breaths and soft gasps, and provided a distracting refrain as he set to work.
The lock yielded but slowly. It was torturous, having to hear her quite clearly willing cries, having to watch what glimpses were offered as he worked the lock. Such a device should have been done in seconds, but it seemed fiendishly resistant. At the same time the lock defied his attempts to pick it, it seemed to offer a clearer view around his tools at the scene within. The way her hair clung to her sweat slicked body, the way her breasts heaved and bounced with the increasing fervor with which the man beneath her thrust into every motion. The way her tiny hand covered the other man's larger one, and guided it up to grip one breast. Her nipples jutted forth, hard and peaked, her back arched further to offer herself to the man's grasp.
With a satisfying clunk, the lock came loose. The door swung open into the lush room beyond just in time for Alan to see his wife's head cast back. Her eyes were shut, her lush lips parted in a sharp cry. He rose to his feet as Elizabeth's body quaked with release. That sight previously reserved for him alone was now the shared experience of himself, the man on the bed, and another dark haired fellow who approached her from the opposite side of the bed. As she began to go limp, the new man wrapped his arms about her, keeping her lovely form upright.
"Lizzy!" Alan couldn't hide the despair in his voice. He stepped into the room, hands trembling with rage. "What have they done to you?"
"What do you mean, what have they done to me? What does it look like?" Her voice was teasing with laughter, and bore a cruel edge to it. "What, you think I didn't know? I saw you, Alan. I saw you playing with your little girl friends while I was here suffering. They showed me, and you know what?" Her arms lifted to circle the neck of the man behind her, while her hips continued to gently twitch against the one still buried in her body. "I decided I didn't have to suffer."
Alan grew pale at her words. "What? No, no Lizzy, it wasn't like that." But what was it like? His brow furrowed as tears threatened. When the old rogue saw the dark haired man kiss his wife's neck, he reached for his sword, only to find the scabbard empty. His eyes widened and he stared down at where the missing weapon should be, only to have his attention brought back up to his wife's laughter.
"Oh Alan, Alan. I know what I saw. But it's alright. Just keep playing with your toy girls and take your time rescuing me. I'll just be right here, having fun."
The words were in her voice, true, but he could never remember the cruelty and malice he heard in her words. Even when she was at her angriest, it was never like this. And yet when Elizabeth leaned up to capture the lips of the man behind her with her own, Alan clenched his fists and tried to step forward. Tried, because a soft, velvet gloved hand gripped his shoulder with all of the force of an armorer's vice. It pulled him back, even as Elizabeth began to move again.
She deepened the kiss, arched to wandering hands, and once more her hips began to rock, purposefully, insatiably. A low, wanton moan rose from her chest, and then the door slammed shut before him again. Confused, Alan stared at the wood, and then a voice, grating but vaguely familiar sounded from behind him.
"Tell me, Alan, what does it feel like to watch the one you love with another?"
The old rogue was bereft of his usual calm exterior. Torn with heartbreak and rage, he whirled upon the one behind him, only to stare in shock. Those lush red curls and burning blue eyes he'd recognize anywhere, even after so many years gone to dust. She was pretty enough, but not the devastating beauty of Daphne, nor the sweet nobility of his wife. Black robes draped over smooth, freckled skin and a lean figure. That velvet gloved hand remained at his shoulder, but in her other hand she clutched the Nightmare Orb, a glistening black sphere of polished obsidian mounted on a twisted, silver claw shaped handle. It was thought destroyed years ago, but then again, so was the woman who held it now.
"Miena... but, how...?"
"Answer my question, Alan," There was no amusement in her tone, her voice demanded his answer as surely as those glistening, black painted lips did. They seemed to draw his attention from her face, from the rest of the scene about him, until he felt he could fall right into their wet, welcoming warmth. "How does it feel to watch the one you love with another?"
Alan's brows furrowed, his heart raced and pounded until it felt as if it would burst from his chest. "How... How do you think it feels? Why don't you help her? How do you even know her? You died before I even met her!"
"I don't know, Alan." There was laughter in his old companion's voice this time. "Why don't you tell me? It's your dream after all."
"Dream? But I--"
He started awake in a dark room, drenched in sweat. His heart still pounded, and he felt as if he'd fallen down a flight of stairs. Alan cast his gaze about the room, staring into the dark. There was the outline of the bed, the simple desk, a few thin cracks of light shone through the shuttered windows. It was his room at the Reaver's Rest.
For a long while the old rogue sat in the darkness, trying to make sense of his thoughts. It was only the gentle knock at his door that eventually roused him from his brooding.
