Sleeping with the Enemy

NOTE: Misspellings of certain words when Æiristus speaks "Common" is intentional to emphasize her accent. She has a drawl akin to Middle English but this world did not experience a "Middle English" period, so the default was to spell her words out as she speaks. (For those unfamiliar with Drow, they are dark elves that are evilly aligned and were "banished" from the surface world. Æiristus is drow, is not where she "belongs" because of a kidnapping/murder plot gone awry, and is working to get back to the underground--but that is only background and is not part of the story here. (This is an interlude from a bigger story.)

********************Story********************

Æiristus & Silwynn:

Sleeping With the Enemy

I know I am going to regret this

, she thought. "What?"

He was just staring.

"This!" Silwynn licked his lips, steeled himself and then took one arm and swung around to heft the drow warrior quickly over his shoulder, kicked his front door shut behind him, and bounded with the objecting female up the stairs. She was a whole lot lighter without her chain and leather armor and gear weighing her down, much more like a normal female now.

"Stop! No,

naut

thys way," Æiristus protested. Her long hair flung wildly into her face entangling the haft of her sword in the curled ends like a net. "Dammit," she swore as she struggled with loosening her hair from her weapon.

The elven rogue halted, one foot up on the next step ready to keep going, but did not let her down. Had she not been distracted by her hair being caught stopping would have been quite risky. Flaunting that risk, "You wanna do this or not?" he asked, surprising her with his bluntness and seemingly newfound strength to carry her.

"Wh— uh— yes," she stammered, this time startling herself with her answer. This was so undignified! A damn pale-skinned, TopSide sylvan carrying her around like a battlefield prize! And she agreeing to it no less!

"Then we do this

my

way," he told her, and continued up the stairs. Æiristus' squirming was giving Silwynn the chance to appreciate her flexed body over his shoulder. The soft roundness of her backside encased in silver silk next to his cheek, the scent of sweet amber as it came from her dress, her swinging legs as she struggled trying to get down. The smooth feel of her well-muscled legs through the silk dress was so much nicer under the palm of his hand than when she was using them for kicking the crap out of him. This was the first time the warrior woman ever dolled herself up like a

real

female for anyone, let alone for him!

"Your way?" she protested, still distracted. Never wear long hair loose! Never! For a warrior, it was just

bad

.

"My way. Your way hasn't got us anywhere but frustrated for almost three years now. I'm tired of being frustrated."

"Us?

I

was fine!"

"Liar," he swatted her hard on the ass making her yelp. "If you were fine you'da never agreed to our little contests."

"Dammit, Silwynn," she smacked uselessly at his back--all leverage absolutely gone. "YOU'RE AN ASS!"

"Yeah, you keep tellin' me that. But

I

won," the elf grinned as he flopped her down on the bed beneath him and looked into her smoldering green eyes. He no longer really saw the scar that divided her dark face and had almost claimed her left eye; it was a part of her, a part of her fiery personality.

"I correct myself," Æiristus said. His smile for some reason did not vex her this time. "You are a

smug

ass! You are a poor winner. You are doing thys just to annoy me."

"Not as much as this is goin' to annoy you," he replied. And then suddenly—and surprisingly forcefully—repositioned her. And, before she knew it, Silwynn had struck a nerve point in her wrist knocking her sword from her hand. Her sword clashed to the floor and she had one wrist tied to a bedpost wrapped tightly in a leather thong.

"Oh shi—! What are you doing?" she cried as she struggled against the bond and his attempts to seize her other hand. "Damn you, Silwynn!" In seconds her free hand was strapped tight to the other post. Damn he was fast! She glared burning crimson eyes at her captor. "Thys was

naut

part of the bargain!"

Silwynn sat atop Æiristus' hips, straddling her. "I'm gonna have to remember that one," he said of the nerve point and getting an angry glare in return. "Now, how to get your feet taken care of without you kickin' the shit outta me." He brushed wild, dark blonde locks from his eyes and caught his breath.

"You better thinke of summething fast, elf. I may kick the shit out of you anyway!" She squirmed her hips hard and lashed out with her legs nearly bucking him off. Thoughts of seeing him as the enemy and not as her impending lover were coming back in force.

"Too late, darlin', you're all mine now," Silwynn chuckled from above. He knew she wasn't playing. Her fury was very real. Even with his winning and her honorably acquiescing (or not), her humor was dark and unpredictable. If she could get free she would hurt him badly, maybe even kill him, regardless of the accidental elven

bonding

getting in the way that now connected their souls. He knew this—probably. Maybe. She could be that strong. But for now, she lay here trapped by her own game, and it was his triumph. She was his conquest.

"You have to lette me uppe summetime," the dark-elf snarled, baring her teeth at him.

"A consequence I'll deal with when the time comes," he flaunted with a smile. Damn, her fury was something. "Now then," a blade flashed from a concealed compartment hidden beneath the elf's shirt at his wrist. He leaned forward and pressed the blade against the drow woman's volcanic-glass black skin at her cheek. Unruly, dark-blonde waves fell forward brushing against his cheek. Confidence, he knew; nothing less for this dark, unforgiving one. He looked gravely into her eyes. It was not an expression he was used to, most women actually liked him, but with Æiristus being a drow taking on a convincing ruse was interesting. Hopefully, after the luck of knocking her sword from her hand—and after knocking her senseless the night before to win their fight to get her here—she would respect the threat. "Lie still," he told her. "I don't want to cut that beautiful dress of yours—or anything else."

Æiristus settled back and watched as the elf stayed close in to her body, dragging the small blade along her flesh and silk making sure she remained still. Her eyes flared danger and her breathing reflected her contained rage. One leg moved outward with the elf's hands and her jaw tightened with her grinding teeth as Silwynn tied the leather thong around her ankle. She growled lowly, feeling pressure of the knife as the elf reached carefully for her free leg and moved to secure it to the opposite post.

"You probably did

naut

have to do thys," she said.

"Most definitely I did. Leaving you to your own devices is a mistake with you," he replied. "I've lost track of how many bruises and broken bones you've gifted me just to get you here."

"Regis said I was

naut

allowed to kille you," she shrugged.

Silwynn snickered and shook his head. He climbed back onto the bed and carefully scooted her dress closer to her body so as not to tear the delicate silk material, then straddled her and looked down at her. "You're such a liar. It's more than that. Just admit it."

Æiristus pursed her lips to the side in thought doing her best to appear unconcerned with the elf's advances on her. She felt the elf's interest in her through his leather pants where he sat perched on her pelvic bone. Her eyes cooled from red back to green in better humor. "No, no. Regis really did telle me

naut

to kille you. Or Gelven, or Dunkin, or—"

"I get it, killer."

"You were the hardest one

naut

to want to kille."

"Thanks." He adjusted his seating arrangement on her and watched.

"Next to..." Æiristus struggled with a tingling low in her abdomen, and lower. Her heart fluttered, rushing heat through her chest, to her head. Her eyes closed and she trembled almost violently down toward the source of her personal resistance. Her hands flexed of their own around their bonds. "...Gelven."

"That makes me feel better," Silwynn smiled at his play on words, and on her. He knew he put pressure on a feminine bud he couldn't yet see but knew would be there and would be useful on cooling her rage. "I'm only second on your hit list."

"Sounds like ... you are frightening yourself out of thys," she managed. "Or, am I

naut

... the one tied down here?" The more she twisted against Silwynn's pressure the more sensitive to pleasure she became.

Silwynn watched his handiwork smiling at her, appreciating this new visage she presented. Her face softened with her inability to concentrate on her ire. She came to him tonight with her hair loose, freed from its severe plait she usually wore. It fell behind her in thick waves of subdued silver-white in the dim light. It flowed softly past her dark shoulders, along her back, almost to her thighs—on the bed as it spilled in aimless directions behind her. Her normally blood-red lips shone up at him with the moisture of morning rain. Her large green eyes were huge with the paint of silver-blue that matched her chemise.

Where she lay, fine black lace flowered out, a little bit disarrayed, from beneath the bosom of a dress that was near

painted

on her. The dress shimmered in silver along feminine curves and hollows as she breathed and squirmed. It flowed into a patch of royal, sapphire blue that Vee'd from her shoulders down to below her navel. The long skirt was slit from toe almost to crotch revealing her obsidian-dark legs and the slip of the blue chemise beneath it nicely. Thin silver bracelets circled delicately around her night-black wrists bound up at the wooden bedposts. Tonight the drow warrior went to extraordinary lengths with her appearance to look like a woman for her part in their contest. She was an exotic victim of black-and-white and silver-and-blue.

Silwynn crawled forward, careful of her gown where it flowed out on the bed. "Now my bold demoness, my reward for your capture," he bent to her take her mouth to his, expecting her to bite him. Complaisance was not a trait in her nature, but something had to give. She was an arena celebrity; she knew wins and losses. Just because he was elven, was his touch really so bad a loss? He moved his hand to a silk covered, dark breast that for the longest time he'd only dreamed of caressing.

He knew he could make this work. This was Æiristus. This meant this was no less of a challenge than anything else between them. She lived for challenges. He felt her soul in the darkness when she near died and

he

pulled her back. He still felt it. Would feel it for the rest of his life. He fought to have her for so long. And tonight

she

dressed up for him—that wasn't part of their bargain either. She came to him. She recognized the

bond

just as he did; he knew she did. He saw it in her eyes—

bonds

were never one-sided. It was more than for honoring the bargain that she was here. She was a part of him. He could make her feel that connection again.

Æiristus watched Silwynn writhe out of his shirt and cast it aside. His chest was not as powerfully built as a life-long trained warrior's, but his was lithe and—though sheathed in the pale-hued skin of a son of the blood enemy—was strongly enough built such that it made her breath catch in her throat and a tingle start low in her body. He was lean and nimble, but not thin. His arms and shoulders had noticeable definition—enough that she wouldn't mind it for him to run around shirtless more often (not that she would tell him so). His dark-blonde hair was a tumble of energy, too busy to stay well-groomed, that fell to his shoulders and glistened just-gold from the gas-lamp's lights outside.

When the elf turned back to her a determination sparked in his blue eyes; something was going on in his head that made her wonder. He moved in closer against her. She felt his thigh against hers, one against her laying on the bed and the other just atop her leg, sandwiching it, then the hardness between against her. Her breath caught. She felt every move, every heat and every pressure where he touched her. He began searching for laces, and finding them he pulled them loose, freeing her of her silver dress. Gently, he pulled the dress and tucked it under her shoulders. He couldn't free her of it entirely as that would have meant freeing her hands from the bedposts, but where he tucked it, it was least likely to get damaged. All the time he worked she felt the warm firmness of his chest pressed against her as he moved. He made her feel it expand and relax against her as he breathed. So close. She closed her eyes. Almost on top of her. His thighs tightened and flexed around hers as he worked, making sure she stayed fully aware of his interest in her.

She shuddered.

He kept a smile to himself.

Æiristus lay next to the elf in only the short sapphire chemise with its black lace and the silver slippers that matched the dress. She shivered in spite of the heat that built up in her flushing her face and shoulders and abdomen. Nervous energy made her pull at the thongs holding her wrists and ankles at the bedposts. She wasn't comfortable with this kind of energy. It usually made her lash out and kill out of instinct.

The elf took her face in one hand and pulled her to him and gently teased her lips with his. He tasted real honey upon them and fought the urge to not fully kiss her. He held, just at the edge of her lips, then stroked her cheek and jaw, down along her throat, teasing her until she relaxed and began reaching back.

Æiristus looked up into a pair of blue eyes that always startled her a little to look into them.

"What is it?" he asked trailing light kisses along the side of her face that made her shiver and squirm. "Tell me," he whispered into her long tapered ear and kissed his way back to her honeyed lips.

Her lips parted and her snowy brows came together and she near whimpered with the heat that raced through her at such care. She had wanted this but hadn't known what it was that she wanted for so long. Her sense of their accidental elven

bonding

was never more powerful than it was now. Drow were not supposed to be able to

bond

—especially not with the enemy—the goddess (supposedly) removed such a weakening, self-destructive trait from the race generations ago. Such was unheard of.

Æiristus' eyes flared, wolfish, red then back to dark green. She swallowed nervously. Her throat was dry. The fluids of her body raced to make her damp elsewhere. Why? He made her shiver. He made her want him. She had to have his touch. But he was the enemy! None of it made any damn sense.

"I need you," she whispered into his kisses, urging closer.

Silwynn closed his eyes at her words. Those words sent molten fire through him. He pulled her in close feeling her breath leave her momentarily. His tongue coaxed hers to play. The edges of her teeth grazed his mouth gently in nips of the promise of aggressiveness lest he forget whom he held. He smoothed his hands along the warm silken feminine curves of her body that, until now, the dark elfin forbade anyone to touch. She was firm muscle and fine, smooth skin. He pushed the silk of the chemise aside to expose a dark breast and kneaded the firm mound enjoying the soft skin and firm flesh. And, for the first time without getting his ass kicked for it, he gently rolled the bead of her dark red-pink nipple in his fingertips making the drow's breath quiver into his kiss. He failed to realize his own breath trembling. Her kiss was honey, her scent was amber. She was warm, and welcoming and wanted him!

Æiristus gasped as she heard the soft

snap

of a blade locking into position. She opened her eyes just as quickly.

Silwynn deftly pushed himself up and straddled her again, this time over one thigh. He held his wrist blade ready for use.

"I thought you were done wyth that," she near panted. "What are you planning on doing wyth it now?"

"Relax," the elf insisted. "After all this time, you think I'd hurt you?"

There's a bit of irony

, he thought. "We just have something in the way," he told her and began cutting through the chemise's silk straps. He bent and touched his lips to the skin beneath.

Æiristus shuddered at his touch. Her fists clenched and unclenched tightly around the thongs that held her. She tossed her head the opposite direction Silwynn cut. The second strap met with the same fate as the first and her head snapped around to face away. Again she felt his lips tender against her flesh.

The elf moved back enough to slice the chemise from the crotch up. As the shimmering sapphire blue material fell away, glossy onyx skin, stretched taught over a well-muscled torso scratched with a few scars from her life's trade, shone up at him. He had seen her nude on a number of occasions as she was not prone to modesty, but this time he memorized each and every dark curve his hand was finally allowed to touch. Her skin was so soft and warm over her firm body.

Æiristus' breath quivered, especially when the cold steel of the knife touched her skin. All these decades of too many swords to count and now one tiny blade held by a single elf made her tremble? The very idea was absurd, yet it was there. It was very real. Not knowing what to expect. Vulnerability and fear were long-time lovers and they played too easily now on her mind and body.

"Silwynn," she whispered ready to plead with the elf to get rid of the knife.

Silwynn unbuckled the wrist blades and moved his kisses to her throat as he set the knife aside on the nightstand. He moved up her throat, over her chin, and along her cheek. "Yes?" he hissed, nibbling along her jaw. The natural aroma of her body as she warmed to his caresses drove him wild, it was hard to concentrate. He couldn't remember other elven females with a scent like hers, one that was almost overpowering. It was so hard not to let go and simply take her. By the gods, how he just wanted to dive in and be a part of this woman. To again find that soul he once met in the darkness...

"I—" Her thought was lost as a wave of convulsions speared through her at the elf's touch, low along her abdomen, deep, passed her hips. His long, gentle fingers caressed a trail of flame like a lava flow from home. He pressed along the lines of her muscles, following them down. He followed them until she felt his hand toying where her inner thigh met with her inner groin, almost touching the bared flesh of what made her female. Two fingers brushed lightly the pillow of one outer lip and the touch was gone, teasing her.

"Ah—ah!" she arched, growling, reaching for the lost touch. Dark instincts began filtering their way to the surface of her emotions. Emotions and instincts that startled her, not unfamiliar emotions but ones that she would have expected to experience more in the arena than with a lover.

She heard the elf fumbling with something and then his weight was completely gone from her side. Æiristus opened her eyes and looked to where she heard the elf moving around. It occurred to her that this was the first time she could remember seeing him with no clothes on. She blinked. She couldn't remember a time when she ever actually

saw

a man's "interest" in her, regardless of his race. Felt it against her a few times before belting the crap out of him, yes.

Silwynn saw the expression on her face and sat down beside her. "I hope you're not disappointed," he said. "I have no idea what the competition from your homeland is like."

"You are

naut

alone," she whispered.