[Original] Greenwood
Sep. 11th, 2011 08:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeTitle: Greenwood
Source: Long Road
Genre: Fantasy/Erotic
Characters:
Word Count: 1,624
Summary: What a Sidhe lord wants, he usually gets. Even from another Sidhe.
A/N: Written for the![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo prompt "Authority Figures"
She didn't know who he was at first. After they had danced together twice that evening her brother made discreet inquiries and learned that he was Lord Fergus of the Greenwood, a minor lordling of ancient years but no great weath or reputation. It made her less intimidated by him, so that the second time they met and he asked her to dance she took him up on it, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze with almost impudent ferocity.
They had several conversations in whispers in darkened corners and between pillars, not quite behind curtains but it had the feel of secrecy. Doubly so after her brother asked her not to see him and it only strengthened her resolve to meet with him anyway.
And there was no reason not to, was there? He was well-spoken and kind, treated her gently enough and introduced her to his hounds, his estate. His meager staff which consisted of a couple of pixies and himself; yes, he could have brought others into his household but he preferred to remain alone. He had one friend who stopped by now and again, an unofficial exile of the court, but he stayed on the sidelines and preferred not to seek power when the risks to him gaining it were great and his chances were so small.
"We are in much the same position, then, you and I," she told him pertly one afternoon, as they sat together in the garden. "My brother and I were left with a modest estate after the death of our father, but our standing in court is much diminished."
"And your mother remains in court but unable to affect its moods," he nodded. "I remember her. She was well-spoken."
Sile tilted her head at him, sensing that there was more to that story than he was telling. But there was no getting it out of him now, not when he turned his attention so firmly from the conversation to the food they shared.
And share they did. He took food from her fingertips with delicate teeth catching at the skin, then turning it into a means to kiss his way up the inside of her wrist from the inside of her palm. She should have objected. There were any number of reasons why this was inappropriate, why this was poor conduct and exactly the reason why young maidens in the court did not dine alone at the homes of much older lords unsupervised, but the adventure of it kept her rooted in her seat and blushing.
"And you?" he asked, drawing her into his lap without so much as a murmur of protest. "What are your ambitions?"
"I have no ambitions." It came tumbling out of her lips before she could think much about what it meant, even if it was true. She didn't know enough about the court to have much in the way of ambitions, except that what she did know all pointed to the court being a terrifying place better suited to those more skilled. "I just... I like to be comfortable. I like to survive." Her thoughts were scattered. His fingers were tracing across her stomach.
"I like to be comfortable, myself," he murmured against the side of her neck. "I like to be left in peace, to hunt with my hounds and raise my animals and do as I please, little more and no less than this. Do you have an objection?"
She didn't. Even if she did, she couldn't formulate one, not with him leaning them back against the lounging chair as he was. His fingers crawling up the inside of her leg, now, moving the fabric of her skirts out of the way as easily as moving grapes from a plate to get to the particular ones he wanted. She knew what he wanted, of course, she wasn't that young or that naive. And maybe a part of her had known it was a possibility all along, even likely, but there was a difference between knowing it was possible and having him peel away the layers of her skirts and open her dress like the wrappings on a present.
"My lord..." because he was a Lord, and because it was more respectful if she had an objection, and because it seemed correct and she couldn't think when he touched her like this. Her body rose to his hand without her intention. "Why are..."
His fingers stopped just under her breast. "Why am I...?" he frowned. She didn't like that frown on his face, too angry, too wrinkled brow and she reached up to smooth it. His fingers continued, and her objections were forgotten. It felt good, didn't it? What was so wrong or harmful about this?
Nothing, really. There were no taboos in their world for two adults to do as they pleased, as long as it affected no one else. This was her choice, not her brother's, not her mother's, it was her choice to turn her body to Lord Fergus' and open his trousers to see what was inside. He sprang loose with a groan above her head, his shaft hot and swollen already.
What did she do now? Her breasts felt swollen, her nipples taut and pointed and he touched her, but slowly, too slowly for what she wanted. She wanted to feel everything now. Her body felt strange between her legs and in her breasts and the way he looked at her, standing above her astride the chair. She didn't know when he'd risen to his feet.
Her fingertips brushed over his tip, came away sticky and damp. Trailing a bead of clear fluid that drew a string from his tip to her fingertips. She put her fingertips in her mouth and sucked, glancing up at him to see how he reacted. The taste was strange but not unpleasant, not entirely, and his fingers slid through her hair and cupped the back of her head, pressing her head forward. She had to sit up for this.
"Put your mouth on it, then," he murmured, and she opened her lips just before her face descended on his crotch. "Take it..." And something else she didn't hear. Her throat worked around the urge to choke on him, how thick he was, big, for someone as lean and narrow-hipped as he was. And hot. It was so hot in her mouth, hot from his shaft and her mouth and before she knew what she was doing he was pumping in and out of her mouth. All she could do was keep her teeth away and press her lips on him like sucking on a sweet. "Yes..." he breathed. "Yes, that's it."
She didn't dare tell him she had never done this before. He woudl stop, he would laugh at her, he would turn her out of the house in shame. She had heard of the cruelty of Lords in general, although he didn't seem to be one of those. But he could. She was only a daughter of a minor house, and whatever his station might be in the present he had earned the title and respect and lands and power. Especially the power.
And it felt good, she reminded herself. What he was doing felt good, as he pulled his shaft out of her mouth and turned his mouth to her body, nibbling his way all over her as though he could eat her up. Teeth on her nipples, on her breasts, over her belly and down between her legs, biting the inside of her thigh until she screamed with pain or ecstasy, she didn't know. There were sensations. His tongue between her legs. Ancient and skilled, she realized, centuries to perfect this skill and his fingers pried her open and made way for his tongue to thrust in and out of her. Her hips lifted in response, begging for something she didn't know she craved.
Something it seemed he knew how to give, at least. He dragged her hips down to the edge of the chair and dropped to his knees, spreading her thighs roughly with his large hands and long fingers. And when he thrust inside her it seemed she might break after all, screaming. There was something inside her that burned and stretched, that felt unpleasant and unwise, as though he was pushing in and making room where there was no room for him. If her screams unsettled him, though, he didn't show it. He kept on thrusting, hard and fast, until the pain ebbed and her body stretched to accommodate the length and breadth of him.
And then it felt good. Sharply, it felt powerfully good, her body writhing on the chair in a way it hadn't done before, the top of her head pressing into the cushions. The feeling spread between her legs where he was touching her now with his fingers as well, up her core and into her throat where she screamed and screamed again, gasping, arching. If it was pleasure or pain she couldn't tell, couldn't differentiate, not until it passed and he sank back on his heels, flopping out of her like a fish and leaving her feeling gaping empty. Whimpering to be filled again.
"Did you like that?" For a second he sounded uncertain. His fingers trailed through the wetness along her thighs, she hadn't noticed it until he touched her there. Her body jerked, still sensitive. "I see that you did."
"Yes..." she gasped. "Yes yes yes..." her words escaped her. Except that one. And one more, maybe. "Again. Again, please."
Source: Long Road
Genre: Fantasy/Erotic
Characters:
Word Count: 1,624
Summary: What a Sidhe lord wants, he usually gets. Even from another Sidhe.
A/N: Written for the
kink_bingo prompt "Authority Figures"She didn't know who he was at first. After they had danced together twice that evening her brother made discreet inquiries and learned that he was Lord Fergus of the Greenwood, a minor lordling of ancient years but no great weath or reputation. It made her less intimidated by him, so that the second time they met and he asked her to dance she took him up on it, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze with almost impudent ferocity.
They had several conversations in whispers in darkened corners and between pillars, not quite behind curtains but it had the feel of secrecy. Doubly so after her brother asked her not to see him and it only strengthened her resolve to meet with him anyway.
And there was no reason not to, was there? He was well-spoken and kind, treated her gently enough and introduced her to his hounds, his estate. His meager staff which consisted of a couple of pixies and himself; yes, he could have brought others into his household but he preferred to remain alone. He had one friend who stopped by now and again, an unofficial exile of the court, but he stayed on the sidelines and preferred not to seek power when the risks to him gaining it were great and his chances were so small.
"We are in much the same position, then, you and I," she told him pertly one afternoon, as they sat together in the garden. "My brother and I were left with a modest estate after the death of our father, but our standing in court is much diminished."
"And your mother remains in court but unable to affect its moods," he nodded. "I remember her. She was well-spoken."
Sile tilted her head at him, sensing that there was more to that story than he was telling. But there was no getting it out of him now, not when he turned his attention so firmly from the conversation to the food they shared.
And share they did. He took food from her fingertips with delicate teeth catching at the skin, then turning it into a means to kiss his way up the inside of her wrist from the inside of her palm. She should have objected. There were any number of reasons why this was inappropriate, why this was poor conduct and exactly the reason why young maidens in the court did not dine alone at the homes of much older lords unsupervised, but the adventure of it kept her rooted in her seat and blushing.
"And you?" he asked, drawing her into his lap without so much as a murmur of protest. "What are your ambitions?"
"I have no ambitions." It came tumbling out of her lips before she could think much about what it meant, even if it was true. She didn't know enough about the court to have much in the way of ambitions, except that what she did know all pointed to the court being a terrifying place better suited to those more skilled. "I just... I like to be comfortable. I like to survive." Her thoughts were scattered. His fingers were tracing across her stomach.
"I like to be comfortable, myself," he murmured against the side of her neck. "I like to be left in peace, to hunt with my hounds and raise my animals and do as I please, little more and no less than this. Do you have an objection?"
She didn't. Even if she did, she couldn't formulate one, not with him leaning them back against the lounging chair as he was. His fingers crawling up the inside of her leg, now, moving the fabric of her skirts out of the way as easily as moving grapes from a plate to get to the particular ones he wanted. She knew what he wanted, of course, she wasn't that young or that naive. And maybe a part of her had known it was a possibility all along, even likely, but there was a difference between knowing it was possible and having him peel away the layers of her skirts and open her dress like the wrappings on a present.
"My lord..." because he was a Lord, and because it was more respectful if she had an objection, and because it seemed correct and she couldn't think when he touched her like this. Her body rose to his hand without her intention. "Why are..."
His fingers stopped just under her breast. "Why am I...?" he frowned. She didn't like that frown on his face, too angry, too wrinkled brow and she reached up to smooth it. His fingers continued, and her objections were forgotten. It felt good, didn't it? What was so wrong or harmful about this?
Nothing, really. There were no taboos in their world for two adults to do as they pleased, as long as it affected no one else. This was her choice, not her brother's, not her mother's, it was her choice to turn her body to Lord Fergus' and open his trousers to see what was inside. He sprang loose with a groan above her head, his shaft hot and swollen already.
What did she do now? Her breasts felt swollen, her nipples taut and pointed and he touched her, but slowly, too slowly for what she wanted. She wanted to feel everything now. Her body felt strange between her legs and in her breasts and the way he looked at her, standing above her astride the chair. She didn't know when he'd risen to his feet.
Her fingertips brushed over his tip, came away sticky and damp. Trailing a bead of clear fluid that drew a string from his tip to her fingertips. She put her fingertips in her mouth and sucked, glancing up at him to see how he reacted. The taste was strange but not unpleasant, not entirely, and his fingers slid through her hair and cupped the back of her head, pressing her head forward. She had to sit up for this.
"Put your mouth on it, then," he murmured, and she opened her lips just before her face descended on his crotch. "Take it..." And something else she didn't hear. Her throat worked around the urge to choke on him, how thick he was, big, for someone as lean and narrow-hipped as he was. And hot. It was so hot in her mouth, hot from his shaft and her mouth and before she knew what she was doing he was pumping in and out of her mouth. All she could do was keep her teeth away and press her lips on him like sucking on a sweet. "Yes..." he breathed. "Yes, that's it."
She didn't dare tell him she had never done this before. He woudl stop, he would laugh at her, he would turn her out of the house in shame. She had heard of the cruelty of Lords in general, although he didn't seem to be one of those. But he could. She was only a daughter of a minor house, and whatever his station might be in the present he had earned the title and respect and lands and power. Especially the power.
And it felt good, she reminded herself. What he was doing felt good, as he pulled his shaft out of her mouth and turned his mouth to her body, nibbling his way all over her as though he could eat her up. Teeth on her nipples, on her breasts, over her belly and down between her legs, biting the inside of her thigh until she screamed with pain or ecstasy, she didn't know. There were sensations. His tongue between her legs. Ancient and skilled, she realized, centuries to perfect this skill and his fingers pried her open and made way for his tongue to thrust in and out of her. Her hips lifted in response, begging for something she didn't know she craved.
Something it seemed he knew how to give, at least. He dragged her hips down to the edge of the chair and dropped to his knees, spreading her thighs roughly with his large hands and long fingers. And when he thrust inside her it seemed she might break after all, screaming. There was something inside her that burned and stretched, that felt unpleasant and unwise, as though he was pushing in and making room where there was no room for him. If her screams unsettled him, though, he didn't show it. He kept on thrusting, hard and fast, until the pain ebbed and her body stretched to accommodate the length and breadth of him.
And then it felt good. Sharply, it felt powerfully good, her body writhing on the chair in a way it hadn't done before, the top of her head pressing into the cushions. The feeling spread between her legs where he was touching her now with his fingers as well, up her core and into her throat where she screamed and screamed again, gasping, arching. If it was pleasure or pain she couldn't tell, couldn't differentiate, not until it passed and he sank back on his heels, flopping out of her like a fish and leaving her feeling gaping empty. Whimpering to be filled again.
"Did you like that?" For a second he sounded uncertain. His fingers trailed through the wetness along her thighs, she hadn't noticed it until he touched her there. Her body jerked, still sensitive. "I see that you did."
"Yes..." she gasped. "Yes yes yes..." her words escaped her. Except that one. And one more, maybe. "Again. Again, please."