Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Happy 2014! So I am laying on by belly on my bed, buried in a nest of pillows and warm quilts, with a purring cat perched on my butt, reading a good book about gargoyles, when I remembered that today isn't only New Years Day; it's also Wednesday and I was supposed to write a post. Sorry it's late!
"I understand what your problem is, you know."
Duncan tired to look at the man next to him, or rather the elf, for though he was male, his sharply pointed ears said he was not human. That was fine with Dunk; he wasn't entirely human, either. Three days of every month, her became a wolf. He hasn't been born that way. He had been bitten by a wolf--a true wolf, not a werewolf--a few years ago while tracking game. Something about his messed up blood had caused him to start shifting with the full moon. He was getting better at controlling his shifts but he was undeniably not exactly human anymore.
What he didn't like, though, was how a stranger, this buck elf, had decreed that he had a problem at all. Not that his wolf was a problem, exactly. He didn't lose himself to the wolf mind and never had. So he glared at the elf and said nothing.
The elf gazed off into the mirror behind the bar they were sitting at, inside a crowded pub that was made to look like it belonged someplace tame like London or New York. This pub was literally in the middle of nowhere, though, and the crowd made it clear that it wasn't even in the human realm.
"Your problem," the elf said after a long, uncomfortable silence, "is that you are sexually submissive."
Duncan stared at the stranger, aghast.
"Not that it's any of your business, elf, but I am no one's carpet to be walked on," he growled. The fur that lay just beneath his skin at all times started itching, letting Duncan know that his temper was up. Before being bitten, Dunk had thought he was slow to anger. Now he knew he was not. He was only slow to react to his anger; he felt it right away. He had just never noticed its early stirrings before.
"And that is your problem, one of them anyway. You cannot enjoy sex if you are the one in charge, yet your personality is not generally submissive. You are a large, aggressive carnivore, a lone wolf who never let's his guard down, certainly not long enough to find a trustworthy sexual partner."
"Women gossip," Dunk found himself admitting reluctantly. He hated that the elf was right. Hated that the elf had even identified an issue of his that he had never named and only been vaguely aware of. It wasn't that he didn't have a lively libido; he did. He just didn't enjoy hunting down a bed partner and then mounting her.
"Most men gossip, too," the elf replied. "And a lone wolf can't let himself become known as submissive, can he?"
"I'm not into men," Dunk grunted.
"You, sir, are into being forced to preform," the elf said with a smile, still speaking quietly and gazing at the mirror. Dunk met his eyes in the glass. "It's not about gender for you."
"I doubt I'd be able to get it up for anything but a fine pair o' tits and a cunny," Dunk growled, flushing. He was a bit ashamed and startled because his words were a lie. He could feel his cock beginning to grow heavy at the stranger's unspoken command. The elf smirked.
"Did you have a point?" Dunk growled.
"Yes and no," the elf conceded. "I'm looking for a tracker."
"Do elves no longer do their own tracking, then?"
"Of course we do," the elf replied, his reflection becoming more serious. "But a wolf's olfactory senses are better than most. I cannot make sense of this spore." Dunk looked over when the elf pulled an envelope out of his pocket. The elf offered it and Dunk accepted it, his curiosity aroused.
Dunk opened the envelope and started to take a deep whiff but pulled back sharply. The scent wasn't strong but it was unusually foul. But one he had encountered before. That was likely why the elf was looking specifically for a wolven tracker. Most wolves would not have known it. Dunk took a more cautious whiff to confirm his initial impression and then handed the envelope back.
"Pit demon, mid level," he said. "Probably a low power one but old. She was masking her scent very well."
"It's not a demon," the elf said with a condescending smirk.
"If you know what it is, why did you ask?" Dunk snarked back.
"I'm not a fool. I have been a tracker since before your great-grandfather was born," the elf said, shaking his head. "I know all forms of demon spore; this isn't."
"Did you do a demon-tell spell?" Dunk asked casually. He knew the elf hadn't or he wouldn't be so certain of himself. The elf's eyes narrowed as he studied Dunk through the mirror.
Dunk watched as the elf's fingers started to glow--a sure sign that the elf was beginning a conjuration. He grinned and stealed himself for what was about to happen.
A bright flash followed by a loud crack split through the pub's ambiance. Dunk chuckled at the stunned expression on the elf's haughty face. Around them, various patrons who had been startled by the unexpected spell-casting were picking themselves off the floor and scowling darkly at Dunk and the elf.
"Told ya it was demon spore," Dunk said, still grinning as he tossed a few bills on the bar to cover his tab. Judging by the looks coming their way, it would be a good idea to clear out before the crowd decided they were more than a little miffed and started to get nasty. Having to find a different watering hole to finish his evening off in was worth getting the best of that elf, though. Sexually submissive, his ass! Maybe next time the elf would think twice before starting such talk with strangers at a bar.
He stepped out into the muggy night and into the deep shadows and taking stock of his surroundings before turning north. The night was still young but he found himself strangely on edge and not interested in seeking out another y The fenlands to the north were always lonesome and that suited his mood more than a crush of strangers.
The encounter with that elf had been unnerving. Dunk worried the stranger's words like a loose tooth, unable to let them go. The few times he had really enjoyed intimate relations, his partners had always been strong-willed and very vocal about what they had wanted of him. Each time had been a passing fling and always on the heals of a battle, and also always with worrier women whom he had fought beside. The elf had been right about that much, at least.
Posted by Rebecca Gillan