Fire, Ice, and Arcane addictions.

Author's note: This is NOT a necessary chapter in the story. It is smut. Gay smut. If you don't want the gay smut, skip the chapter, and I'll put up the next chapter within the next couple of days. I am, however, required to write smut chapters because of the site this is on. (It's my first smut chapter ever, too, so yeah.)

But you may want to read the author's notes at the bottom. Responses to the replies I've gotten and such.

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Veran lay calmly, focusing his mind on Silvermoon, willing himself home. He closed his eyes and pictured the halls of the Academy, wishing sorely to be there again, pulling aside one of his usual partners.

He imagined the small form of Milo. He stood at just under five feet and had short, messy brown hair. Something about his appearance was exasperatingly frumpy. His eyes were cold and calculating, though they usually remained glued to the floor. His nose twitched whenever he disliked something, but his mouth rarely moved other than to give an (always correct) answer to a professor. Milo was the smartest boy in the Academy.

Or he had been, until Veran had joined. Milo was technically older than Veran, but he was small, weak, and timid, which gave a false impression of youth. He had no friends, and a number of enemies. Most of all, he had a mousy innocence to him, and a tendency to squeak when something startled or scared him.

Veran found him incredibly sexy. Or at least, the thought of dominating him was. That brilliant mind, that innocent appearance… He wasn’t a child, per se; the Academy was for late adolescents only. He was just… childish.

It had happened late in the second semester. It was late: very late. The teachers and students had all retired to the dormitories. Almost all of them. Veran had watched Milo get creamed by yet another student. It was pathetic, really. Veran was not a fan of bullying, but he watched the scene unfold with an upset bemusement. Eventually, the bully decided Milo wasn’t good sport, and left him bleeding on the pavement.

After several minutes passed and Milo still hadn’t moved, Veran approached him and knelt beside the boy. It was dark, but Veran saw the boy’s breathing, his trembling, his hands balled into fists. He was awake. And ready for the proposition.

“Milo.” He whispered. “This has to stop. You’re so smart. Too smart for this. It can end. You don’t have to put up with this any more.” He continued to whisper encouraging thoughts to the boy. “You could stop them, couldn’t you?”

The boy opened his eyes, picked himself up, but only enough to kneel. He didn’t look at Veran; he stared to the side vacantly with eyes full of tears. “I- I can’t.” He whimpered. “I’m not… I’m not strong enough. I’m not smart enough.” He sniffled and ran his sleeve across his face.

Veran smiled inside, but kept a caring expression on his face. He placed a hand gently on Milo’s shoulder, pleasantly surprised that the boy hadn’t flinched. “You are smart enough.” He spoke. “You are so smart. But no, you aren’t so strong, are you?”

Milo just lowered his gaze to the ground silently. Veran paused long enough for the silence to become complete, then spoke in a powerful, soft voice. “But I am.” Milo’s eyes flashed towards him for a moment, and they held a reluctant knowledge; he already knew what this was.

Veran kept one hand on the shoulder, and ran the other along Milo’s jaw. “I can make them stop. I can make them all stop. I could do that for you.” He smiled his most caring smile.

Milo answered just as Veran knew he would: just as he was supposed to. “And…” He wet his dry throat. “And in return?”

Both boys were silent. Milo in contemplation. Veran in victory, for he knew he had won. It was too dark to see the surroundings; they were cloaked in shadow in the park. But Veran saw Milo nod and pull himself to his feet. He walked a short ways, just off of the path. “Okay.”

Veran stood and followed him, thinking with a slight distraction, ‘If only he wore glasses.’ He moved behind Milo and wrapped his arms around him, and this time there was a noticeable flinch, but no recoil. ‘Of course.’ Veran thought. ‘He’s resigned. I can’t be the first to do this to him.’

Milo whispered from a ragged throat, “What do you want?”

Veran hesitated. How easy to just violate the boy and leave. But… no. “This isn’t just for me. This is for you.” He spoke his lie caringly. He did intend to stop the bullying, and he was sure as hell going to make Milo enjoy this experience, but it was really for him. Veran acted for Veran, and he knew what he was getting. An easy, reusable fuck and a faithful servant around campus, to boot.

Milo was confused. “I’m not s-“ He froze mid-sentence and inhaled sharply. Veran’s mouth was nibbling contentedly away at his neck, and his hands pushed themselves slowly into his shirt and up his chest.

By the time he had reached Milo’s erect nipples and started rubbing them, the kid was arching into him and moaning softly. He obviously wasn’t used to being pleasured. Veran smiled; he knew that was going to work in his advantage. He left one hand to wander the soft, warm flesh of Milo’s chest (which had little muscle, but was so smooth and so hot!) and slid the other to his waistline.

Milo wore sweatpants, or some such ugly. Normally, a blood elf would recoil at the mere sight of such sloppy clothing, but today, it was far more convenient than dealing with any belt or buttons. Veran moved his hand below the elastic line and immediately felt the boy’s erection. Small, but hard as a rock, and emitting heat enough to boil water, he was sure. Milo had no underpants on: proof, no doubt, that he was resigned to his fate and was afraid that some bully would take offense to him wearing them (Makes easy sex harder, you know.).

Veran wrapped his fingers firmly about the shaft and began to stroke the length deftly, pleased that this encounter had gone so well, and certain he was about to have some serious fun. After four or five long strokes, however, his fun was cut seriously short.

Milo groaned an exhale as his member hardened, and his body shook slightly at he coated the inside of his pants. Veran thought dirty swear words, mostly angry at himself for not seeing it coming. The boy had never received attention like this; of course he would shoot quickly.

Veran pulled his hand away and sighed. ‘Perhaps another time,’ he thought. He waited as Milo kneeled to catch his breath. He spoke in a rather cold voice. “Well, that was…” He froze when Milo turned to him.

His eyes were wide and he was actually crying. Crying! He swallowed heavily and whimpered, “Please, don’t be angry with me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Veran took a deep breath and stared down at the pitiful thing. “I’m not angry. I just expected… Never mind. We can-“ Milo cut him off.

“I could suck you. I’ve got plenty of experience. Just… promise to make the bullying stop.” There was a cool note in his speech, beneath the fear and the exhaustion. Milo trusted him, honestly trusted him, to keep his word.

Which, of course, Veran had intended to keep from the beginning. “Of course.” His voice was smoother than he knew he could make it. Milo nodded and crept forward to kneel just in front of him.

He took just a moment with the belt and the buttons, fumbling with them in the dark, but even though the cloth, he could feel the straining erection awaiting his tender care. He slid the pants down just the slightest bit and stroked Veran’s member through his boxers, eliciting a small coo of approval.

His pants and his boxers were down in almost no time at all, as a trail of licks and kisses surrounded his hips and eventually, his penis. Milo licked the shaft again and again, coating the member in saliva, then looked up at Veran instinctively, asking for permission to continue.

Veran gave it unintentionally; his eyes were closed and his hands were busy running the length of his own toned chest. Milo took the member in his hand and stroked the entire length twice before leaning over it to take the shaft into his hot mouth. He sucked hungrily at the length while his hand pulled and teased the base. He did indeed have expert skill from months, maybe years of practice.

In a few minutes, Veran was straining to keep from releasing, wanting the sweet pleasure to continue. It was too much for him, though, and he groaned at Milo, “I’m cumming,” a mere moments before he came. Milo made no attempt to move, however, and clenched his eyes shut as Veran’s body tensed with climax.

In his room, Veran panted and pushed himself down into his sweaty bed, fisting the seed from his body. He mewled quietly, resisting the urge to moan, in the off chance that Jonde was near enough to hear. He relaxed and stared down at himself. “Pitiful,” he whispered. His climax had been weak and hardly worth the effort. He sighed and nestled in the relaxing cold of his cooling sweat.

“I can’t wait to be back,” he mumbled at himself. Eventually, he figured, he would have to go clean himself off with the sink on the alchemic tables. Eventually.

He kept his promise. The next day, the bullying of Milo Trip stopped, and anyone who dared to so much as speak ill of the boy answered immediately to the strongest caster of the Academy.

Jonde sighed and attempted to immerse himself in his book, but it was damned difficult with the waves of the boy’s ecstasy rolling down the stairs at him. “Sleep well, peacock.” He growled as he dropped the book. “Tomorrow is hell.”

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Thanks so much for the reviews again! I always appreciate them! In response, specifically:


I know I didn't describe the house well, and I have a reason for that. Just imagine it how you will for now.

I know I didn't describe Jonde much at all. That's the point. Veran doesn't care enough to really look at him yet. I have to be careful to only describe things Veran actually cares about, or you'll get more attached to them than he is. (You'll notice I haven't described Veran at all yet, either.) And trust me, the height of trolls and odd posture will be mentioned. A lot. Because I, personally, find it freaking gorgeous.

Oh, and the bed isn't fourteen feet high. Think of it as a loft bed. The bed is on a platform raised seven feet above the ground.


I love critical feedback, partially because it gives me a chance to explain myself, and I do so love to talk.