Providence

Providence
Part One
Chapter Six

Banik turned to his troll friend and asked the first thing that came to mind: “What?”

Hanzar was grinning. “Oh, nothing,” he said, sloshing his cup of some unidentifiable juice. “Not a damn thing.”

She could make it up to him, the stab in the side. He spent the day imagining how—no one had very much to do, of those that stayed to wait out the blizzard. The elf disappeared upstairs and reappeared some hours later with a human, who was so hung over he resembled a drowned rat. Hanzar had busied himself with his devices and was assembling another attempt at the mechanical squirrel when the human stumbled up to the bar and was brought a glass of water without even asking. Garoul spoke to him rapidly, patting his back and occasionally looking at Hanzar from the corner of her eye.

The whole inn was idle for most of the day; some went out for a few minutes, but came in after tromping in the two or three feet of snow blocking the door. How the bats made it out Hanzar couldn’t even imagine, but what didn’t concern him, he didn’t ponder. He was glad for his overlarge chain mail pants when he even began contemplating what the night would bring.

By midday nearly everyone had retired, and those who didn’t bother to go upstairs merely slept at the bar or the dozens of tables in the common room. His elf had disappeared, leaving her human friend to flirt and eventually retire as well, a human woman in tow. Banik had fallen asleep and was sitting on the floor against the wall.

One could see even through the fogged windows and falling snow that the sun had set. Hanzar got to his feet and stretched, wary of his healing wound, and headed up to the two halls above the common. Not knowing which room belonged to Garoul, the troll walked past each numbered door toward his own, where he considered waiting.

But sure enough, the elf’s quick thinking surprised him again. Partially hidden and shoved under the loose gold numbers of the door only a few before his was his insignia. Removing it, he made sure he had his dagger—just in case, he never knew with this one—and opened the door.

There was one bed in the room, but it looked pleasant enough. Things were scattered all around—balls of thread, dyes, bags of salt, tall wood constructs with hides stretched over them, clothes both finished and unfinished, and a variety of weapons hanging from the far wall. It looked almost to be a permanent residence, as if she had taken up office in Booty Bay for the winter. She looked to be a professional leatherworker in the making; he thought perhaps she had taken over as a journeyman for an expert on vacation. Whatever the case was, he didn’t see the one thing he was looking for: the night elf.

Approaching the bed, Hanzar finally saw her, curled at the top and so thin and small he hadn’t noticed her at first. She was fast asleep and the way she was lying casually on top of the blankets, she had probably only faded out by accident while waiting for... him.

It was no problem of his that she was elvish, or even a member of the opposite faction; she was pretty and their ingrained hostilities for one another had faded enough—he excused his own personal vendetta—that he could see her as a sex object and not as an enemy.

What Hanzar hadn’t expected was an elf to so brashly break through language barriers and racial ones, to disregard everything the troll had thought he knew about the night elves, and even instigate such an interaction. He sat down on the bed and when she didn’t awake, he began to remove his large mail boots and equally massive, gold-rimmed gloves. Then, when he was more comfortable—he had exchanged his armored chest plate for a tunic and his mail pants for leather ones—he leaned forward and lightly brushed some of the short, unmanaged hair from her silvery cheeks. This seemed to stir Garoul into life, and she opened one bright, glowing eye.

Some part of him had almost been waiting, fearing, for her to jump in surprise and run away—or even be startled to see him there. Instead she sat up and focused her eyes on him, narrowing her brows and bringing one hand to his throat. The gesture was of touch, he knew immediately, when her expression turned to curiosity and determination.

--

Garoul had never been able to freely touch a living, breathing troll. When he did nothing but watch her, she sat up on her knees while he drew his own legs up onto the bed and crossed them. What she had imagined being a feverish encounter began almost like two close friends. She imagined they learned more from one another without the ability to communicate at all, than they would have could they speak and understand.

The elf drew her small, long-fingered hand up the taut muscles of his neck. While his build was lanky, the muscle in him ran deep and she guessed there probably wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. Kneeling she was far shorter than him, so she traversed downward; her fingers wove down his collar bone over the fabric of his tunic, across his broad, swelled pectorals, and to the keen abdominals that poked out from the cloth. When she looked up at him he smiled a sly smile and grabbed the bottom of the shirt, pulling it up and over his head without even catching it on his tusks.

Garoul let a gasp escape at the pure joy she felt at the sight. She had repeated the entire conversation in the commons to Reich, when he managed to wake up, and he could only laugh and say, “All your dreams come true.” How right he was. It was forbidden by her people; Hanzar was rough and untouched by reservations and conservative civilization; he was strange, exotic, and without any preconceptions. There were no limits, none of the boundaries Garoul had long come to despise.

Without hesitation she leaned forward, halfway climbing into his lap, and kissed the first patch of skin she saw. His scent was barbaric—it was the only word she could use to describe it. She could smell grass and sky, dirt and sweat. She heard him intake sharply when she kissed upward, across his collar the way she had come with her hand, to his sharp, square chin. She brought her hands up to examine the long white tusks, running them from the base to the surprisingly sharp tip. They had yellowed some from age but were polished and clean, and she saw his eyes widen when she very lightly kissed the end of one.

Suddenly she felt large hands on her, one clutching her side while the other grabbed her from behind, and she was pulled in for a heavy kiss. She gasped against him when she felt her hips meet his lower abdomen, for the height difference caused her to sit on his thighs in order to meet him face-to-face. She was absorbed by him, despite the slight, sloppy awkwardness of the kiss, and she eagerly wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer. Garoul felt his hands running up and down her back, and she felt the light tickle of his coarse hair brushing her forehead. Before she knew what was happening his hand was under her shirt, his callused fingers pressing against her bare skin, and she trembled against him. Quickly her patched red top was gone, joining his somewhere else on the bed, or perhaps the floor—she didn’t know. She never wore much of anything under her jerkins, for they were usually too thick for it to matter, so when they parted and his eyes traversed her chest, he grinned wickedly.

While one hand still held her from behind, the other had quickly set to work on one of her rather small, but very perky breasts. He took the nipple between his fingers and she felt a shockwave burn from her chest right into her neck, and she let out a small noise. This encouraged him further and before she knew what was happening he had her pressed against the bed, leaning over her naked chest. His mouth descended on her, and the sensation of his tongue on her bare skin was heightened by one smooth tusk rubbing against her other breast. The elf felt him nibble her and it was all she could do to stop a moan in her throat. While he had her under his spell with his mouth and one hand, he quickly employed the other on her belted pants, easily unfastening them and sliding them down her more than willing legs. Pausing a moment, he should have guessed: she wore nothing beneath those, either. She was surprising him more and more.

Hanzar looked up in apprehension when he felt hands pushing him away. The night elf sat up, forcing him to follow suit—when he least expected it, she shoved him down on the bed, harnessing a strength he didn’t imagine she possessed. While he lay there she climbed on top of him, resting her hips on his stomach while she used one hand to unhitch his pants behind her. Much like her, he had no use for anything but the bare necessities, and his arousal made it somewhat difficult for her to remove the leather from his strong hips. With a short chuckle he sat up, catching the surprised elf with one arm, while using the other to kick off the suddenly cumbersome clothing. Satisfied the troll lay back down, waiting for whatever Garoul had planned for him.

She took a look over her shoulder and let out a squeak at what she saw. He was massive, far larger than Reich—she had walked in on him in the bath once—and certainly more than the night elves, who, despite their secrecy, were rumored to often have difficulty pleasing even their own women. An interesting first choice, she mused, as she turned back to her project and descended on his neck.

Hanzar had difficulty imagining anything better. Everything about her was softer, sweeter, cleaner, and more erotic than anything he had experienced. While troll women had rough skin and wiry hair nearly everywhere, he could feel her small patch of soft, nearly plush fur on his abdomen and her smooth rear brushing every so often against his at-attention soldier, waiting for the cue. Without restraint Garoul attacked his neck, then finding his ears, she proceeded to nibble and lick them until beads of sweat formed all over him. Just as he was about to lose it and take control, he felt a hand wrap around him and the moan he had been holding back escaped as a strangled grunt. From behind suddenly closed eyes he heard a bright, glittering laugh, and the insignificant weight on his stomach shifted downward. When he looked to see what had caused the change, he felt something warm and wet envelop his tip.

The noise that came out of him reminded Garoul of a wolf, or a large dog. It was a lusty whimper, and it turned into a harsh huffing when she enveloped him in her mouth as fully as she could. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to stand the pressure for more than a few seconds he grabbed her forcefully by the shoulders, startling her, and sat up so she was sitting on his lap with his manhood poking up between her knees. Her glowing eyes were wide when he shook his head and pulled her forward for a crushing kiss.

Startled and overwhelmed, the elf grabbed his tusks for support and her hardened nipples pressed eagerly into his chest. While he kept her mostly occupied, Hanzar reached down to slip his hand between her slightly crossed legs, causing her to jump. However, when he inserted one large finger into her he was rewarded by a low hum of pleasure in his ear. He moved the finger just a little, and his eyes flew wide at the incredible... smallness of her. He looked to gauge the reaction on her face and found her eyes closed, her mouth slightly open. Her hands went to his hips and squeezed him in her distracted state. Slowly the troll attempted to press in two fingers, but this caused her eyes to bolt open and a small cry to escape her lips. He imagined her squawk of pain and an attempt to escape, at which time he would have to grab her and take her any way he pleased.

Instead, she opened her eyes and a somewhat disturbing, sideways grin spread across her smooth, pink face. Looking almost mischievous now, she took hold of one of his tusks and used her other hand to touch his cheek, drawing her finger along it. A sharp breath escaped his lips as he watched her, breasts moving slightly with the rhythm of his fingers inside of her. Her back was arched and her belly was smooth and long, tapering into modest hips. She was far more of a delight than anything Hanzar had had before, and they had only just begun.

Garoul felt another strong pain when the troll managed a third finger inside of her. She would let him believe her pain was from his own girth, not her complete inexperience. But she was unafraid and found the sharp pangs to be rather thrilling. Then again, everything about Hanzar was thrilling, from his tusks to his size. When he began thrusting his fingers again, he lifted his other hand to her breast and began kneading it while she gasped, still holding one tusk.

She was slick and the troll was most definitely ready; the easiest way for her would be just the way she was. “Sit,” he said, removing his fingers and taking her by the hips. The elf looked at him quizzically. He pointed to his now raging hard-on and repeated, “sit. Your own pace.” She seemed to get the message when her face immediately brightened. Hanzar was astounded by her excitement on the matter. He managed to sit up so he was against the back of the bed for support, and using his strong grasp he kept her from impaling herself as she used her knees on the blankets for balance. Movement made his side burn, but he tried to forget it.

The troll offered her a hand, then, for one was enough to keep her aloft. They locked eyes for the moment she took it, and her small fingers easily fit between each of his. Then, with precision, Garoul slowly lowered herself onto him. Her eyes snapped closed for the moment she pressed him past her defenses, and Hanzar stared at her when he saw blood trickle down. She seemed no worse for it though and, one fist clenched and the other still holding his hand, she pressed herself down as far as she could go.

There was a silence in the room as they sat without moving. Very slowly, with a gentleness he had not known he could muster, Hanzar leaned forward and using the hand he held her up with, pressed her back to the bed so he hovered over her instead. She clenched him more tightly than anything he could possibly have imagined: it was the most ethereal sensation of his life. With care he withdrew some—for not even fully embedded could he fill her to the hilt—and, gauging her reaction, pressed in once more. Though it was clear Garoul was in pain, she opened her eyes and there seemed to be a ferocious gleam in them. When he pushed, she pushed back, and he sunk into her unexpectedly. A groan escaped from his lips, and the elf muttered something erotic in his ear.

She lifted her legs as he moved once more and when he didn’t move as deeply as he could, she used her feet to pull him hard against her. The troll was surprised for a brief moment and his breath caught from the pain in his ribs, but with a predatory smile he began to move faster. Her arms wrapped around him and he could feel fingers pressing into the muscles of his back. They were taut and hard, Garoul thought, moaning some not at his thrusts, but at the entire situation she found herself in. It was like the fantasy she refused to admit—even to Reich. The strong, admittedly handsome creature that her people called ‘monster,’ pounded into her and she enjoyed every moment, every hot breath on her face as he moved. There were flickers of pleasure in her belly, but the position had bored her—she suddenly pushed on his chest, as she had done before, and he stopped briefly in his movement to look at her.

Hanzar blinked when the blue-haired night elf pushed him up so they were nearly sitting, as they had done before. This time she pointed to the headboard and, with him still submerged, he moved them easily so his back was propped up securely. Then, taking one tusk in each hand, she grinned a broad, wicked grin and immediately he knew what to do. The troll grabbed her hips roughly and she moaned when he did; when he thrusted she began to wheeze, her breaths and gasps turning into heady groans when he escalated his speed and pressure. Soon she was holding on to the tusks for support, her breasts bouncing up and down with each movement. So intense was his pleasure he strongly wanted to reiterate the gesture, for he knew with blood still dripping from her, she couldn’t be experiencing nearly the same. Grabbing her round butt with one hand, he pressed the other to her bud and, admiring the smallness of her, began to rub. Immediately she cried out. “Ah,” he managed between gasps, “I can get you to sing.”

Everything changed then—jolts of electricity spread through her thighs and hips, up through her nipples and right into her brain. The movement came faster as his hips and hands sped up; she clutched his tusks and when she opened her eyes, she found him staring at her with unadulterated intensity. She suddenly felt a bulge growing at his base, and when her muscles contracted and clamped, the troll closed his eyes and whimpered. Feeling sorry for the over-stimulated creature she reached behind her with one hand and touched his tightened sac, massaging it—when she felt it. The exotic, barbarian contours of his manhood pressed farther than they had at all before, and with the rapid rubbing a sort of orgasm overtook her. It was minute compared to those she could experience herself, but the pain had rather dulled her brain; it was the pure thrill of it that caused her to cry out loud. The rolling of her muscles pulled him in even further and his eyes looked wide and desperate.

With a sudden movement Garoul was on her back, legs pulled into the air by rough hands, and the troll drove into her like a raging animal. She cried out again, the feeling of it absorbing every last inch of her. He was huge and she knew she would be bruised from accommodating him, but the sheer friction at the base of him sent ripples of warm pleasure into her blood.

Hanzar had never felt something so small, warm, and inviting. It caressed him and when he felt the dam break, every part of him tightening, the small elf’s insides milked his explosion for all it was worth. He gasped, thrusting once more as everything spilled into her, most of it trailing out of her and onto both them and the sheets. Her legs, still in the air, trembled, and the troll was loathe to remove himself from her. In the moment that he leaned forward and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a bruising kiss, he knew he had met his match. Never had a woman been able to compete with his sexual stamina, not to mention creativity. He had new respect for the beautiful, naked, flushing elf lying on the bed below him.

There was a moment of silence before Hanzar sat back and Garoul’s legs fell to the bed. She sat up as well and they watched each other for a few awkward seconds before the elf decided to make herself useful. Throwing her legs over the side of the bed she moved to stand, but when she relied on her hips for support, her eyes flew wide and her knees buckled; luckily, Hanzar had managed to move fast enough and grabbed her around the waist, hefting her easily into his arms. He carried her rather roughly, but she admitted he tried.

He made his way into the bathroom and hastily set her down in the wood bath there. Water buckets sat on the oven and Hanzar was rather gratified to find they were still warm. Garoul propped herself on one end of the large bath, and looked down, rather shocked to see the dark red that still trickled down her thighs. In silence she saw him lift the buckets, putting two down and hefting the third in with him when he climbed in on the other side. Looking at her, he sighed and leaned down, offering his hand. The elf looked confused, so he pointed to the stains on her legs and said, “Stand, so I can wash you.” She seemed to understand this and took the proffered hand, while the other secured her around the waist so she wouldn’t topple again. Wetting a sponge Hanzar cleaned her, lifting her easily with one hand when he needed to clean between her legs. She was rather like a doll, he thought, with her light weight and smooth, silver-hued skin. When he had finished scrubbing her he took the bucket and merely dumped it over her head, taking Garoul completely by surprise.

“Why you--!” She moved to hit him, but when she did her soreness caught her and Hanzar had to clutch her against him to keep her from falling.

“Silly elf,” he told her, pointing to the far end of the bath. “Sit over there.” Somehow she obeyed, managing to sit without hurting herself. Hanzar brought the other two buckets over and sponged himself. He unbraided his hair and used one bucket to wash it, the other to rinse himself. When he was done, he left the bath, with Garoul still sitting inside, and hastily tied his long, blood-red hair back into a braid that fell part of the way down his back. The rest hung around his ears and eyes, wild and untrimmed. When the elf made no move to come out, he left into the bedroom.

Sitting on the bed, Hanzar sighed at the stains they had left there. At least he didn’t have to clean it, he thought with some amusement, and pulled on his pants. He tied his boots and pulled on his jerkin, gathering some of her clothes as well and piling them on the corner of the bed. The troll wondered if this was worth the still healing wound in his side, and he moved his hand to cover it. He had mostly forgotten about it during the encounter, for so great had been the feeling of it that it completely absorbed all pain and distraction. He wouldn’t kill her, he decided. He pushed his dagger into the pocket on his pants and buttoned it closed.

He was about to leave when he heard a thumping sound and a cry of pain. Curious, he walked back to the bathroom to find Garoul sitting up, seeming to have fallen when she tried to get out of the bath. She gripped the sink and when she saw him, she beckoned him with one hand. The troll approached warily, but when he was close enough she grabbed his waist with one hand, his arm with the other and stood high enough on her toes to kiss him. With that she managed to limp past him and back into the main room, where she collapsed on the bed. Hanzar followed her, watching the naked elf crawl onto the covers, despite the mess, and slide beneath them. He felt some pity for the creature—probably because she looked to have no pity for herself. In fact, when she closed her eyes and pulled the blankets up to her chin, she was smiling rather widely.

Strange thing, he thought, and rubbing her head lightly, he murmured, “See ya, girl,” and left.