Demonic Embrace

Thin, slender fingers were running lightly across the firm, warm skin of a fighter’s chest. Each half of the chest was sculpted from countless battles and training sessions, and colored healthily from days spent in the sun. At the gently touch, the man groaned, obviously pleased by the soft touch. Then hands slowly found their way lower, tracing the grooves of the cut muscles, trailing in between the individual bulges of abdominal muscles.

The man made a weak noise again, his entire body shuddering as he did so. The hands’ owner chuckled, savoring the moment as much as his partner was. His exploratory fingers found their way to evident hip bones, pointing in a ‘V’ to the other man’s lower regions. Rather than begin playing with the wiry hair that had begun to spring up between navel and crotch, the fingers whisked quickly back up to the shoulders, tracing them tauntingly. More moans escaped his lover’s lips at the teasing.

The fingers would have traveled further up the arms, if not for the fact that they were actually bound by the wrists above the man’s head. The captive, as it were, was lying on his back, hands tied and more or less fastened to the ground with an iron ring through which the rough rope had been drawn. Completely submitted, not that he had any thoughts of trying to escape. This had been something he’d wanted, after all.

The hands quickly moved back down, aware of how they were causing more torment than pleasure. The right hand brushed past the semi-flaccid phallus emerging from near-black hair, finding the man’s testicles and cupping them gently. With tiny, careful movements, the palm and fingers began to slowly massage the delicate spheres. The man on the ground writhed a bit, but was forced to settle when the idle left hand pressed him back down against his abs.

“Down, boy. I’ll sate you soon enough.”

The voice was somehow sinister, conveying a sense of sarcasm and derision. Simultaneously, it spoke tenderly, attempting to sooth. It was an odd combination, but it suited him perfectly. After all, he was making love to someone while also being rather ‘underhanded’. He snickered and grasped the hardening penis with his left hand. From the contact, he felt the man want to struggle again.

“Hold on. We’re no where near the best part yet. You must be patient if you want this to be good.”

He stroked with his left hand, running it all the way to the head and back down the shaft to the base. It was warm and still enlarging, pulsating with a quickened heartbeat. Magnificent, truly. It was all he could do to keep himself from going crazy with lust. This was a delicate situation, made all the more delicate by his partner’s inexperience. He’d admitted earlier to it being his first time, with another man anyway. Slowly, the one not tied to the ground began to lower himself, bringing his face closer to his hands, which still stroked and rubbed in unison.

He released his left hand and ran it straight up tight flesh to find a nipple, which was already pointing as best it could. His index finger traced a few quick circles around the perimeter, and then took to rolling the tip in tandem with the thumb. This drew more noises of arousal, which were making the manipulator himself quite hot under the collar (which he’d removed long, long ago, opting to be nude as well). With both hands occupied, this left his mouth as the only readily available source of pleasure.

Resting his head sideways against one half of his partner’s pelvis, he opened his mouth with a smile. Slow and deliberate, his tongue began to snake out, eventually finding its way to the sensitive skin he wanted to tantalize. With long, legato strokes, his tongue began to rub against the underside of the cock, pausing to focus heavily on the glans whenever they were neared.

“A…ah…” His lover was struggling again, wanting desperately to speed things up while reveling in how drawn out they were. The left hand assigned to nipple duty had slid across his chest and was fondling the other now; making sure it was just as alert as its counterpart. Finally, the tongue drew away, and the head it belonged to lifted.

“God, I can just tell. You’re going to make the most wonderful noise when you come.” The man laughed again before placing his lips against the front of the penis head. He slid his head down, taking the entirety of the impressive member into his mouth, running his tongue against its underside again.

Thus started the rather brief period of sucking, sliding, and tonguing. It started torturously slow, getting progressively faster with each moan of the receiver. Soon, it progressed into a furtive rhythm, a fast, intense, passionate movement accompanied by the minor thrusts the laying man was trying to create, instinct taking control as his mind flooded. The prediction proved correct, and he was soon making loud, long noises that pleaded for release and begged for more. Amongst the sound, he managed to eke out:

“I-I’m coming!”

The other man made no move to pull himself away, having already decided that he wouldn’t stop. The pleasured penis suddenly rose forward and hung there, its owner’s back arched away from the ground as he veritably yelled in primal ecstasy. It throbbed and released, suddenly and forcefully pumping into the rather willing mouth still closed around it. As the orgasm continued, the man in control continued to suck, multiplying the feeling with every flick of his tongue. He was being filled with sticky warmth, but didn’t care, holding it all until the last string had been shot.

When it had been, the arched back relaxed and fell back to Earth, hitting with a thud. Carefully, the top pulled his mouth away, letting a softening penis slide out without spilling a drop of semen. He raised himself up back to his knees, summoned his force of will, and swallowed, feeling the stickiness leave a strange, bitter taste. Regardless, he licked his lips and looked down at the tired, panting, sweaty body below him.

“You’re so easy, Luenmos.”

With a start, Luenmos woke up, suddenly finding himself in a pitch black room. He was sitting up in a bed, as he could tell from the feel of sheets wrapped around him and pillows behind him. The air was cool, but his body felt intensely hot. He was also curiously out of breath and felt exhausted, more than he should of even if he did just wake up. If he was in bed, then why how could he remember having sex immediately beforehand?

Luenmos looked about, feeling the sheets covering him with his hands. As he continued to feel blindly, it became apparent that the cloth had been wrapped around and between his legs, completely twisted. Near his groin, the cloth became oddly moist and sticky. It became clear what happened, and Luenmos uttered a quiet curse. He must have tossed and turned as he slept, managing to somehow have sex with his sheets. His sleeping mind translated it into a dream for his already desperate sex drive, and then he came. Luenmos was embarrassed and frustrated, having thought wet dreams were of a time gone past. That, and the dream had been about him.

“Dammit…I just can’t get him out.” Luenmos let himself backwards, his head hitting the pillow roughly. He kicked with his legs, freeing them from their tangled prison, and then used his feet to bunch the sheets together at the end of the bed. Laying in the darkness, fully exposed, Luenmos tried to convince himself that it was a dream, nothing more. His libido had chosen a random partner for the dream to be about; he was worked up other nothing. Not fully believing his story, Luenmos drifted back to sleep slowly.

The object of his dream, however, was quite awake. A cloaked figure was walking briskly through the streets of Stormwind, moving around stumbling drunks and being careful not to kick the tiny gnomes who tended to populate the Mage Quarter. The robe he wore obscured his lithe body including his arms, which had been pulled inside for warmth. The night was cold here as well, autumn setting in. Eyes the colors of robins’ eggs were set within his pale, disgruntled face, obscured by black hair which hung in his vision.

Following along beside him was a rather frail looking creature which failed to come up to his knee. Its body was thin and twig like, with disproportionate hands and feet. The appendages were roughly the size of its head, which held large yellow eyes which glanced around nervously as the whole being scurried beside its master. Its skin was blackened is if burnt; it was even coated in an aura of green fire. The imp was grumbling, complaining about the cold in perfect Common.

“Why are we out here freezing, Dareum? We could be back in your room, sitting by that warm fireplace, enjoying the fact that you can afford it.”

Dareum, the man, didn’t even look down. He listened to the imp while walking, bypassing the large spiral ramp that lead to the mage base of operations. “Because, Chonar. I’m the master, you’re the servant. You do what I say. There doesn’t need to be a reason.”

“But there is a reason. You don’t like it out here either, so tell me what’s going on.” It was true. Dareum was visibly shivering despite the thick robes. Chonar, though he didn’t like the cold, was unaffected by it.

“Fine, you want to know what we’re doing?” Dareum’s voice was impatient and mildly frustrated. Chonar didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Yes, yes I do.”

“We’re going to request help. There, I said it.” The warlock’s face became a scowl, disappointed by his own weakness. He’d never once asked for help before, and rarely admitted that he needed it. After a few failed attempts at his latest goal, he was willing to give in.

“So…you’re going to ask the other warlocks?”

“Hell no. What could a second warlock possibly do that I couldn’t? Nothing. Use that tiny brain in that little head of yours, Chonar.” The two had left the Mage District altogether, and were now crossing the canal which ran through Stormwind. Ahead of them was the sector known as The Park, a detail which Chonar picked up on.

“Aw, we’re getting a druid? But they’re so annoying. They’re all like ‘nature is good’ and ‘don’t litter’ and ‘you can’t eat that, it’s poisonous’. Why do we need one of them?” Chonar’s voice was excellent at whining, something Dareum had learned to live with. He contemplated kicking the imp off the stone walk and into the water below, but resisted the urge. Chonar whined even more when he was wet.

“We need one because, genius though I am, I’m not particularly great at healing. Sure, draining other being’s life force is all well and good, but it’s a slow way to heal large wounds. That, and the ‘donator’ tends to get pissed and tries to kill me instead of one of you guys.” Guys referred to the host of demons under Dareum’s command, of which he’d been with Chonar the longest. Chonar, though, rarely saw battle if Dareum wasn’t dungeon crawling with some group of do-gooders whom he’d managed to weasel his way into accompanying, and was thus not used to be being used as fodder. Dareum continued; “Besides, druids are capable of holding their own in fights, and some extra muscle would be good.”

“I still don’t like it. The thought of willingly joining such a tree-hugger is disgusting.”

“Then I won’t have you summoned when I’m dealing with him, alright? For Light’s sake, I’m the one who has to talk to him, not you. You’re getting all worked up over nothing, you runt.” They were now deep within the park, ignoring the life which surrounded them. All they needed was a druid, and then they could leave. Here, as in everywhere else that didn’t have an open tavern, there were few people still out. Most of them were Night Elves of varying shades, yellow eyes shining clear in the dark even as their skin faded away. If the elves stood still too long, Dareum began to lose track of them, as if they had melted into nothingness. It was eerie, but he was used to eerie. He cleared his throat and cupped his hands to his mouth. “I’m looking for a druid willing to help me kill something. I’ve got plenty of gold for whoever wants in.”

The Night Elves all looked at him, heads turning in unison to size him up. Dareum lowered his hands and waited as each Night Elf began to return to whatever they’d been doing. They were ignoring him, someone who reeked of demonic energy. Few Night Elves wanted to have anything to do with any warlock, let alone a human one who bothering them at night by trying to buy their services. Dareum grit his teeth and balled his fists, hoping that someone would accept quickly so he could leave. Finally, someone did.

“What is it that you need killed, human?” A Night Elf male approached the warlock. He was wearing simple brown cloth and carried a dark, jeweled staff strapped across his back. The visible areas of his skin were a deep purple with traces of red under the surface. Like all Night Elves, he had yellow eyes bearing no pupils and long, pointed ears. He looked to be slightly older than Dareum, but that was only in form. In all likelihood, the elf was several times the human’s age.

“You know what an Infernal is, right? Look like big earth elementals made of black rock and surrounded by green, glowing fire?”

“Yes…”

“I need one of them killed, and I need some back-up. I’ll pay for your room and board at inns, your supplies, and your transport. We’re going to be traveling a fair bit for this.” Chonar tugged at the hem of Dareum’s robe, causing him to glance down. The imp didn’t say anything, but forced Dareum to think about what he might have forgotten. He looked back at the elf when he had it figured out. “Oh, my name is Dareum. Just Dareum.”

“Orran. Just Orran.” The Night Elf smiled, and Dareum had to grin in response. The druid had some sense of humor, setting him apart from the majority of elves Dareum had met before. Maybe traveling with Orran would be less unbearable than the warlock feared. Dareum extended his right hand from the confines of his clock, which Orran grasped tightly with his own hand.

“Good, glad to be working together. Tomorrow, meet me by the fountain in front of the bank at noon. I should have everything ready by then, but for now, I, at least, need to rest. Humans aren’t great at dealing with sleep deprivation.” Dareum released his hand, cueing Orran to do the same. The warlock’s hand quickly moved back to hide within the robe, chilled from the brief exposure. Dareum began to walk out of the park, pausing to speak to Orran one last time. “You got that?”

“Yes. Tomorrow, fountain, noon. Then it’s off to kill an Infernal. I shall see you there.”

“Right…’night.” Dareum quickly walked off, Chonar hot on his heels. Finding a druid had been remarkably easy, and he’d managed to find one that didn’t annoy him yet. Most druids had the ability to become intolerable in only a few minutes, but Orran was different. That made the elf a little strange, but no more so than anything else Dareum had seen. With his current luck, the trip would be, dare he think it, pleasant and the Infernal-slaying easy. “I seriously hope our luck holds out…” Chonar nodded in agreement.