The Legion - Lyelleth & Orannis

Author’s Notes:

Second piece in “The Legion” series; the first chapter shows our couple in the current time, later chapters will go back to the start of their journeys, and therefore will involve violence, some non-con, torture, slavery... You saw the warnings!

Also, I’m a firm believer that most, if not all, residents of Azeroth can speak “Common” and that it is purely game mechanics that stops inter-faction communications. So there *author sticks tongue out at Blizzard*.

Lyelleth and Orannis are my own original creations, and are not based on any NPCs within WoW.

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Someone once told Orannis that there were many ways to keep a slave. He wouldn’t have believed them, if he hadn’t been looking with some appreciation at the sleeping Night Elf at the foot of his bed. There were no chains or restraints, save for the thick leather collar about her neck that glittered when she shifted; studded with Azerothian Diamonds enchanted for stamina, they helped the lilac-skinned woman survive some of their more… rough… encounters.

Officially, she was his whore, his pleasure slave, given to him at the height of the War with the Alliance for his achievements in leading his Shaman brethren into the new frontiers. These days she was more his equal - his lover and companion - than his concubine, and since the expansion into Outland and his re-enlistment with the Legion, they had both gone back to war.

Lyelleth had returned to the Alliance, officially enlisted with a small but trustworthy band unofficially nicknamed the Bar Brawlers. The Orc supposed the vast amount of Dwarven members had something to do with this title, their fondness for drinking in general and ale in particular was a well documented fact. Yet, they accepted his silver-haired Elven lover with no questions, and for that he was grateful. She had commented wryly that she was “definitely out of practice” when she returned the first night, and part of him had felt a pinch of grief. But then she had smiled, and kissed him, and his grief had been forgotten.

Pulling himself from his reverie, the Shaman reminded himself of the original reason for re-entering his chambers. Whilst not on any missions himself, today Lyelleth was scheduled for a dungeon incursion with her guildmates, and had only an hour to dress and prepare. One hand ran slowly up the vast expanse of dusky purple skin that covered her arm appreciatively, settling gently on her cheek, stroking across it with a thumb as he fought off the familiar twinge of arousal that her naked form always brought forth.

“Lye,” Orannis whispered his pet name for her, “Lyelleth, it is time to rise.”

Silver eyes fluttered open as the Night Elf rolled onto her back, stretching with catlike grace before spoiling it with a yawn, gaze flicking over to the Orc in front of her. “Master! What time is it?”

Orannis chuckled. “None of that Lye, you have an hour to rise and dress before you meet your cohorts at the Hold.”

Sliding forward to perch on the end of the bed in front of him, Lyelleth looked upward, glowing eyes watching his perusal of her naked form. Smiling, she lent back on her hands, tilting her back so her breasts were thrust forward, violet nipples raised temptingly toward him, and the Shaman groaned appreciatively. “Lyelleth…” A growl, “You are sex mad.”

Tinkling laughter escaped her, causing the slightest but most interesting bounce in her breasts. “It’s your fault,” She teased, rolling onto her stomach and raising her behind invitingly. A green hand reached out to slide over the pert flesh almost without thinking, before being snatched back as if her skin burned. Laughing again, Lyelleth slid her feet backward until her butt connected with his groin, and rocked her hips, biting down a moan of appreciation as she felt his arousal against her, a thick bulge against the leather of his pants.

“Oh good Gods Lyelleth…” Orannis cried, nose filled with the scent of her arousal as he grasped her hips firmly, intent on removing her before he lost control. But then she made the most delicious mewling noise and he almost roared, tossing her onto the bed before tugging off his breeches, good intentions in shreds. The Night Elf turned onto her back, legs hanging over the edge of the bed, and seconds later she was being lifted, ankles on his broad, muscular shoulders, hips against his as he drove quickly and deeply inside her.

She would never get used to the sensations; being filled almost to bursting by him, the tight grip of his hands on her hips sure to bruise, the way her own body responded so desperately to his, sparks of pleasure bursting behind her eyes as he thrust, back arched and head tilted back. And the sounds… the delicious little moans when he withdrew, the gasps as he re-entered, the odd growl when she raked her nails down his arms and tested his control, knowing how much the slight pain amplified his pleasure.

Orannis was rapidly reaching climax, the tightness around him driving every other thought from his head until he was single-mindedly focused on completion, barely registering the woman beneath him slipping a hand between her legs until he felt the tell-tale flutter around him, and his gaze snapped downward, realising with a deep, heartfelt groan that his lover was quite happily pleasuring herself as he fucked her, one hand tucked under her head while the other was resting on silvery curls, fingers flickering over the little bud that rested just above the point where they joined.

He growled then, pulling her closer, driving deeper, faster, and harder. She knew the sight of her self-pleasure would drive him insane, and break any remaining shred of control. He would suppose later – much later – that this was the reason she did it. The flutters were increasing in speed, her body tightening more around him, and he knew her climax was imminent. The Orc tried to grab some shred of control in an attempt to save off his own release, squeezing his eyes shut to try and fight off the image of her wracked with pleasure, and then she tightened, shattering around him whilst screaming his name, and it all became too much, driving forward one last time with a deep, heartfelt cry of “Lyelleth” before exploding in a mass of pleasure, slumping forward, almost forgetting to push out his arms to break his fall, breathing shallow and rapid.

“Ye…Gods… Woman…” He managed, withdrawing from her to fall onto the bed next to the Night Elf. “You’ll be the death of me.”

A soft chuckle, “I doubt that my love,” Lyelleth replied, sitting up slowly and wincing as she touched her hip. “I think you are much more likely to be the death of *me*.” She turned, smiling down at the Shaman. “I am going to bathe, and dress, and go kill things like a good little Rogue, and when I get back, we shall discuss who is more likely to over-sex the other, shall we?” Grinning cheekily, Lye lent down for a kiss, meaning to go for a brief peck but being drawn into a long, heartfelt affair that resulted in her drawing back reluctantly, a soft half smile on her face. “And if we’re lucky,” She continued as she got to her feet, “I’ll bring back shiny things.”

His laughter followed her into the bathing room.