Fable - Ask Seven For A Secret

A roleplay which may be open to join but you must ask the creator first
A laugh, but her hand stayed steady. How long had it been since she last played this game? Too long. She was rusty. Going slower than she knew she could, but it didn't matter. She just had to not slip up.

"Tell me about yours after," she countered. She drank in his vicious smile. Oh yes, she liked this man, but his first question had to be the most damnably difficult one. She almost slipped up and she was sure he had seen it.

"Mine are the same species of dragon, both with white scales. They grew up together. My mother was very desirable when it came time for her to choose a mate. She had three suitors including my father. They each killed one and during their courtship fight and flight my father bested her and mated her for all to see. I don't know if they love each other, but I know they respect each other. A few years later they had a clutch of five which I am part of. My mother was very strict with me and my father was very indulgent, but firm. Manners and fighting lessons made up my childhood from my day of hatching. When I made my first shift to human form at age two my father celebrated by giving me my first knife. And taught me this game," she said with a fond smile.

"I cut my ring finger off and a healer had to reattach it. My mother threw me off cliffs, into walls, into others, to encourage me to shift seemlessly. She didn't stop until I could shift between one step and another. And no, there were no helpful nets to catch me. I've broken every bone in my body at least once. I was part of a large clutch and was the smallest so she had no patience with me. Weakness wasn't tolerated. I didn't get a word of praise from her until I took out her left eye during one of our training matches," she said. Her smile was proud now. It had been the knife her father had given her.

While she spoke the knife moved faster. It was a blur now. Her father would be proud. There was no hate or anger for the way she was raised. She had survived where a lesser dragon would have perished.
 
The way her fingers moved, how he noticed her near mistake that might have cost her a scrape if not one of her very fingers, was no less that impressive. Amid her movements, Zelici managed to speak eloquently, just as Zyndyrr remembered her tongue from earlier in the tavern. It was accented; a kind of farmer’s drawl in his experience. Her fingers, delicate, were also calloused. If her dragon heritage was the reason for her mysterious person then, so be it, he was no less than taken in by her.

Even further, she had finally answered his question. So, she was dragon, and actually had a history that explained the way she danced with her blade. How might she dance? They hadn’t done that together in the tavern. Theirs was a different dance in bed. Yet, given they had plenty of time until they were bored by this lord for a job, the day would go on, and they may just dance hand in hand instead of at separate ends of breakfast.

“You are a mystery…” Zyndyrr expressed with passion in his breath as Zelici moved faster. “Your history is after mine own heart.” Just as her flesh was after his, and he would not dismiss those thoughts, would not forget her breath, would not let those moments slide quite like she didn’t with her knife.

Their limbs had been intertwined and, as much as he saw this person before him, this woman, this dragon, he also saw her hips, her breasts, her legs, her lips, her plump rump, all over again. Zyndyrr K’yoshin was a drow, yet somehow he was also a dragon, in the sense that he just wanted to be inside her, to breathe fire into her, and let both their juices flow like blood.

“Your parents are reminiscent of my parents.” He sipped his coffee leisurely. “Yet I bet you can’t keep that speed up for much longer before it costs you a finger,” he taunted, if not promised. “You might be a dragon, my lady…” He sucked the wind between his teeth. She had better remember who was speaking to her. Zyndyrr never intended to give her the impression that he was anything less than a jerk. If not a bastard. “...But you do have fruit between your teeth.” He breathed easily, watching her fingers. "And you rode me like a dragon who doesn't know how to fly."

Princess Zelici
 
She slipped at that. It was the laugh such taunting brought out of her her. The slipped into the web of her fingers and she hissed with pain, but was still giggling with mirth. "Oh. Oh that was good." she said as she brought the free bleeding wound to her lips. She licked it and continued with breakfast. She alternated between licking her literal wound and eating the still warm bacon. I will get you back for that, Zyn. She vowed it privately to herself.

The dragoness tossed the knife to the drow across from her and kept eating her bacon as she watched him. "It is your turn now. Tell me of your family," she teased. If their backgrounds were so similar she wanted to hear about it. That cultures so alike could live above and below each other was something else.

She still had to be careful. Her mother knew her type and would send someone like Zyn after her to bring her wayward daughter home.
 
That was expected. Just as intended. That she didn’t slap or stab him, as suspected, was a bonus. The blade tickled her skin as blood trickled from it, sucked between her lips. Her hiss was exquisite, but in truth Zyndyrr didn’t do this for the pain. He preferred to hear his enemies screech. He was a sadist only in that way. For Zelici? Just a tease.

Because, in truth, he would suck the fruit from her mouth, not just orange juice, and she had mounted him the way he might ride a dragon. That just meant with strength, with power, with fury between her teeth, the way one had to be so they didn’t fall from the sky. That was how her hips had gyrated on top of his when the man was still on his back in bed.

Yet, this was a different game. It took two to play Five Finger Filet. Zyn wasn’t off the hook. She was good but now he was her mercy. For him, that was fun. So he scraped his blade across the wood and gave her his gaze.

“I knew little of my mother in truth,” Zyndyrr began, his first pattern of stabs being steady, even delicate, purposed as he measured his speech. “In my society, the female is highest in status, not the male. Our monarch is a queen. The Spider she is known as simply. Her word is absolute. Which is still trivial except, between my mother and father, I do remember my mother did not throw me off cliffs or into walls.” His speed increased as he looked away. “My father did.” Figuratively or literally.

“To strengthen me, he said, especially after my mother’s death.” He bit his lip. He did not taste the fruit between his teeth, or the aftertaste of coffee mixed with meat, but something bloody, something different, something acidic and rancid. Perhaps those were simply his memories.

“He was patient with me, for Xarton K’yoshin is a patient man, but weakness wasn’t tolerated. Neither is the male tolerated to rule higher than the female except where the latter does not exist in the lands of the lord.” His knife almost slipped his skin but didn’t. “Mother’s death was father’s gift, then, in a sense. Bereft of his wife, having mourned her passing, the Lord of Starfall governs his lands at the edges of the queendom, sends slaves by the day, and is largely ignored, as is what he both condones and partakes in beyond flaying slaves.”

His blade hesitated. “A quiet people, a peaceful land.” He picked up the pace and gazed at Zelici again. "It is no place for women or children. Or a man like me who just wanted a woman." A woman I will never have. “Damn that man.”

Princess Zelici
 
What woman? That was what she wondered. His father sounded like he would be right at home in her dragon capital city or not. Either way Zyn onviously felt no love for his father, but his father's hand haunted the drow everywhere he went. Just like the threat of being caught haunts me. They were truly quite the pair. Similar societies and yet opposite because black and white scaled males could rule beside a queen. And even though they were a long lived species they were not immortal. Though when one was about to pass from old age they always knew.

The bleeding stopped quickly enough. It wasn't a bad wound. And she picked her cup up and finished her juice. Then ate more bread and cheese. With butter this time. Fresh butter and bread was a marvel.

"My condolences for your loss," she said. Her eyes a bit softer and sympathetic. Her tail rubbed his thigh and moved higher. She had seen him slip when speaking of his family. Namely his father. There was quite a bit of emotion there. Just like there was emotion attached to her skills of flight. "Who was the woman you wanted?" she asked because she was sure the drow playing with her could have any woman he wanted. Perhaps it was a mother figure he craved?
 
Zyn hadn’t slipped at the mention of either parent, but he almost did. His father was a cursed person at best, a forgotten memory at worst, which made sense in a way considering Zyndyrr may one day wish to drive a blade through the heart of his very own father someday.

To hell with that image, however. More importantly, what did make Zyn slip and miss the table the next instant, wasn’t a fable of his homeland, but a tail. It trailed up his thigh, higher, and the dark elf’s blood was already high. So his finger was bitten by a knife just like her.

Women. Oh, he loved them much more than his father did, but that didn’t make them any less different. Oh, differences were to be celebrated, for diversity made a species, but a lady like this was shifty with her ways. She could make his other blade raise in an instant.

“Who was the woman…” Zyn repeated, more in reflection, less in a question. He leaned back in his seat again, held his bleeding finger to his lips, sucked the blood as if he wasn’t just some dark elf but a vampire. Like his father, after a manner, what with his bloody manor.

“She was a woman but she was no lady,” he answered honestly, keeping his gaze away from Zelici’s face. Suddenly she felt distant, but that was his own fault, not hers, as memories burned. “So my elitist father did not appreciate her. That alone earned me his ire, as it earned her his fire.”

He shrugged. “It is what it is.” Zyn stabbed his knife into the table the next moment to show he wished to speak no more on this topic. “We both lost. No one won.” His eyes trailed from the knife to the plate, to the tunic, to the cleavage, as his tongue slipped over his lips. “But I won you. You won me. More than once.” He tilted his gaze, like a vampire studying his prey. "Didn’t we...Zelici..?”

Princess Zelici
 
Zelici considered his words and situation as she tried the coffee. Too bitter for her. Her nose wrinkled slightly at the taste. She loved the smell, but could never make it taste good. Perhaps if it was as sweet as juices and berries she would be able to drink it. She exchanged the mug for more juice and just listened. When she looked up again, he was watching her while tending his wound like she had tended hers.

If she understood Zyn's story correctly, his first lady, first love perhaps, his first woman at least, was dead by his father's hand. Most likely because his father did not want to give up control of his lands to a woman again. She wondered if male dragons of her homeland felt the same way towards their female counterparts? She had never thought to ask. But that was why she was traveling, to learn new things and perspectives.

"We did," she agreed. She reached out, took his injured hand and looked it over. "My condolences. First loves are important or so the bards say," she said. It wasn't a bad cut. The way he was looking at her and the teasing she had done... She looked at him the same way. And that was why she slid into his lap, arms loose around his neck, and nuzzled behind his left ear.

"I'm afraid your loss was a bit unfair. My touch distracted you. So you pick what we do next: dance, tell embarrassing stories, sex..." she said. There were a lot of options. And some would say fair is for fools, but there was enough unfairness in the world that Zelici, for all her mischievousness and rebelliousness, tried not to add to.
 
Zyn was motionless. Fuck your condolences. There was no vehemence in his visage. I am violent. He let his hand be taken into her hand, just as her hands had taken his back in that tavern, as this thumb had caressed her fingers. I am a piece of shit, you dumb bitch.

No, she could not read his thoughts, but that inner monologue was never expressed in the sense that they should be read by the other person any more than narrative reflection. It was only an expression of relevance. At least, that was the intention.

His mind highlighted a dichotomy at that moment. Yet, just as he slept, Zelici would not be able to see the fire raging within him, the war waging inside his mind, his spirit, his body. Here was a man, a drow, dark elf, the son of a lord, banished and abandoned, ever torn between two worlds.

Literally, for the Underrealm was under the surface, and here he was above it, the son of K'yoshin. Metaphorically, for he had lost his land, his privileges, his inheritance, and was little more than a vagabond on this planet.

And who was she? Who are you? A dragon woman with horns, with claws, with teeth, with parents who could be mean, apparently. But what the fuck did she know of agony? Had she ever seen her lover suffer? Zyndyrr had no intention of speaking further over the matter. He had said enough already. He would not spill the beans. Some secrets were best kept. He would not…endanger…this woman.

She was already dangerous. Her lithe figure, delicate if deadly. Her thin lips, never so innocent. Her hips, protruded like the hilts of his swords at either hip, only he sat there just in shorts for the moment. Her hair, like winter’s rain, cascading past her angular face. Her eyes, blue as violet, like twilight, against his crimson oceans.

She was in his lap the next moment. Poor, pretty thing. She was consoling, caressing, yet if her intention was just to soothe him then as soon as she sat on him she would have noticed the budding stone beneath her buttocks. He had no need to hide it. Not quite like his violence. They were already familiar with one another and, to be honest, Zyn didn’t give a shit for romantic solace.

“We’ve already told embarrassing stories,” Zyndyrr whispered, eyes into eyes. “On my end, at least. Perhaps I should not have even mentioned my miseries.” Perhaps I should never even dream. “And we have had sex, oh yes.”

At that, his hands squeezed her hips, shifted her closer into his grip. They could feel each other’s breath, lips close enough to kiss, pupils penetrating pupils, yet for the moment he just savored the taste of her with his eyes, not his tongue, not his fingers, not his other instrument.

“And we will do so again,” Zyn promised, stroking Zeli’s cheek with a lone finger. That meant her face yet, ever one to play, his other hand gripped her lower cheek, giving it a favorable squeeze. “We have stared into each other’s souls with daggers in our eyes, made each other bleed with knives between our fingers, and discovered one another under the covers.”

Zyndyrr leaned in closer, pressed his lips against hers, held the moment, felt her lips like wind over an ocean, and broke away to nuzzle his cheek against hers, whispering into her ear. “And now I want to dance with you. To the drum, to the violin, to the flute.” As I danced with her too. “Downstairs on the tavern floor.”

He denied himself, despite the fire inside him. Maddening. Tormenting. How he just wanted to take her right there and then. No, he would wait, he would let himself get excited, he would relish the future. “Then we will come upstairs again, and I will take you on the bed, on this table, on the damned wall.” Breath caught in his chest, the elf buried his face in the dragon’s bosom, as he had on the pillow of their bed.

“And we will fuck the world away. Then take on this job with a bored lord, get paid…” Zyn’s heart skipped some beats. He lifted his face, gently licked her chin. “And I will fuck you all over again.” He promised.

Princess Zelici
 
Had she misstepped? Other races were such odd things. Affected in millions of ways by tiny things. Mentioning a lover was embarrassing? Perhaps it was how she had tried to offer comfort to him? Hard to know. Hard to tell. Zyndyrr was a mystery and a curiosity for her. She was very glad he was her lover for this adventure. Adventures were always nice with a lover and a mysterious and intelligent lover would make the nights more interesting. And then they could decide if they wanted to part ways or go on another adventure together. She wanted to keep him around. To poke him and learn about him and his people.

Zelici studied Zyn from the heat of his lap. She could feel his interest, but would wait to see if he would act on it. He was vulnerable right now and scrambling to recover. She would let him recover while she studied him and he pulled her closer and touched her. She stroked his neck delicately, tracing the curves and dips with her claws.

They kissed and it was sweet. Her tail curled around his calf and squeezed gently. Idly she watched him as he moved from her face to her chest to her face again. She pecked a kiss on his nose.

"But first, we dance," she said. She turned and gestured to the room.

"Here or...,'she gestured at the door and the hall beyond it,' or down there. It matters not to me," she said.
 
Her tail curtailed his desire to hide his fire. It wrapped around his calf as it had on the tavern floor beneath their current floor. From that evening to this morning, they had ventured upstairs. They hadn’t danced downstairs, not with hips and fingers swaying to the music, movements in rhythm, but they had danced nonetheless with fingers and hips in the sense of teasing and taunting. They had haunted one another with the promise to fuck.

There were other words in languages for this but, for Zyn, it was as simple in nature as her little whimper when he had taken her over and over again in the moments that ensued after two persons gathered in a tavern. They had taken one another in this room. They screwed. So fuck flowery prose. He had mauled her breasts, she had clawed at his chest, and there was no doubt anyhow that they fucked with love, breathless in their anguish, as much as with the passion of clouds and mountains. Mayhaps there was a difference.

She was a dragon. He was a drow. Man. Woman. They were similar as much as different. They had their own history. Yet they owned their past as much as their present. She was no meek thing, really. She was far from weak. She had fire in her heart, fit for a dragon princess, and to underestimate her lithe figure was to be an idiot. Zyn didn’t. He had never mistaken this woman on his lap for a flower to be bent, for her petals to be split and blown into the wind. Even if he did...

Rather, she was as precious as a gem as much as dangerous as a dragon, and no understatement. You bitch. No discriminating expression. Funny how vehemence could twist and turn words of bold insult into a compliment the next moment. He wanted to resist her movements but couldn’t. He wanted to take this woman to the tavern floor and dance with her but, all over again, as she shifted her hips against his, he just wanted to take her in an instant.

Her lips clasped the tip of his nose, as her two lips like tulips had since kissed the tip of his other member. She turned and gestured to the room. To the door and the hall beyond it. She said it didn’t matter to her. She was a liar if he was because, Zelici as much as Zyndyrr, were fabulous fibbers to put it politely. Idiots to put it less gently. Pieces of shit if they decided to deny each other’s fire to put it less subtly but fuck it, Zyn didn’t.

“You silly little fool,” Zyndyrr whispered, though there was no taunting or animosity in his voice; just playful teasing. He stroked a lone finger down Zeli’s cheek. He loved doing this. He loved the feeling of her bottom atop him; a cushion against his firmness. It was as delightful as slaying a dragon if ever he might fight his full and, despite being frightful beasts as well, he was fearless, for he was an elf of darkness.

“I will dance with you,” he promised. He kissed her cheek, shifted his lips to the crook of her neck, sucked on her skin. “But first I will dance with you.” Then, he parted the slits of her dress, hiked her garment up her hips, sighed his delight like a kite in the wind.

He lowered his own garment in an instant, shifted his hips, and uttered the gentlest gasp as he took her into him all over again, felt the world’s breeze on his skin, the curls of her fingers on him, and fucked the world away along with his pain.

This was Zyn's lament. His regret and torment. His consent to never repent but spend this moment with his woman, Zeli, and let her breasts and her hips become his strength.

Princess Zelici
 
Perched in his lap Zelici could feel Zyn's intent and while she could feign naivity like the best of them or play hard to get she didn't. Instead she chuckled and let her body be manipulated until she and Zyn could both take what they wanted. Him inside her. Deep and claiming. Giving and taking. This was why she hadn't fully dressed because all those layers would get in the way. Even though they had indulged in each other all night she still wanted more.

Zeli moaned for him. Gasped. Made all the sweet sounds of lovemaking as they held on to each other despratly. His rough hands and strong body anchored her to reality. Her hands, equally calloused, explored him again while at the same time, hung on and held him close. Hers. In this moment he was hers. The room filled with the sounds of their bodies coming together and the creaking of the chair despratly trying to stay together. Who cared if they broke it?

And later they would dance in a different way. Upright and on their feet and swaying in each others arms. Or throwing each other around. She wasn't sure but she was excited to find out. She'd watched two legged species, mainly humans and elves in other bars, dance. Their faces flushed and they laughed. Or they would pair off after swaying together and perform acts that she and Zyn were already performing.

There was also the promise of work in the future. And gold. And gold bought more ale and food and beds to share. Her tongue and then her teeth grazed the skin of the back of his neck before she bit down hard with a long groan. He was so needy for her like he needed her close to feel whole again.
 
Zelici hadn’t fully dressed. That was her intention. Yet Zyn would have been an idiot to claim he didn’t witness it. Instead, he relished it, the same way one slays a dragon to live and tell with it, and to hell with her dress in the end. Neither one of them resisted what was coming to them.

Yet there was something about her fabrics that just did it for him. The way her chest swelled within his grip. How her dress, already split at her thigh, shifted as he parted her garments for his passion to slip inside.

Her skin was as soft as a bird’s feather one moment, only to be as hard as a dragon’s scales the next; like his own hands, calloused by time and weather, war and more. This division did not deter his fingers, however. Rather, they merely made him want to explore her further.

He curved over the curve of her legs, drummed fingertips over them as if to kiss to the rhythm of music in another dance’s bliss, in another tavern, as he was reminded. Yet this woman was different. She was a dragon. Not a witch.

Zyndyrr took her over and over again. The chair did creak and the table did groan. She did moan and she did squeak. When that dance was over and done with they went down to the tavern for another round, only this was a different dance.

They had first met sitting down around a table, round after round, as they listened to a musician’s fables. Now they danced as if they owned the town. Hands on hips, on shoulders. Bolder and bolder, fingers shifted to visage, eyes into eyes and smiles on smiles, and all the while the music cradled this man and woman to it.

“What do you want?” Zyndyrr K’yoshin asked of her as he twirled her on the tavern floor, turned Zelici back to him, grazed a finger over her face. “We speak of desires, present and future, but what is it, Zelici…”

He curved his lips over her cheek, kissed it, whispered into her ear. “...What is it that I can give you right here that you don’t have already?”

Princess Zelici
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top Bottom