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• The Bet	By : Darbracken Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 2264 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
  Disclaimer: I do not own Koltira, Thassarian or World of Warcraft they are owned by Blizzard. I have not and will not make any profit from this story.

• Chapter List
  • 1-The Bet
• • 1

• This is a short drabble challenge that I actually set my lover but ended up doing myself as well. The prompts were Thassarian and Koltira, the eastern plaguelands and peacebloom. This is only intended to be a oneshot but I may write this pairing again in the future.

  ~~
    Havenshire was quiet, eerily so, as though the death grip the Lich King had on the barren wasteland had strangled the ability of life to survive. However, life was tenacious and clung on in pockets of humanity dotted around the decimated and plague-ridden towns that had been left in the wake of Arthas’s forces. Through broken windows cold air pervaded, the chill kissing the sweat drenched flesh that writhed erotically fettered to a still strong rafter. Cries soared from lips parted by harsh pants, swirls of mist greeting each fresh plea for release.
    It had started as a drunken bet; Thassarian had wagered three bottles of Kungaloosh that he could make the elven death knight cry with pleasure. Undeterred, Koltira had raised him a keg of Bash Ale before he had slumped over the bar, completely intoxicated by the strong ale the human had plied him with all night. Why they felt the need to continue long after the wily mortal had claimed his victory was a subject neither of them chose to explore.
    Droplets of perspiration trickled down taut abdominal muscles, straining towards ecstasy as thorium chains scrapped across worn wood. Pale flesh blushed with crimson streak, welts winding down long, lean limbs that twitched and danced ceaselessly below rhythmic blows. A deep growl tore down Koltira’s vertebrae, his cock throbbing in eager response to the growing possessiveness in the human’s actions. Strong hands kneaded aching muscles, a brief rest bite in the otherwise relentless assault upon his senses.
      Teeth grazed silk knotted within Koltira’s pale strands, tugging fabric tight to hidden eyes as he traced the swell of his hipbone with rough fingertips. Toes curled in pleasure, leaving the elf hanging by wrists alone, manacles branding his ownership into the sensitive flesh. Every breath was his, each yearning whimper and aching sigh that he could pull from dried lips further affirmation that the death knight was his alone.
    A chill cascaded through Koltira’s frame as he felt the slither of a switch tracing the damp flesh of his inner thigh, arousal prickling in its wake. Droplets leaked from the swollen tip, bound by the unyielding silver ring that had thus far denied him release. The first blow cut across his shoulder blade, white hot pain bursting from the line of the lash. Thorium rattled violently as his body arched, a jolt of pleasure mingling with the evident pain. Another lash painted pale flesh a delightful scarlet; silk dampening as the bite of wood intoxicated him, tear droplets crowding on almost ivory lashes.
    “Peacebloom.” The word was gargled and breathy, digits lofting and clinging tightly to the metal above as the elven death knight tried to relieve the pressure on his limbs. Strong arms enfolded him, Thassarian reacting immediately to the uttered safe word, the poor man utterly unable to stand any more abuse. The weeping length was firmly grasped; the human pumped swiftly until Koltira all but crawled backwards up his frame, crying out to the city of the dead, his torment and his fulfilment. Heat sparked between tight fingers, fluid spilling over his knuckles as shaky Thalassian spilled between ragged exhalations.
  “Vendel'o eranu..” Words were whispered softly as limbs trembled, held aloft against the chest of the man who was meant to be a sworn enemy, whom by all rights he should hate. Pliant lips were kissed soundly, never understanding the flowing language of the elves but the melancholy tone with which it was spoken always drew Thassarian to embrace the slighter man tightly to his frame. Unlocking cuffs arms fell about broad shoulders, clutching him weakly as lips moved together with familiar ease. Carrying his spent counterpart to rudimentary bed he had crafted he laid him down, limbs twining together as he pulled the blindfold away. A tender kiss soothed hot flesh as he settled; if only for a while an incandescent beacon of life burning in the Eastern Plaguelands.

• • 1
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