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The Price of Gratitude	By : Mayamahal Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 6057 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Blizzard or World of Warcraft. I make no profit or money for writing this.

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Maia woke that night to a painful weight on her chest.

Gasping, she struggled to breathe, dully noting that a small windstorm seemed to be loose in her bedroom. A windstorm that shrieked and squalled and flapped it's great big black wings-

Blackbird! she thought. Was someone trying to kill him? How did he make it to her house? Was he injured further?

The weight bore down harder, and with it came a waft of spiced air, and a muttered word of warning.

That's when she realized what was happening: she was being pinned, and the bird was mantling angrily at her attacker.

She struggled and bucked, trying to dislodge the man atop her. There was a sharp grunt as her knee hit something yielding, and it got easier to breathe. She barked a spell, squeezing her eyes shut as a blast of ice split from her body and froze everything in her room in place. With a gasp, she wrenched herself from the clutching, strong hands that kept her pinned and threw herself forward, across the distance of space and time until she found herself rolling across grass and sand.

The short-distance teleportation spell had always been a life-saver, but she usually had her destination in sight before doing it. She was confident she knew the ground around her home fairly well, but it didn't matter when she practically 'blinked' into a rock. The snap she heard, accompanied by the searing pain, assured her she had sprained her anke, if not broken it.

Maia couldn't stop the torrent of swear words that poured out of her mouth, even as she struggled to keep moving forward. Her hands found stone and, with a wave of despair, she realized she was in no condition to climb the wall.

She pressed her brow to the wind-beaten rock, closing her eyes. Dammit dammit dammit. She struggled to think of her options, but her ankle made that passingly difficult.

There was a gust of air and a squawk just behind her. She whirled around to come face to face with her ebony patient as he landed in front of her. He mantled, flapping his wings, his head easily high enough to gaze into her eyes; Maia was rather short, for a human.

The golden gaze of the eagle blinked at her as he made that familiar chuurrrrr sound that meant he was content. Maia frowned in confusion, hoping flaring in her chest. The large bird of prey stepped closer flexing his wing purposefully. It was then she realized that his wing had been mended, and as he set his beak on her shoulder, closing his eyes, it occured to her that he was still emitting that feeling of gratitude. But how had he healed so fast?

"Blackbird?" she mumbled at him, still shaking from fear and adrenaline. "What in all the hells is going on?" she whispered deserpately into the feathers of his throat.

He chirped, then slowly swiveled his head. Maia tensed as the figure of a tall figure melted from the night-time shadows. As he slinked closer, her eyes grew wide. Oh crap.

The Troll slinking towards her was withdrawing his risen arrow, his rigid shoulders slowly going lax. Rubbing his thigh, the hunter was eyeing her with a wary expression, alternating with curious glances to his avian pet. Without meaning to, Maia pressed her shoulders back against the solid wall, eyes growing wider the closer he got. The bird mantled at the hunter, biting out a sharp noise; a reprimand.

Maia realized she was panting; she couldn't tear her eyes away. He was...

...he's stunning. She blinked at her own thought, but couldn't find anything remiss about it. It was true. He was an intense sight.

Shoulders curled forward, he was still quite tall. Maia's head barely came up to this hunter's chin. As most trolls went, he was taller than any she'd seen, though the tusks he sported were almost delicate to others she'd seen. They curved up, slender, the ivory color almost matching the color of his hair.

Thick, his mane was fashioned into a crest, a mohawk, and it was the color of pale sand, nearly white. His skin was dusky blue, and it sheathed muscle and sinew, rippling with promise and a hunter's grace. He was absolutely breath-taking.

He was garbed in leather from head to toe, with an ivory wool shirt beneath it all. The marks on his cheeks and scalp matched the ones on his bird, the patterns the same. A few braids on either side of his head were adorned with glass beads, Maia could hear them tinkle faintly as he moved.

She watched as, still regarding her warily, he slowly drew his bow over his head, the bowstring taut across his chest. He replaced the arrow he'd nocked back into his quiver and let the whole thing settle on the grass. Hands empty, he brought them up, palm out, and said something softly in his native tongue.

Shaking her head, she pulled her face into a puzzled expression, trying to will her muscles to yield, her body to stop shaking. Blackbird hunched his shoulders and churred at her again. WIthout knowing why, she trusted the avian, and let herself listen to the Troll. Again, he spoke to her, the syllables rough and rolling together, but it was the emotion behind them she was trying to pay attention to.

He was trying to calm her, she realized, as he approached slowly, hunching a little more to bring his height to something less threatening.

Which is impossible, she thought wryly, as he's still got a good three feet on me. She still continued breathing hard, pressing back into the stone behind her, unable to relent and trust this stranger.

Maia was no fool; while she was a pacifist as often as she could manage it, she knew that most members of the Horde would kill her as soon as look at her. As this hunter had snuck into her home and threatened to kill her for what he thought was the capture of his pet, it was just more proof at how untrusting the denizens of this war were. Despite this awareness, Maia couldn't bring herself to harm the occassional wandering Orc or drifting Forsaken that wandered about. Life wasn't fair, but while she couldn't control the world, she could control herself, and there was no way she'd kill someone just for the sake of killing, unlike many of her 'comrades'. And members of the Horde, for that matter.

I wouldn't want anyone to do that to me, she'd decided long ago. And while this particular golden rule was a hard standard to expect everyone to live up to, it was the standard she held to herself. Even if it meant inevitably causing her harm or worse.

Remembering this, she let the Troll drift closer while the large eagle backed away. She felt exposed as Blackbird pulled aside, but then that could also have been attributed to the fact that she wore little more than a sleeveless cotton chemise that didn't even graze the tops of her knees. She shifted nervously, only to have her ankle shriek at her.

The mage didn't know she'd been about to topple over until the Troll was there, large hands at her waist and arm, angular face consuming her vision. He asked something, a note of surprise in his voice. She shook her head again, favoring her injured leg, and pointed to the already swelling ankle. Crouching down, letting her lean against his shoulder, a three-fingered hand skimmed down her calf, gently probing. She bit her lip as he rolled her foot, then gritted out a curse word as he flexed it back. Adrenaline still poured through her nerves, and the pain had her breathing hard again.

With a squeak, she found herself lifted, swept up and over the shoulder of the hunter. Understanding the necessity but not the indignity, Maia protested all the way to her bedroom, her hands frantically trying to pull down the back of her nightgown, hoping to all the Gods that the draft of air she felt back there was not because she was exposed for all the world to see.

She was blushing furiously when she was set on the edge of her bed, pushing tangled mahogany waves from her face. "You did NOT have to carry me like th-" she began to splutter, before she felt a jerk at her ankle, a loud pop, and loosed a pained, startled cry.

"Fucking HELLS-" she gasped, rubbing the offended joint... only to realize it didn't hurt anymore. Experimentally, she rolled her foot, and then again, faster. It was still a little sore but didn't hurt near as badly as it had, and she glanced up at her rescuer to find him grinning happily.

It was no wonder; her nightgown was hiked above her hips, and, leaning forward, she'd given him a fine view of her cleavage, and then some.

Maia wasn't what you would call modest. She wasn't a brazen whore neither, but she'd had her fair share of lovers and was relatively comfortable in her skin. Despite that, however, she'd had a streak of virgin shyness that she was never able to overcome, a trait that left her with the ability to blush and cover her flesh less she look indecent.

It's not that she was bad looking, either; shorter than most humans (the heads of most Dwarves came up to her nose), what she lacked in height she made up for in curves. Wide hips curved into a smaller waist, only to flare outward to a round ribcage and shoulders with width to match her hips. She wasn't overly abundant in the chest department, but definitely had a rounder, larger bum that easily compared to the behinds of most Dwarven ladies. In fact, the nick-name around most of her guildmates had been 'The Tall Dwarf'.

It was the aforementioned streak that kicked in now, that made her cheeks burn dark, dark red and had her hands trying to tug down the cloth back down over her bare flesh. "This will teach me to sleep naked ever again," she grumbled.

Her hands were stopped when they were covered by the hunter's, her wide, dark eyes jerking up to his face.

His were gray, she noted, a silver gray that sparkled with wit and warmth. She drew in a startled breath, his hooked, hawkish nose brushing her cheek as his mouth murmured something quiet to her; another question, this one so obvious that she didn't even need to consider what it meant.

He was breathing slowly, that earthy, spicy smell that had earlier sent her into a panic now making her brain numb with pleasure.

He smells so good, she thought, leaning into him. A slender tusk brushed her cheek, drawing down to tickle her jaw, trace forward across her chin as his mouth planted a warm, soft kiss just under her ear. A shudder rippled through her, and she couldn't help it; she moaned.

OhgodswhatamIDOING- she thought hysterically, just before she turned her head and claimed his mouth with her own.

With a growl of surprise, the Troll wound his arms around her waist and dragged her into his lap, the hunter still crouched on the floor before her bed. Hands that felt hot, rough with callouses, ran across her muscled thighs under her cotton night gown and dug nails into her hips. She gasped against his mouth, her knees on either side of his waist, and resisted the urge to wrap her legs around him.

"Tsah, tsah," he whispered to her, an unknowing echo of her earlier soothing to his wounded eagle. His hands traveled around the curve of her bare bottom, up the expanse of her lower back, the gesture slow, firm.

Shaking from head to toe, her teeth chattering with excitement and leftover adrenaline, Maia closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. It felt impossible.

One moment I'm sleeping, she mused, the next I'm moaning in the arms of an enemy soldier... a Troll, no less! Something in her tried to scold her for her lack of patriotism, for her foolish disregard, but that voice was small and homeless; she'd long since stopped seeing the lines of good and evil in the Alliance and the Horde.

Such were the last of her coherent thoughts; his mouth had settled at the most sensitive spot of her neck, where her throat met her shoulder. He was still murmuring at her, trying to calm her, to soothe her, his hands running slowly up and down her bare back. She tilted her head back, closing her eyes, gritting her teeth and willing herself to relax.

For such large hands and only three fingers to each, he was surprisingly nimble; she didn't realize he'd undone the buttons down the front of her gown until he was tugging aside the fabric. Bizarrely, she tried to fight his hands then, trying to draw the edges closed, shaking with nervous tension and desire. He murmured to her again, leaning forward of a sudden and spilling her back on to her bed and rumpled blankets.

Blinking back the hazy fog brought on by intense desire, her second attempt to draw the gown closed was too late; his hands drew up her thighs, his rough skin to her smooth, the sensation making her arch against her mattress. She heard a word of appreciation, noting that he had opened her cotton chemise again. There was a great deal of warmth in that single word, the sincerity so intense that it had her opening her eyes to stare at him.

He was above her, kneeling between her legs, bare-chested and smiling down at her. Unable to help it, she blushed again, though she refused to take her eyes from him. He was lean, incredibly lean for one so tall, but it suited him well. He was graceful and moved with gentle purpose, whether it had been retrieving his arrow or running his hands up her legs. Feeling for all the world like a traitor to her faction, Maia couldn't help but want this man.

He was waiting for her. She didn't know how she knew, but he wasn't going to take one step further into ... into this without her consent and cooperation. He was giving her the choice; yes, or no?

Biting her lip, her hands reached up to clasp behind his neck, drawing him down on top of her. He growled appreciatively as bare flesh brushed sensitive, peaked nipples. She tilted her chin to take his mouth again, her teeth closing around his bottom lip as his leather-clad hips settled between her thighs. Now she wrapped her legs around him, rubbing herself up and in to him and the growing shape between his legs, panting around his kiss as he moaned in response. The sound thrilled her; she was affecting him as much as he was her.

Her brown hands trailed up the back of his neck, skimming along the edges of his ears before entangling in his pale hair. Her mouth opened at the same time, tongue darting forward to taste the inner edge of his lips, enjoying the flavor and texture of his kiss. He twitched in surprise, only to return the gesture in kind, multiplied; his tongue swept past hers, tasting, drawing back, only to plunder her mouth again. Soon, the kiss became suggestive, with him seeking entry, pressing his advance, only to withdraw and then press in again.

How long this went on, she didn't know. After an eternity and a minute, he pulled back, leaving her lips wonderfully swollen, her eyes heavy-lidded with warm hunger. He was in about the same shape, panting, lips moist from her mouth and slightly parted. He mumbled something at her, an expression of wonder on his face. Not caring what he said, she brought her hands to his hips, fingers tugging on his belt, exploring the lacings of his leather breeches. "You're wearing far too much clothing," she muttered breathlessly.

There was an exhalation of surprise, followed by a soft chuckle and his hands wrapping around her wrists. She blinked, looking up at him; didn't he want to...?

He shook his head and grinned, pointing out the window and pulling his hands together to mimic the winged silhoutte of a bird. She blinked at him again. He whispered something else, as sincere as anything she could understand from him, heart-felt and thankful.

Ah. "Oh, um. You're welcome," she replied, ducking her head in a shameful shyness that startled even herself. That's what this ways, she thought, bemused. She cleared her throat."This was ah... quite the 'thank you'," she added with a nervous chuckle, and made to sit up and scoot off the bed.

He planted a hand against her bare chest to stop her, and as she looked up at him in confusion, that hand move around to expose her breast fully, cupping it's warm shape as his thumb brushed over her aroused, pointed nipple.

The sensation was indescribable. He leaned over her again, pressing down against her a second time. Her arms threatened to wind around his neck as she squirmed beneath him, only to have him escape her embrace and slip down her body. Opening her mouth to protest, she lifted her head-

-only to have his mouth plant a warm, slow kiss between her thighs.

Her head dropped back and her eyes went wide, mouth drawing open to inhale a long, shuddering breath. She felt smooth tusks press against the insides of her legs, until his hands hooked under her knees and pushed them back, spreading her completely open to him. The gesture sent her mind tumbling into a lovely, sweet madness, making her whimper in aroused gratitude.

His tongue, hot and wet, darted forward to tease her swollen clitoris, drawing down the length of her sex only to come back up and dab gently at her opening. Whimpering louder, she dug her fingers into her covers, gasping as he slid more of his talented tongue into her.

"Please-!" she gasped, writhing under his mouth. "This... this isn't necess-"

There was a snarl, then his lips closed around her sensitive nub of flesh, and he suckled on her.

Her hips bucked against his mouth, one of his hands taking advantage by propping up her bottom, his other hand slipping a thick, long finger into her dripping, clenching sex. With a jerk, she cried out, her own hands coming up to cover her eyes, her arms practically wrapping around her head as she clutched at herself, overwhelmed by him and what he was doing to her. His mouth became rhythmic in his suckling, as did his stroking, curling finger.

"Ohgods-" she moaned, helpless to this onslaught of feeling, her hips pumping in time to him. "Pleasepleaseplease," she begged without knowing what it was she begged for, her thighs straining against his shoulders, her pelvis lifting. It was building, all of it, the sensations gathering like a closing fist in her hips growing tighter, and tighter.

Then she fell.

The world became nothing but sensation, warm and red and dark, rippling through her body like endless ecstacy. Her orgasm claimed her so hard and swiftly that she clenched around his finger, drawing it in as deep as she could, and vaguely heard him growl with continued appreciation. In her coming, she felt his mouth nurse and pull at her clitoris, turning the ripples of pleasure into screaming waves, sending her over into an abyss of pleasant insanity and complete, claiming darkness.
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The Price of Gratitude