The Pirate and the Elf Ch. 02

Edited by the awesome NaokoSmith, to whom I am massively grateful.

Chapter 2 – An exchange [of power]

"I can't believe you took on a Templar with that toothpick of a fucking sword and then got your other toothpick sucked. The gods smile on you, you lucky bastard." Beren was laughing, although he disagreed with almost everything his Captain had done since boarding the Imperial vessel.

They had fought a tough battle, surprised that the ship had a handful of the Empire's Templars on board, they had lost some good, and bad, men. Thanks to the sailors' Goddess, Nehalennia - the Templars had been few in number.

Francis smiled and shook his head, while keeping a sharp eye on the activity on deck. There were some walking wounded receiving treatment from the apothecary and the rest of the crew busy carrying anything they could find from the captured vessel along with food, barrels of water and materials to repair their own ship, little of any true worth – except for the elf woman they had rescued.

"If I'd known those steel-clad monsters would be on board I'd have had the men break out the culverins before we boarded," he said. They were ungainly things and the men had distrusted the hand-held cannons ever since one exploded, killing the man holding it and injuring two more.

His first officer shrugged. "Nobody expects to find those bastards at sea, or this far from the border with the wild east. Which brings us back to our guest," he said, lowering his voice as he continued. "You know the lads won't be happy she's on board. They definitely won't be happy with rescuing her and taking her home. Shit boss, I'm not happy about it," he admitted.

"She's valuable and she's not a danger to us," replied the privateer captain. "Trust me. Before we do anything we need to put into a friendly port. We can decide what to do then."

Francis spoke as if the elf's capture was a minor detail, but all he could think about was going back to his cabin to check on her. Even though the crew glared as he brought her on board, even though all the tales that came out of the Empire said that they were abominations, his thoughts kept drifting back to her. Those eyes: beautiful, golden and unlike any human eyes he had ever seen. He felt he could lose himself in them. Not just her eyes. Her skin, hair, even her scent when she stood close... Beren gave him a sceptical look but didn't argue. Francis was certain he could handle her. And she was the key to a fortune – one way or another.

...

Melisan of House Dorieth sat on the cot-bed in the cramped cabin and adjusted the meagre cotton tunic her former captors had forced her to wear. Her situation was much improved but still precarious. The oath she had sworn to secure the trust of the human called 'Francis' was real. She would not harm him, she would not use her magic on him and should they make it to a stronghold of her kin, she would use her influence as one of the Queen's inner circle to try to keep him safe. Her beloved Queen Lathiende, to whom she owed her unquestioning fealty, might not agree, though Melisan wasn't going to mention that risk to the human.

She had never interacted peacefully with humans before. She knew that her kin had a curious effect on them, even those without the gift of magic could sometimes cause humans to become confused, to lose control, which was why the Empire used their soulless Templars to fight elves. Still, she hadn't expected to wield such influence on her rescuer. She couldn't rely on it, her life was still in his hands, but she reveled in the effect she had: the way his pupils dilated when she was close, the way he had to stop himself from touching her when she brushed against him, how his breath quickened, how his eyes lingered on her bare skin...

She was used to others obeying her because, to her kin, her orders were an extension of the Queen's will. Here, she was alone, cut off from the influence of Lathiende. This power was all hers and it was exhilarating!

Melisan started as the lock turned and the door opened. She didn't stand, merely looked up to watch the Captain enter. She raised a delicate eyebrow as he closed the door behind him and pulled a wooden stool over so that he could sit down beside her. He looked serious.

"The crew don't like you," he shook his head and let out a frustrated sigh. "You're probably a witch and you'll lead us all to our deaths. Your people have a fabulous reputation don't they?" he said. There was a note of challenge in his voice that made Melisan feel less comfortable.

"I swore an oath," she protested, eyes wide. She moved down the cot towards the stool he was sitting on. "I have the gift, but I cannot use it on you, I swore an oath. You should tell your crew."

He raised a hand.

"I've told them. I've also told them that you are a valuable hostage. Telling them I've agreed to help you would get us both lynched. We need to be careful. You will have to stay in here for now. For your own safety," he said, eyes straying to her long, smooth legs. They were athletic, flawless from her firm thighs right down to her pretty dainty feet. How could she be so perfect? It wasn't possible.

Melisan nodded her agreement, while noticing his distraction. His speech slowed as his eyes wandered. She turned towards him, feeling the rough cotton material of her tunic ride up, exposing yet more of her thigh. She fixed him with her big golden eyes.

"You are not reconsidering helping me, Francis?" she asked, choosing an imploring tone, making herself sound fearful and placing a trembling hand upon his knee. She was gratified by his reaction.

"No, no!" he protested. His hand moved to rest upon hers as if to reassure her. As soon as he touched her smooth skin with his own calloused fingers he withdrew them as if shocked. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then looked his erstwhile hostage in the eyes, "I... No, you don't... it's..." he faltered and then scowled, frustrated at his sudden lack of coherence.

Melisan stroked up from his knee to his thigh. She leaned closer to him, her voice dropping to a breathy whisper: "Do I make you feel things that you are unused to? I am sorry, it is not my intent."

She tilted her head to one side and suddenly spoke in a clearer tone: "I do not wish to distract you." She removed her hand and sat back, placing both of her hands upon her knees, looking away from him.

As those wide, mesmerizing eyes turned and her posture became cooler towards him Francis suppressed a whimper, he felt like he was losing her. He was nursing a desperate, aching erection that harked back to their first encounter. The memory of her lips around his cock leapt to his mind, making his discomfort worse.

"I don't... I don't mind. Provided the crew don't think that you have a hold over me. That would be disastrous," he near-stammered. "For us both! I really... it's," he stopped speaking as Melisan leaned forward again, placed a finger on his lips and kept the smile of victory from her own. This human, this warrior who had slain a Templar single-handed, a leader of his people, was helpless before her. She was flushed with the thrill of it.

"Hush my lord, I understand," she whispered. "We are allies now, equals. I merely meant to show you that I do not deliberately distract you." She kept her finger on his lips while gently hooking her other hand behind his neck, pulling him towards her. "I see that you have needs." He slid forwards from the stool onto his knees in front of her, the scabbard of his rapier scraping the wooden floor, his eyes glazed with desire.

Melisan felt almost as pleased she had been when she found out she had been chosen by Queen Lathiende. She had willingly given up her own life and dreams to serve Lathiende; her mind and body to please the Queen – and why not. The Queen had given enough to save their people. Now Melisan was the one holding the reins, no longer the servant.

"You want to be close, you want to feel my skin against yours," she said, opening her legs, taking his hands and placing them on her bare thighs. Francis's wide eyes answered for him.

"Don't just feel. Taste," she commanded, hands guiding his unresisting head so that his face pressed against the inside of her thigh. She found pleasure in the sharp scratching of his stubble and the heat of his panting breath. Only then did she smile, giving a tiny gasp as he kissed and licked her skin, his tongue warm and moist. Melisan kept her hands upon his head, guiding it, not letting his mouth stray any further up her thigh.

He was so gentle! Weren't all humans brutes, practically animals? From their initial encounter, and the pounding he had given her throat, she had assumed him to be a brute. She suppressed a moan and dug her fingers into his dark curls as she rocked her hips toward the edge of the straw-filled mattress, the hem of her tunic no longer covering her modesty.

Still slowly rocking her hips back and forth she kept tight hold of his hair with one hand while the other slid down between her legs. She spread her pink labia and drew her middle finger up over her glistening sex until it rested above her swollen clitoris. Holding herself open, she now urgently pulled his mouth onto her, gasping with anticipation as she felt his breath, then with hungry pleasure as he kissed, then licked her, still guided by her hands.

She closed her eyes and fought the urge to grind herself against his face like a rutting animal. She had a brief vision of the beautiful face of Lathiende gazing at her in disgust, but this could no longer deter her.

Francis's hands were on her hips and she felt one of them slide back down. She heard him fumble with his breeches and felt him shift as he freed his cock. He tried to rise, no doubt to climb up and fuck her. Gripping his hair tighter she pushed him back in his place.

She gasped, biting her lip and thrusting herself towards him more urgently as she felt herself quickly approaching climax, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

Her hips rocked and she gripped his hair so hard that it hurt him. His grey eyes flicked up at her, shining briefly before he closed them and concentrated on pleasing her. His mouth pressed against her. His stubble continued to scratch at her inner thighs, sharp pin-pricks of excitement on her smooth skin. His soft tongue eagerly flicked around her swollen lips, then over her clitoris, hot and wet.

She bucked against him, she bit her lip harder, this time unable to prevent a moan escaping as she reached orgasm. Francis felt the muscles of her sex pulse against his mouth. She urgently pressed it against him.

Then she pulled herself back as she pushed him away, breathing hard as she regained her composure. She smiled down at him.

"Now I think we are even," she said, releasing his hair and passing her thumb over his lips. She could feel her own wetness, slick on his mouth. Francis sat back, still on his knees, his cock standing proud and hard. He looked down at it and back at Melisan.

She noted with pleasure that he had not tried to simply force himself upon her. She realized, however, that her new-found ally might consider himself short-changed. Frustration could easily become bitterness if not handled correctly though she had no intention of letting him take her, she was calling the shots now.

She stood and placed a hand on his shoulder as she walked around behind him. Then she dropped into a crouch, one knee on the floor, pressed in close behind him, her mouth behind his ear.

Francis shivered at the warm breath on his neck and smiled as her arms wrapped around his shoulders. When she grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms behind his back he frowned in confusion, was this a trick? What was she doing?

"What the," he started, then he took a sharp breath as, looping her left arm around his arms to keep them pinned loosely behind him, she reached around with her right and ran her fingertips over his hard cock, from tip to base. "Ahh," he gasped as understanding dawned. He relaxed into her embrace.

At first, Melisan stroked Francis gently with only her fingertips, her head resting in the crook of his neck and shoulder. He smelled of oiled leather and salt, of male, and a little of her. She watched, intrigued, as his cock jerked while he squirmed and moaned, pushing it out in his desperation for her to do more than just tease.

"Ah, Francis, so very eager," she whispered in his ear. She lightly dragged a nail down the underside of his shaft. Melisan smiled as he tensed. She brushed his neck with her parted lips, she could taste the sweat beading on his skin. The tip of her tongue touched his neck.

Francis shuddered and closed his eyes, head rolling back resting against her shoulder. He had wanted to pick her up, pin her to the wall and fuck her hard. Now he just wanted to be in her hands – literally – and let her do with him as she would, even though his cock was so hard it was starting to hurt.

Melisan touched the tip of his cock, tapping it slowly. The precum oozing out of the end stuck to her finger. She rubbed it over the engorged head, making the end of his cock glisten in the dim light. She circled the tip with her thumb and forefinger, before stroking gently over the head and down the shaft, slowly, her body still pressed to his, her cheek against his tanned neck.

She continued, slowly increasing pressure and speed, paying close attention to his breathing, pressing herself close against his body, feeling his muscles tensing against her. She moaned in his ear as she stroked, wrapping all of her hand around his hard cock. She was finding it incredibly arousing and despite having him service her orally only moments before she was tempted to pull him back onto the floor and climb on top of his throbbing manhood in order to ride him like an animal.

As tempting as it was, she wasn't going to lose control now. She felt his body quiver, muscles bunching as he got closer to orgasm and, just as the pressure in him was building towards the point of no return, she took her hand away.

Francis whimpered as she stopped. Her hands both pinned his arms now and he squirmed in frustration as his swollen cock jerked of its own accord.

"What the fuck!" he moaned though gritted teeth, before leaning back against her, panting, his orgasm ruined beautifully. Pleasure and frustration. His cock was still twitching. He felt her breath on his ear while she intently watched his near-agony.

"I want you to save it. I promised you a reward when I am safe and only then," she whispered into his ear, her wicked smile hidden from him as she released his arms and stood up. She walked around to face him, then lifted the cotton tunic over her head and stood naked before him, looking down at him as she scrunched the tunic into a ball.

"I'm going to need some real clothing. May I take some of yours?" she asked, glancing at the trunk at the end of the cot-bed.

Francis looked up at this proud goddess, her skin glowing from their exertions. He took in her lithe, toned figure, her pert breasts rising and falling with each breath, her flat stomach and the neat patch of hair over her sex, which only moments before he was pleasing with his mouth, he could still taste her. His desire burned like a furnace, but he felt compelled to do as she asked, or to try. He wanted her, even if he had to suffer for her approval.

He swallowed and took a deep breath, nodded his agreement, normality returning, the moment was gone. He missed her touch, her closeness, already. His aching cock felt cold without her hand wrapped around it, he missed her warm breath on his neck.

"I should probably get back on deck. Too much time in here and the men will..." he started, then stopped as Melisan crouched before him and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand.

"Don't worry," she said, her voice singing, joyful, "there will be other opportunities I'm sure. Perhaps your reward for helping me can start before we reach my homeland." She smiled as his eyes lit up at the possibility. Then she stood and turned her attention to the chest, opening it and taking out various items of clothing, examining them and laying them in a pile on the bed. Francis also stood and made himself decent. He had been dismissed, clearly.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Melisan stopped going through the ugly clothes and sat on the bed. She suppressed a laugh of joy. She was still technically his prisoner, but she was the one who held the leash. And it felt good.