#elorcanfic

[alexaconite]

When Nature Calls [Elorcan]

[Elide/Lorcan] Rated M for masterbation.  I cannot contain my love for these two. Rowaelin who?

-

He was awake - again. 

Somewhere between the fourth dawn bird chirping and his fourteenth intrusive thought of the dark haired girl sleeping on the cot above him, Lorcan Salvaterre gave up any hopes of sleep, and sat up from the uncomfortable bed roll he lay claim to. He had tossed and turned into the early hours of the morning, and now he could smell dew on the grass where the sun was thawing the remnants of another bitterly cold night. 

The boat he had commandeered - like a common thief, Elide liked to remind him - was anchored near a small patch of woodland, and far enough from civilisation that he hadn't second thought sleeping in the cabin last night. Usually, he rested on the deck where any potential ambush could be picked off easily.

His keen hearing detected nothing out of place, and instead registered the now familiar rise and fall of Elide's slumber. The woman at present - his very reasoning for unrest - was curled on her left side and facing him. Her dark hair was strewn across a makeshift pillow, and her slender neck met a softy curved shoulder that peaked out from beneath a thin blanket. 

Her features were gentle in sleep. The tiredness and stress that had been following them for days had ebbed away with the night, and she looked care free in sleep. She looked comfortable. And there was an instinctual side of Lorcan that flared with satisfaction. He had kept the female safe, like a good Fae male should. All was well. 

If only she would let him touch that neck. He had breathed in her aroma all night;  lavender, from a mixture of herbs she had washed with, and sweet from the molasses she had traded for in the previous town. The coppery tang of blood had vanished some time ago with the end of her bleed, and was replaced with a scent of maidenhood - fertile and ripe. He had tossed and turned all night, enveloped by the smell of her womanhood, and beaten down the primal urge to take, take, take. 

Now she slumbered unaware, like a lamb in a wolf's den, and he couldn't pull his eyes from the soft curve where her neck met her shoulder. To sink his teeth into the gentle groove, to taste and touch for just a moment… 

A morning bird's song startled him, and he realised the sight he must be. Sitting on the floor with his canines on show, leering at a sleeping woman in the crack of dawn that slithered through the broken window shutter. 

Furthermore, was the bigger problem he now had to deal with. The front of his trousers tented obviously with the lusting he had driven himself too. Staring down at the bulge in his pants with disgust, he threw the thin blanket off his legs, and crept like a thief in the night out of the cabin. 

If she had woken and saw him, leering at her like a piece of meat, and then looked down at his straining cock…

He hurled insults at himself on the deck of their boat, double checking the rigging, and refusing to acknowledge the demand in his pants. He wouldn't allow himself…he couldn't start a habit now that their paths were to remain entwined on this journey to find that bitch-queen. 

He filled their water bottles, readjusted their packs, and cursed those damned birds for their intolerable happiness. But he could hear her breathing; he knew what her chest looked like with each breath, and how her rounded breasts would rise and fall and rise and fall, and how they might feel in his hands…while his lips roamed her neck, nipping and tasting from ear to that forsaken curve he wanted to latch his canines around. 

It was instinctual. He was off the boat before he could register any clear thoughts and striding into the woodland in search of some place discreet. He didn't go far, just enough she wouldn't hear him and close enough that he could still see the boat. His hand undid buttons at his front in a juvenile, clumsy manner, and he braced his palm against a tree for support, finally pulling his aching cock free. It was almost relief enough just to be without the constraint of fabric, but his traitorous hand cradled the soft skin and moved of its own accord. 

Elide and her eyes that bore into his soul. They were eyes that made him feel like he had a soul left to look at, and that it wasn't mangled and torn from his crimes. He wondered if she would ever see him as he sees her - desirable, wanted, touchable. 

Elide and her mouth that could cut a man with words like a dagger's edge. She was sharp and fast with untouchable wit. He wondered what those lips would feel like pressed against his own, and if her tongue would roam his mouth, brushing against his canines… 

His eyes lost focus while his hand moved back and forth, pulling every filthy thought he could muster into each stroke across his swollen head. Sweat pooled above his brow, his hair falling forth around his lowered head, and he allowed a hiss of satisfaction between his lips. 

Elide...curled up in bed, sighing softly each time she moved. Those little sounds had tormented him all night, and he recalled every little moan she made as if she were splayed beneath him. A groan tumbled from his throat. 

Elide and her fucking neck.

 His top lip recoiled and he emitted a guttural growl, spilling his seed in ropey lengths onto the tree trunk. He continued to pump his cock, sighing with relief as his orgasm washed away every knot and kink he had been holding onto, and letting a shaky breath leave his chest. 

Lorcan rested his forehead against the tree, allowing his cock to soften in his hand. He wouldn't make a habit of this. But he didn't feel guilty either. He eyed the evidence of his release glistening against the trees rough trunk, and a satisfied, lopsided grin crossed his face.

"Lorcan?" he heard her hesitant call.

He hastily tucked himself away, rubbing his hands against his pants, and brushing his hair from his face. He made a show of stepping out of the trees and tying the buttons on his pants. Thank Hellas that she wasn't Fae - the stench of arousal and release must be rolling off him right now - she would have smelled his actions within seconds. 

Elide stood on the deck, hands folded across her chest against the morning chill. "Oh, sorry," she muttered, assuming he had risen to pee. The slightest pink tinge crossed her cheeks. "I didn't realise you were-" 

He rolled his eyes dismissively, stepping back onto the boat. "I can't think of a better place to answer nature's call than in nature itself." 

Her lips twitched in response." Well if you've marked that tree I'll find another," she told him unabashedly, and he felt his chest flutter at how comfortable they had become around each other. 

"I believe that is more of a dog trait-" 

"Exactly my point," she cut across him, and with a proud smirk, brushed passed. Her elbow ever so slightly grazed his torso and sent his chest into another traitorous frenzy. 

Get a hold of yourself, he scolded himself as he watched her cross onto the grassland, you're a grown man. 

When she threw a questioning look over her shoulder and pointed to a tree as if to ask if that one was okay, he couldn't help but smile against his own stubbornness, and it was then that Lorcan Salvaterre knew he was royally fucked. Elide Lochan had stirred something inside of him that he had thought long dead. 

And he didn't feel one bit guilty. 

-END