An Inn In Balmora

This is NOT a story. This is a scene, there is no character arc, no plotline and no moral. It's just a one-shot erotic encounter based on an RPG game based on a computer game.

This is fanfic, more to the point it is gamefic set in the Elder Scrolls III world of Morrowind. I do write non-erotic fanfic, but this didn't seem to belong on the usual fan sites. The point is; I do not own the worlds, characters and creations of Morrowind, all of which are the property of the creative folks at Bethesda Softworks. I make no money for this. I just play and have fun there. Mistakes, errors and original characters are of course all mine.

If you are unfamiliar with the Morrowind universe it may be helpful to know that Tallis is a Breton, a physically slight race with mixed human and elven ancestry. Forin and Beladus are Dunmer, a race of elves with skin the color of shadows and red eyes, long-lived, usually highly skilled in whatever they care to learn and almost completely xenophobic.

Tallis took a last sip of the Shien. It was nice, but a little too sweet and a little too alcoholic for her to want to drink much of it. Intoxication and magic didn't mix well. She looked around at the few remaining patrons at the Eight Plates, and sighed. She wasn't really tired, but it was late, her companions had long since sought their rooms and it was really time for bed.

She left a few septims on the table, and headed to the stairs. Everything seemed quiet and peaceful here.

She got to her room and gave a look around before turning to bolt the door behind her. She was half expecting an intruder, and though she'd prepared as well as she could, she was still a little nervous, or maybe a lot.

She dropped the bolt into place, and before she could turn, she heard it. The voice she'd been anticipating and dreading since she'd left Seeyda Neen.

"Outlander." The baritone voice was right out of her dreams; or nightmares, he seemed to have a propensity for showing up in both. "We have unfinished business, you and I."

She slowly turned, knowing that if he'd wanted to kill her instantly, he already would have. But Dunmer were prideful and he enjoyed intimidation as much as he hated outlanders.

Forin Gilnith stood next to the bed. The deep grey of his skin, and the dark patterns of the form fitting leather he wore were explanation enough as to how she'd not seen him. In his right hand she could see the faint gleam of a greenish blade. She knew that she was seeing it only because he wanted her to.

The very first time they'd met he'd disheveled and dirty, living in a weathered shack, and when she and her companions had insisted on talking to him, he'd stayed lounging in his hammock, garbed only in a ragged pair of fishing trousers, arms crossed behind his head. Later she'd realized that he'd done that to casually conceal the blade in his hand, but at the time the sight of his well-muscled torso had derailed her thinking.

The fact that two investigators on Imperial business had questioned him, had become known, and had ruined some sort of deal he'd put together. She hadn't known that at the time.

It was the second time they'd met, when she turned into a back alley, having trailed what might have been a group of smugglers, that he'd first told her he intended to kill her. She had come around the alley intending to use some bit of showy magic to intimidate; while her companion did the questioning. Once in the alley, he was standing there. Garbed in shadow-toned leather, coiling a small wire up. Scattered around him were seven silent bodies. There'd been no outcry. They had been out of sight for maybe a minute.

She'd stood there, out in the open, shocked at the speed and the skill he must have. Too surprised to initially be afraid.

Standing next to him was another dunmer in burgundy robes, the sheen of the fabric and the gold of the embroidery testament to the cost. And to her magically-tuned senses, he was as bright and clear as Forin was dark.

The other dumner was just saying. "Efficiently done, my friend." His voice had a hoarse quality to it, as if he rarely spoke. He then looked at Tallis, with a clinical expression. "Do we need to worry about that?"

Forin turned the full force of his gaze on her, and Tallis thought to herself that she couldn't have moved or spoken if she'd wanted to. Did birds feel this way at the approach of a serpent?

"It's nothing, Beladus." Forin's voice was casually disdainful. "I'll kill her later."

Beladus made a noise that was some sort of assent. A moment later, there was a ripple of magical energy and wind whipped through the place where he had been standing. Tallis raised an arm to protect her eyes from the suddenly swirling soot of the alley.

When she lowered it, Forin was standing right in front of her.

"Your little visit ruined something of mine, outlander. So in return, I will ruin something of yours. Permanently."

She'd half expected that he would simply kill her on the spot, but he just stood there, staring at her. Eventually he said. "I have other business tonight. But have no doubt that we will meet again."

How could he hate her so profoundly when he didn't even know her? "My name is Tallis." She blurted out, not really sure why she said it.

He moved then, and there was a sound of steel on steel, as if someone was drawing a weapon, and she wasn't even sure it was him, and she flinched and then he was just not there.

"Wait." She said.

A low distant chuckle was her only answer.

So seeing him in this room, she knew very well why he had come.

A wave of fear thrilled through her. If he did intend to kill her from a distance, the spell she'd warded herself with would never have a chance to work.

So raising her chin, Tallis stood as tall as she could, trying not to look as nervous as she felt. "You may not touch me unless you mean it." She was starting to get a crick in her neck, but she didn't look away from the tall Dunmer.

Forin's eyes flashed crimson and his expression darkened. Faster than she could follow, the blade was gone, and he reached forward. His hands were just suddenly on her neck.

There was the smallest of pauses, and then his fingers slid up, exploring her hair. His touch made her skin tingle, a shiver that was pleasure, or maybe fear, or maybe both. Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly it seemed hard to talk. She could feel the heat of his body all along the front of her. His fingers were slowly moving along the base of her scalp.

When she could finally make her voice work, she said. "Forin."

That was as far as she got. He tilted her head back, and lowered his mouth to hers. A light touch, the barest of physical sensations. It sent a shiver of desire all through her. She felt dizzy, and was suddenly glad for his iron grip. He explored her lower lip, first with lips, and then tongue, and then gently took it slightly into his own mouth.

She gasped, and he smothered it with his own mouth, exploring further. She hesitantly answered him in kind, and his fingers tightened on her. His left hand kept its grip on the back of her neck, and his right slid down her back. He pulled her close, and she could feel the muscles of his torso all across her own.

He turned her head to one side then, and moved slowly from her mouth, to cheek and down the side of her neck. It was like liquid fire, and for a moment she didn't realize that except for the explorations of his mouth, he'd moved farther away.

The loosening of her bodice told her what he was doing. The sensation of his hands, of cloth loosening sent fire and hunger all through her, and she whispered. "Yes." And then hearing what she'd said, she could feel the heat rise in her cheeks.

He made a pleased sound that could have been a growl, and then slid both of his hands under not just the bodice, but the shirt below it as well. The touch of his hands across her skin tore another soft gasp from her lips. Then he slowly moved his hands up, covering her with the softest of caresses as he explored.

Trembling, she put her hands on his chest, hesitantly moving them over the softness of the thin leather. He felt so warm, so hot.

His fingertips found the undersides of her breasts. He caressed with an agonizing slowness that took her breath and most of her thought away. She wanted him to keep moving his hands up over her more than she could ever remember wanting anything. Her fingers clenched at his shirt, and she whimpered with desire.

Then with a swift movement, he ran his hands upward and to the side, raising her arms over her head and sliding shirt and bodice off of her. She had time to realize that she was standing half naked in front of him. Then he put his hands to her shoulders, moving her backward to sit, and then to lie back onto the bed.

Her torso was covered with Goosebumps, but she wasn't cold. Her nipples were so hard they ached. She lay there and looked up at him. His eyes seemed to blaze at her. Or maybe she was so hungry for him she was imagining it.

He leaned over her, and brought his lips to her left breast. For a moment she thought it was just going to be kiss, but his lips parted and he took the nipple, and part of her breast into his mouth. The ache in her erupted into pleasure, and need, and she grabbed the back of his head as if to force more of herself into him.

Then he moved a hand to her right breast, at first just slowly moving his palm over her skin, sending more shivers through her. Then as he sucked a little harder on her left, his fingers gently closed on the right nipple, still moving slowly, so that anticipation fueled her hunger.

She writhed underneath him, clutching at his hair with shaking fingers. She was breathing hard, like she'd been running.

He kept his mouth moving on her chest, and climbed slowly onto the bed. His hands made short work of the lacings of her skirt. He tugged at her clothing, his fingers at her waist, curling around the top of her skirt and all that was underneath it. She shifted, planting her feet more firmly on the bed, and lifting her hips. In one swift motion he removed skirt and underthings, and from the sound of it, threw them across the room.

Still exploring her breasts with this mouth, he settled his hands on her knees, and slowly began sliding them upward. Her breath came louder, more whimper than pant.

He moved slightly upward with his mouth, and whispered against her neck. "You are a noisy little thing aren't you?"

The feel of his warm breath on her sensitized skin was enough to start another louder cry, and he smothered it with his mouth.

She ran her hands up the front of his shirt and tangled her fingers into his hair. She wanted to do more, she wanted more from him, but she wasn't sure what to do, or how to ask.

He shifted then, moving his left hand up behind her head, holding her in place as he explored her mouth. The fingers of his right hand slowly began exploring the outer lips of her pussy.

The hunger between her legs became a roaring fire of need. She ground up against him, moaning, whimpering, wanting more. If she could have spoken, it would have been variations on "please".

Slowly he slid further into her, just at the edge of her pussy, just with his fingertips. A taste of something, and then he'd pull back. She clutched at his hair, wanting to pull her mouth away from him, wanting to demand, to beg, to something.

Then he slid two fingers into her, and brushed the length of his thumb slowly along her clit.

She felt like she was exploding. It was better than magic, better than anything. She screamed, and the sound was only partly muffled by his lips on hers. She felt like every muscle in her body was on fire with pleasure. All she could feel was him touching her, moving against her, kissing her.

Slowly the feeling ebbed, and she began to relax, realizing that she was covered in sweat, and that he was still gently moving his fingers inside of her. The sensation became too intense, and she reached her left hand out to grab his wrist. "Wait." She managed to say in a shaky voice that she didn't recognize as her own.

"Not long." He whispered.

She became vaguely aware that he was undressing, casting his clothing aside with the same unconcern as he'd discarded hers. She thought about offering to help, or reaching out to caress him, but by the time the thoughts had formed, he was already done, and moving over her.

His dark form loomed over her like some powerful predator.

He leaned forward, and gently kissed her on the lips. She started to answer it, but he slowly moved, and trailed the kiss along the right side of her neck. The hunger that had seemed to ebb began to waken again as he moved to explore her collarbone. One hand lightly caressed along her torso, waking another wave of goose bumps, and lightly exploring them.

His tongue on her right breast brought a hungry sigh to her lips, and she shivered in pleasure as he explored her breasts again with mouth and hands. But he didn't stop there, moving lower and lower, placing kisses, and then gentle bites, zigzagging across her torso, lower and lower.

He parted her thighs, positioning himself below her on the bed. She opened her eyes to look down at him. Her lips were parted, but she wasn't really sure what to say.

He met her gaze, and something in his regard sent a shiver through her. Then he lowered his mouth to kiss her, and then gently parted the lips of her pussy with his tongue.

She gasped, and would have sat up, but strong hands reached up and pinned her wrists easily to the bed. He ran his tongue along the length of her lips, and she cried aloud.

"Noisy little Breton." He murmured, and continued.

His tongue was encouraging, and inciteful. Every touch, every lick, every gentle bite served to fan the out of control flames within her. He never hurried, only slowly increasing the tempo of his actions. She went from gasps, to moans, to begging for more, to screaming his name and cursing him.

Finally, he paused.

She was shaking with frustration and need, and at first, the fact that he'd actually stopped robbed her of any power of speech.

He murmured a single word. "Now?" His tone was as formal and unmoved as if he'd been asking her to pass the salt at a dinner table.

She screamed at him. "Yes." She bucked her hips, and would have added more, more words, more cursing, more anything, but he gave her no opportunity.

He slid up along the length of her, and she had time to feel the hardness of him brush against her thighs, just enough time to realize what he was going to do, and then he thrust into her, wide, hard, implacable, slowed by her tightness, but not stopping.

"Yes!" She screamed it, and ground herself up at him. "Yes, oh, gods yes."

He leaned over her then, arching his body so that he could whisper into her ear. "Is this what you want, Breton?" He pulled back, slowly, slowly until he was almost out of her, and then thrust himself all the way back in. "Is this what you need?"

Her mouth was open, but she couldn't seem to get any words out.

He didn't wait for an answer, but kept up that steady motion, slowly pulling out of her and then thrusting himself in again. The fire he'd started with his mouth seemed to consume her. She moved with him as much as she could, gripping his shoulders with her fingers, gasping for breath, making noises of hunger and pleasure.

He ran his teeth along the side of her neck, and it seemed to her that his breath was liquid fire that ran down a line to where he thrust, slowly faster and faster into her. Her breath came in time with his thrusts, and she gripped him more tightly. She was almost chanting now, not entirely sure what she was saying, just wanting more of him, more of this, more.

And then it happened again, like she was exploding, lost in pleasure and intensity and the feel of him moving inside her, and it was better this time, and he was growling now, making his own noises of hunger and demand and thrusting faster into her, harder, pounding into her and grabbing her, not just panting now. She watched him, as he gripped her with strength that would leave bruises later, but only felt good now, and he threw back his head and roared like some terrible animal, and even the sound of it added to how good everything felt.

And eventually, slowly he slowed, and she came back to herself, breathing hard, covered in sweat, looking up at him above her. He had a fine sheen of sweat across his brow, and for a moment he closed his eyes. For that one moment, he looked almost peaceful.

Then he opened them again, watching her as he slowly let a long breath out. Slowly his expression closed off. He let himself fall out of her as he settled in next to her, between her and the wall.

She moved a little, not really wanting to meet his gaze but not sure where else to look, or what to say. Then she noted her hands. There was blood on the tips of her fingers. She remembered gripping her fingers into his shoulders; apparently it hadn't been just the fingers, but she'd driven her nails into him.

She spread her fingers. "Oh my gods." Scrambling, she started trying to get to a seated position, she said. "Let me see your back. Oh, I'm so sorry."

He reached out his left hand, settling it onto her shoulder, gently holding her in place. "Don't worry about it."

"I could heal it." She said.

At the same time he said. "I've had worse."

If his style of loving was to drive his partner crazy until they marked him, then his back was probably mostly scar tissue, she thought to herself, and then felt the blood rush to her cheeks at the idea.

"And as to allowing you to cast a spell on me." He raised an eyebrow. "That would be rather questionable tactics on my part." He ran his fingertips along her arm. "At this point I'm close enough to disrupt anything magical you might start."

Since his loving was skilled enough to disrupt anything resembling coherent thought, she didn't doubt his words at all.

"So, Breton" The edge was back in his voice again. He put a finger under her chin, and lifted her gaze to meet his. "How was your first Dunmer?"

Did he mean first Dunmer bed partner? As in he was assuming she would have more than one? How many different people did Dunmer have sex with? Not that there was anything wrong with that, it's just that she'd never really thought about sex in such a sporting sort of way. How do you compare partners? For that matter how did she compare to his other partners? He had to have had them, as skilled as he clearly was.

His eyes narrowed as he searched her expression. "Or am I not your first?"

"You are," She started, and then paused, not really sure where she wanted to go with that sentence. It seemed reasonable to answer his question, but she wasn't sure that giving him a lot of detail about her personal life was a good idea. Aware that he was clearly waiting for an answer, she started again. "You are my first." Should she explain more? No, probably not. "Dunmer." Her voice trailed off.

His hand on her chin sang with tension. "You are lying." He said, and it was almost as if he was talking more to himself than he was to her. "You have to be lying."

He grabbed her shoulders, and she had just enough time to wonder if he was going to shake her, when he pulled her close and kissed her hard enough to set her pulse racing again and take her breath away.

When he finally pulled away from her, he leaned his forehead against hers. He was breathing hard, and his arms were shaking slightly, as if with some inner struggle.

"What have you done to me Breton?" His voice was equal parts loathing and desire. "What magic have you set on me?"

Well, that she could answer. And she probably should answer. "It wasn't actually on you, Forin, it was on me."