Scoundrel's Answer Ch. 02

"Just like the old days," A soft laugh escaped Alan, as his eyes half closed. Daphne had good hands. Damned good hands.

"You and me," The Count began to lay out the plan, "Maybe one of the up and comers from the new batch of Reavers."

"Does your armor even still fit?"

It was a genuine question Alan posed, but the reaction was an immediate expression of rage and bluster. Varonne's face went red, "Of course it fits! You damned fool, I'm still in full combat strength." The Count thumped his chest, which sent a flabby ripple through the his gut and arm.

Daphne laughed musically, then leaned down, her lips near Alan's ear. It was meant to be a whisper, but it was clearly loud enough for Varonne to overhear, "Don't worry, magical armor can sometimes re size itself."

It was hard enough for Alan to keep a straight face, but a snicker finally escaped him. As the master thief raised a hand to stifle his laughter, Varonne stared at the two, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"Well fuck you two. And here I am trying to help."

"And we appreciate it," Alan managed to wheeze out, controlling his laughter for the moment, "But you have to admit, you've let yourself go."

"Maybe I have gained a few pounds, but I can still swing my sword, and that's all that matters."

Daphne had remained bent forward, her lips lingered near Alan's neck for an uncomfortably long time, likely only allowed because of the exchange before her. Before he could object, she straightened, and then spoke with a decisive tone, "I'll come as well."

Her words made both men tense again. "Daphne, I don't think-" Alan started, only to have Varonne barge in.

"Elf bitch, if you think for one moment that I'm going to trust you anywhere near a blade, you've lost your mind."

Daphne rolled her eyes, going back to work on Alan's shoulders, then pressed along the back of his neck with her thumbs, where that new tension had settled. "You trust me with blades every day. This house is full of them. If I had wanted to do you in it would've been years ago. Possibly while you were in the bath, or the lavatory, for maximum embarrassment. You need every hand you can on this venture, and you know what I'm capable of."

"Oh, we know what you're capable of, alright."

Alan lifted a hand to rub at his temples. "We may as well let her, Vick." The suggestion brought the Count's wide eyes upon Alan. The old rogue continued, "She was almost as adept at infiltration as I was, and as an elf, she hasn't aged."

A long silence followed, as the two men stared at one another. Finally, Varonne addressed Daphne, "This doesn't mean that you're free from the obligations of your surrender."

"Of course not," Daphne purred the words, and her touch shifted from that firm kneading to a sensual caress. Her long nails trailed down Alan's neck, then over his chest. This time, when the old rogue shook them off, those hand remained off, and tucked lightly behind the maid's back instead. "I'm only doing this because Elizabeth makes Sir Tinsley happy, and we know how much I want to see Alan... happy."

This brought another glare from both men, but after another moment of silence, it seemed agreement was reached. As Daphne returned to her perch at the edge of the table, Alan brought up another point, "We may need magical backup, and we haven't met a trustworthy wizard since Miena."

"Not that she was ever that trustworthy," Varonne added, but then he mused idly, "There is one person..."

It took a few heartbeats of tense silence for Alan to realize who the man meant, "No."

"She's a real up and comer in the Reavers, and you have to admit she's talented."

"No."

"And she's available."

"NO."

"The illustrious Miss Faringalia-"

"NO! Do not complete that sentence, so help me."

The Counter's fist descended on the tabletop before him with a thunderous impact. "Look, if I have to put up with the elf bitch, you can put up with a fucking gnome for one fucking night. It's for your wife, Alan."

The thief clapped his hands over his face and bowed his head. He took slow, deep breaths to steady himself. "She's going to be more trouble than she's worth," he mumbled out about his palms.

Varonne leaned forward, cupping a hand to one ear, "What was that Alan? Did you say, 'That sounds like a good idea, Vick?'"

There was a long pause, then Alan Tinsley pulled his hands away from his face. He looked up at the ceiling, at the walls, anywhere but Vick at that moment. "Alright, we'll use her, if she agrees."

"You know she will," And with that, Vick Varonne, Count of Aethwin rose to his feet, hoisting his ponderous bulk from that chair. "Then it's settled. I'll go get my gear. Daphne, you fetch yours, and we'll all go down to get Faringalia Phantasmagoria from the Reavers' headquarters. We'll have this settled before dawn." After the other two nodded, the Count turned to depart.

Alan rose from his own chair, and moved to follow. He hadn't got more than a few steps, however, before an elegant, cool hand slipped up to his shoulder. Despite his sharp senses, he hadn't heard the maid move, hadn't heard so much as click of those heels as she moved up behind him. It only made it more obvious that her usual footsteps were just for show, or for a tease.

"Alan, wait." Daphne's voice purred out against his ear.

He did stop, and her body pressed against his own. Even through the supple leather he wore under his cloak, he could feel the soft pressure of her firm breasts against his back, the faint brush of her hip against his rear end. The hand at his shoulder descended down toward his chest, slipping the smooth skin of her arm over his shoulder. Her other hand descended to trace her long, sharp nails along his side, and then to his abs. Muted as her touch was through the night-woven leather, it was still as sensual as ever.

"We need to get ready," Alan's protest was soft, and yet he remained still as her dextrous hands roamed his body.

"You're already ready, and I'll just grab a few knives on the way out." Her breath played over his neck, eliciting a shiver that quickly traversed the length of his spine. The elf maid's hands continued to toy with him, raking her nails back and forth across his leather-bound chest, while her other hand toyed in a slow spiral over his belly. Gradually, that lower touch descended, her fingers moved inexorably toward the clasp of his trousers. "If you go in inflamed with passion and need and hate, you'll make mistakes, Alan. You know this to be true." This time her full, moist lips grazed the lobe of his ear.

Daphne's teasing had Alan's breath quickening. He spoke another protest, just as his own hand descended to rest over hers, stopping it as it reached the buttons of his snug leggings, "You're not helping on the need issue, Daphne."

"Oh but I am," the elven woman cooed into his ear, and one stockinged leg came up, hooking at his hip, rubbing luxuriously along his own side, the heel traced against his own limb. The distraction was enough for her to slip her hand from his, and easily work the buttons of his fly open, "You need this Alan."

"Not with you, Daphne." The words were softer now, and he closed his eyes. His form remained standing still, so she could remain balanced, pressed against his back. A moment's hesitation followed, and then his trembling fingers descended, not to her hand, but rather to the thigh pressed against his hip. He traced his touch over her stockinged limb, just below that garter. She was as soft as he remembered, as smooth as those fingers recalled. She hadn't aged a day, but that wasn't really a surprise.

The elf pressed her moist lips against his neck, so he could feel as a smile spread across them. "If not me, then who?" The words were hardly over a whisper, and her lips played over his skin with each syllable. "Even if all goes perfectly tonight," her hand slipped into those leather trousers, slipping along bared flesh under his waistline, "you know she won't be in a position to give you release for many more nights. Not after what you saw." Daphne's fingers were warmed by the contact with his heated flesh, and soon curled gently about his cock. Slowly she began to stroke his length, fishing him out of those leggings.

"You're a bitch, Daphne." It was all he could offer, as his eyes closed. It had been so long since he had felt her touch. The idea of what she was was the farthest thing from Alan's mind at that moment. His breathing quickened, and he laid his head aside, exposing his neck to her lips. His hand played slowly along her thigh, curling under to grip just behind the knee, before his strong hand glided upward. Those fingers trailed in a caress along the back of the elf woman's leg, first over the soft lace stocking, then further up, along skin so smooth that it would put the finest silk to shame. The rest of her body was still so cool to the touch.

Daphne laughed, and then those lush lips closed just at the corner of Alan's jaw. The kiss was subtle, suckling and teasing all at once. Her tongue darted over his flesh, tasting him for the first time in years. Her still breasts squashed against his firm back as she closed their contact further. Her hips gave a little grind as she felt his hand, pressing her damp core against his hip, separated as they were by layers of fabric and leather. The hand at his chest dug in further, so those sharp nails threatened to press right through the leather. The elf's other hand was far more gentle, stroking along his length, thumb gliding along that hot flesh. She curled her fingers so the knuckles stroked along the underside of his cock with each movement of her hand, then once more shifted so those fingers wrapped about his growing length. Her wrist gave a little flick as she stroked him gradually faster, her palm so utterly smooth.

His chest heaved with deeper breaths, and Alan managed to moan out in a low, rumbling tone, "Lizzy... will be pissed." His hips bucked to the movement of the elf woman's hand. The grasp he had on her thigh shifted upward, caressing along bared flesh and under her skirt, only to grip her hip firmly. His other hand reached back to grasp at her hair, still held pinned as it was.

A few drops escaped his tip, which she quickly moved to gather up, only to swipe it back down along his length, providing some lubrication. It encouraged her, her hand moved faster still, and when his grasp found her hip, she ground herself against him from behind. "Only if you tell her," Her own words rose in a teasing moan. She began to squeeze his long cock with each movement of her hand, aiming it downward, toward where her stockinged leg wrapped about his. The tug at her own hair had her laughing again, and she closed her lips about his earlobe, catching it between her sharp incisors.

It had been a long day. A day full of teasing and trouble, a day full of stress and anxiety. Perhaps the elf was right, perhaps he did need release. Despite her words, Alan wished beyond anything that it was anyone else stroking him off at that moment, any other woman pressed so firmly against his heated body. Even the whore Pryce would have been preferable, for a number of reasons. But in all his years and of all the women he'd met in his youthful travels, only one could play his body as well as his wife. And that one woman was currently wrapped about his body, her hand about him.

"Come on Alan, release for me," Daphne's voice teased over his thoughts as surely as her breath played over the pulse of his neck. "We don't have all night." Her stroking hand put more pressure on him with each, teasing stroke, tight then loose, then tight again. Her tongue played down his neck toward his shoulder. There was the scrape of her sharp, sharp teeth over his skin, then the close of those succulent lips to sooth the sting. Her leg drew up, pressing between his knees a bit, rising so that the stockinged surface of her limb brushed against his rigid member.

When he came, Daphne drew her hand quickly from Alan's chest, just to press lightly on the back of his head. She made him watch as she milked his cock with her still moving hand, urging that pent up release in thick torrents. His seed jetted in thick ropes over the white lace of her stocking. Soaking in, glistening on the visible flesh beneath. She continued to stroke him for long moments, until she was certain he had finished. A soft laugh bubbled from her lips as she lowered her leg, letting his spend slowly drip down along her lean limb, creeping its way through the fine lace. With her hand still on his cock, she stepped to stand before him. Her lips were so close to the old thief's as she spoke, catching his gaze with her own. "As lovely as ever, Alan."

Alan stared into those eyes, then down at her lips. His hands finally regained their strength, and he placed them on her shoulders. His intent was not to draw her forward, but rather to keep her at arm's length. "I'm going to regret taking you along with me, aren't I?" His words were still breathless as he recovered himself.

Daphne just smiled, then gently wiped his tip off with her fingers, gathering the last of his fluids. Before Alan's eyes, she lifted her two fingers and thrust them between her own lips. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked them clean, pumping her own fingers between those plump lips. A flick of her tongue coursed over her digits as she drew them back. And then her hands resumed their gentle touch, tucking his softening member back, fastening the buttons of that fly up. "Do you ever regret anything about me, Alan?"

"All the time, all my life."

"Then I'm sure you're used to it. Best get moving, apparently I do need to slip into something a little more... appropriate." Another teasing smile graced those exotic features, and the elven woman stepped toward the door, and out into the hall.

This was going to be a difficult night.