#male drow

Your heart drops and your stomach lurches; you’re awake but you couldn’t be blamed for being unsure of it. Among the oppressive darkness, the only thing tethering you to reality is the jagged stone boring into your back and the faint sound of water trickling faintly in the distance. Cautiously, you prop yourself up onto your elbows and suck in thick and stagnant air. Strange soreness and disorientation freezes you in place as you try in vain to assess your surroundings. You try to blink away the night, and the night blinks back. 

Red eyes, unmistakable, pierce through the short distance and straight into yours, from just a few inches past your feet. Realization seizes you, you’ve heard enough of the legends, and far worse than the unknown, you know exactly where you are and what’s in front of you. Whys and hows are rendered inconsequential. Your chest goes numb, as if your breath and blood have already surrendered to the inevitable, and with the fleeting air you have left you only manage to whimper out, “Drow.”

He doesn’t speak your language, he has no need to, but he’s all too familiar with that word. Something about your recognition excites him more. He’d like to teach you his own name, to hear it in that pathetic tone, but Drow will do. He can see your figure perfectly in his thermal vision, the way you tremble and quake, the way fear burns against your skin, but he’s missing the finer details in this blur of color. It would be simplest to keep you in the dark, but it’s not as if you have a fighting chance regardless. He hates to miss the intricacy of your expression, the only means of communication you have with someone so alien to your world under the sun. 

Pink, fiery light slowly creeps along the ground around you and up the rock walls, spiraling a bit in either direction. His luminous magic unveils the cavernous landscape, and you both hold your breath as your eyes adjust.

You’ve never seen a Dark Elf yourself before, and any accounts you’ve heard have been retellings of retellings hundreds of times over, but he’s just as beautiful as any chronicler says. His black cloak obscures his crouched form, just as his long white hair hides the edges of his perfectly angular face, but even this mere glimpse is stunning. He has the awe inspiring allure of a sheer cliff shore among a churning, stormy sea. Eye contact isn’t broken as he slides closer to you, muscles primed waiting for you to so much as flinch away. You don’t.

------------------------------------

You watch him lose his composure, your own long abandoned, as he looms over your legs. Only now do his eyes lower from yours, lingering here and there as they lower further yet. You notice the quiet hesitation as he reaches out to touch your legs, and you realize this encounter holds a significance to him as well. You wonder if perhaps you’re the first human he’s ever captured, perhaps even seen, if you’re as rare to him as he is to you. While this is true, it goes beyond that. You’re the first female of any race he’s been close to like this before. In his matriarchal society, despite being a quite skilled warrior, he’s considered undesirable for being low born, and his broader than average build precludes him from reaching the high standard for finesse. His anxiety competes with his anticipation, but the latter handily wins. 

Almost ceremoniously, he pries your legs apart, pinning them down under his weight as he leans in. He presses his nose against your inner thigh and you jump slightly, and the look on his face, that toothy grin, easily crosses the cultural barrier. He licks a stripe down towards your core, purposeful and deliberate, and shortly after he feels you start to relax, surrendering to his touch, be bites down. Your yelp reverberates off the walls, and it’s unsettling how unfazed he is by this. If it hadn’t fully sunk in before, it did now. No one is coming, you’re at his mercy, something his kind are not known for. 

He looks up at you and his devilish smirk turns into a feigned look of despair as he mocks you, “Drow!” 

He shakes his head and his smile is back as he dips his head back down, tearing away the already tattered remains of your bottoms with one hand as he pulls his mane over his shoulder with the other. You fall back flat and stare at the stalactite riddled ceiling. As you try to steady your own breathing you can hear his quicken almost into a pant. You sit together on the world’s edge for a few moments while he works up his courage. 

An exploratory tongue darts out for a curious lick, followed by a long swipe up your slit, and then he’s lost control. His face pushes against you and his tongue is everywhere, ravenous but aimless. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, in fact he doesn’t know there’s something he should be looking for, but every time he passes against your clit your toes curl and you mewl. If he notices, he ignores it. Such things are not his goal, his only focus is the taste that is consuming him. 

He continues to tease you in this way until you’ve all but forgotten the severity of your circumstances and your hips start instinctively bucking up towards him. He pins your legs down harder to stop you, but his chuckle betrays his amusement. He holds you there, watching as you whine and squirm, until you relent and you manage to steel yourself. 

He lingers a few moments extra to savor your unspoken acquiescence before he begins again. Now, a finger joins his tongue, rubbing against your quivering hole. He gasps gently with you as he pushes it inside, and groans as he curls it against your walls. A few more feverish licks join in a frenzy, but this doesn’t last long, it can’t. What little patience he had has already eroded completely. 

He rears back and quickly strips his cloak away, fumbling quite cutely to pull his pants down in a rush. There’s no dexterity in the way he positions himself above you, and although you can see the wild look in his eyes, he won’t meet your gaze, not now. The heat coming off of him is almost unbearable in this humid place, but you make no attempt to pull away. Even if escape were possible, you no longer seek it.

He tries to push into you a few times but grazes and misses your entrance, dragging his length against your pussy, acutely sensitive from his brutish teasing. His desperate growl sends a shiver down your spine as he catches just the edge again, and this time you angle your hips to aid him. 

He sinks in deeply in one motion, caught off guard, and you both choke on the air between you. There is only a second of hesitation before he draws himself back and slams into you again, and then, as before, he is lost. There is no rhythm, no technique about the way he pumps into you, fast and deep with reckless abandon. One hand stays on your hips to keep you from running from the powerful strokes while the other reaches up and pulls your shirt up over your breasts. He watches them bounce in a trance, no attempt to hide the, perhaps embarrassing in a typical context, animalistic noises he’s making. 

It doesn’t last long, it can’t. Your core is only starting to tighten with the promise of a climax when you feel him begin to swell inside you. When he pictured this, he imagined looking you deeply in the eyes as he finished, establishing total dominance as he bred the lowly likes of you. However, he couldn’t have predicted the sheer intensity of the real thing, and he resigns to burying his face in your chest as his hips jerk erratically, spilling himself with a pathetic whine against your plush skin. 

He stays there as his muscles spasm in the aftershock, loosening his grip on you and instead settling to lay his full weight on you to hold you there with him. Finally, he looks back up into your eyes and contemplates his next moves with his regained clarity. He wonders how he’s going to keep you. 

He’s not letting you go, he’s not losing you. He can’t, and he won’t.