The Flames of Revolution (Grimoire and Mim)

[Madam Mim]

Gwenner grunted when he pounced and flipped her, gripping her ass and pounding into her as he'd wanted so badly for nearly an hour and a half. She was honestly more impressed than anything; at this point most men hadn't the strength or control to pin her down. One foreign Duke had simply cum on command as soon as she had told him to without so much as waiting for his arms to be untied. But Rowan had kept an impressive amount of control and she let slip a gutteral noise of her own as he pounded.

That control didn't last long, though. Gwenner gripped the mattress and groaned as he found his release in her and sighed contentedly once he fell back onto the mattress. It took her a few deep breaths before her legs felt solid enough to stand on. Carefully she crawled out of bed to find a towel. What she wouldn't give for a bath after such a night.

"Imbreziff," she said with a small smile, finding a towel and wiping off the sweat. "You are beink of goot loffer. You are knowink this, yes?" Gwenner cleaned off the seed sliding down her thigh and tossed the towel away. She didn't see another clean one, but didn't think Rowan would appreciate being handed that particular one. "You are net heffink gorrelfreind? Is surprise." She was useless at pillowtalk, and the dwarf knew it. With a small sound that might have been a chuckle, she collapsed back onto the bed. "Surely is someone who is loffink of dremetick wizards with billowink of capes end swooshink of hairs?"

 

[Grimoire]

It wasn't easy -- he was certain it had only to do with her challenge, the imperious way with which she had assumed control, that had let him hold on for as long as he did. A perennial and never-dimming spark of "fuck you" that just so happened to translate to the literal this time. Rowan found his satisfaction as an ungainly tangle of limbs and sheets, his hair askew across the bed, his cock lolling against one thigh.

He wasn't certain he could walk after that -- he was having trouble even regaining mastery of his tongue. He was aware of every bead of sweat that sheened across his pale skin. Reflexively, his hands furled and unfurled, working out the raw tension borne about from gripping sheet and firm dwarven hips for the better part of... by the gods, he actually wasn't certain what time it even was anymore. Sometime after the sun's passing, certainly, but it could have been anywhere from fifteen minutes to fifteen hours--

"Mm... I--" he licked at his lips, suddenly dry. "I've been told," he said, the delivery somewhat lamer than he had intended of it. He rolled onto his side, curling one finger with a muttered incantation of smallest power. The sweat evaporated, and a moment later, so too did the heady mix of their lovemaking from his groin--

"So you would think," he said with a small smile, edging his way toward the side of the bed. His feet hit the ground, and he leaned back on his outstretched arms. "I think the wizardry scares some people, to be honest. Then again, they never tried gagging me and binding up my hands when I tried magic," Rowan said. He laughed, clear eyes sliding down the length of her body as she came close once more, falling gracelessly onto the bed.

"I suppose I have to think the same. No bachelors lining up for the fair arena champion's hand?" he asked as he twisted onto one hip, half-turned toward her.

 

[Madam Mim]

Gwenner waved away his magic use. "You were not to seemink of mind of much," she teased. Her face was back to its immovable rocky facade, but her voice had relaxed a little into something a bit more casual than before. More conversational, less suspicious. "Wiz-ard-ary, it is not of skeerink. Is just of...engerink." She nodded, satisfied that she had found the right word. "Kennot em beink of toloratink of cheaters. Is better if dremetik wizards are beink shown place of the mejik in sex." Was that a smile in her voice?

The dwarf basked in his gaze as he looked at her, openly admiring. Gwenner was shameless in his gaze, proudly displaying tattoos and scars, immodest in the way she splayed out on his bed. She knew she wasn't what might be considered classically beautiful, but she also knew that she was desirable. She admired him too, though from her expression it might have been more difficult to tell. Rowan asked her about her own prospects and she shrugged.

"Heff been some," she admitted, playing absently with his fingertips. "Baaaht...em not of merryink type. Em not type for beink of wife end mather. Is more fun this way, eef not sometimes the spells of dryness." Gwenner raised her eyebrows briefly then brought his knuckles to her lips to kiss them before letting his hand fall to her soft breast. "Besides, for you is skeerink the women with the wiz-ard-ary. For me, is skerrink the men with the fightink." Her eyes moved to his with a serious note. "Mens are beink feel of threatened by wimens who are beink able to kick of their esses. Is good for the fuck, not so much for the wifink." She shrugged. "A pair we are mekink then, hm?"