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A Day At The Faire
folder
G through L › Hercules
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,384
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
G through L › Hercules
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,384
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Hercules, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
A Day At The Faire
A DAY AT THE FAIRE
by
Crescent Dreamweaver
email: catz4dog1@aol.com
Disclaimer: The character Strife belongs to the good people at Renaissance Pictures and Universal Studios. I just own Alina.
Synopsis: Strife decides to go to a Renaissance Faire, and falls in serious lust with a young woman dressed like a wench. Long story short, he kidnaps her, she slaps him, and he seduces her. But will his lust turn to love? Strife/female OC.
Note: This is my very first attempt at writing a Strife romance.
* *= indicates emphasized words
** **= indicates a person's thoughts
Let the story begin!
* * *
As Strife walked amongst the huge group of humans, he saw that many of them were wearing costumes from different time periods throughout history. He smirked faintly, having no doubt whatsoever in his mind that he wouldn't stand out. The God of Mischief wasn't wearing his usual black leather bodysuit; instead, he wore a black tunic and matching leggings, with a black leather belt around his waist, and a pair of black leather calf-length boots.
He looked like a hunter from ancient Greece, but, for some strange reason, he fit in perfectly. **Never look a gift horse in the mouth** he reminded himself sternly. **I don't wanna jinx it and end up standing out like a wolf among sheep.**
But, as Strife looked around the -- what was it called again? Oh, yeah. -- Renaissance Faire, he saw that there were some people that looked like his types, wearing black leather pants and jackets and vests, and that were unbelievably pale. He grinned, and started to head over to them. But before he got there, he saw that a couple of them had safety pins in their ears. Strife turned away, slightly disgusted.
He could understand wearing earrings with snake fangs on them. Those were cool. But why anyone would want to use safety pins instead of earrings was beyond him. It obviously wasn't a matter of money, because kids these days had plenty of money, either from the allowances their parents gave them, or from the jobs that they got.
Strife shook his head slightly. Kids these days were weird; no question there.
"Milords and ladies, come dine at our humble tavern!" called a person at a nearby food stall, distracting Strife from his thoughts. He looked over in the direction of the food stall, and froze at the sight of the young woman standing in front of it.
She wore a long burgundy skirt with a white blouse that was off her shoulders, and a grayish-green corset over it, pushing her bust up. **Not that she needs her bust pushed up** Strife thought. A great deal of her cleavage was showing, and it was taking all of the willpower that the God of Mischief possessed to keep from drooling. But he didn't have enough willpower to do that *and* keep his mind clear, which meant that it was full of filthy thoughts about the young wench.
Strife finally managed to get his thoughts under control so that he could hear what the wench had to say about what they were serving at the "tavern".
"We have the finest ground sausage, the most delicate pastries, the juiciest fruits, and the most mouth-watering cooked vegetables this side of Camelot!" she called. "We also have deliciously cold water, and a fine elixir made of water, sugar, and bubbles."
Strife couldn't help grinning at her last words. It was obvious what the "fine elixir" was. **Coca-Cola, anyone?** he thought, fighting down a maniacal giggle.
Suddenly, he noticed a burly man walking towards her with an unmistakable leer on his face. He had an obvious beer gut, and wore a dirty white t-shirt with a pair of blue jeans and filthy shoes on his feet. Strife frowned. No human male would be stupid enough to attack a young woman among so many people in this day and age, would he?
Apparently so. The man grabbed the wench's arm. "Hey, sweetcheeks," he said, grinning lewdly. His words were slightly slurred in the speech of someone who's had just a little too much ale to drink. "How's about you draw upon your wenching skills, and give me a little 'service', huh?"
"I'm sorry, milord, but I'm not that kind of wench," the young woman replied calmly, though Strife could see cold anger shining out of her violet-blue eyes.
"I ain't takin' no for an answer, wench," the drunk snarled.
Strife growled low in his throat, and began striding towards them. But before he got there, the young woman drew back her booted foot and kicked the drunk in the shins, hard. He yelped, and then backhanded her across the face, knocking her to the ground.
"Hey!" called Strife angrily, and the drunk turned to look at him. "Leave her alone."
"Make me, pansy boy," the drunk retorted, and reached for the young woman.
POW! The drunk went sailing backwards from the force of St's 's punch, and hit the ground hard. The God of Mischief glared at him, and resisted the urge to hit him with a ball of lightning. That would cause too much of a disturbance, not to mention it would blow his cover.
By that time, most of the people nearby had gathered around them, waiting to see what would happen next.
Because he was glaring at the unconscious form of the drunk, Strife didn't see the men approaching him and the drunk from behind until it was too late.
* * *
Alina Connor slowly got to her feet and watched silently as the policemen that were on duty at the Faire handcuffed the drunk that had attacked her, who was stillonsconscious. Suddnely, there was a commotion behind her, and she turned around. Two more policemen were there, and had grabbed the man who had knocked the drunk out by the arms.
"Lemme go!" the stranger demanded, struggling. "I was defending that lady! That drunken asshole had attacked her, and if it hadn't been for me, he might have gotten away with it!"
"That doesn't matter," replied Officer Horton. "Fist fighting isn't allowed at the Renaissance Faire, pal, and the rules are very clear. Therefore---"
"Milords, please don't take my rescuer to jail," Alina interrupted, and the three men's heads turned towards her. "He's right about the drunkard over there. If he hadn't stopped him, what do you suppose would have happened?"
"Ms. Connor, we're not going to take this man to jail," the second policeman, Officer Jacobs, explained patiently. "The rules state that anyone caught fist fighting is to be banned from the Faire for the rest of the day."
Alina let out a sigh of relief. "Well, be gentle with him," she ordered. "I'm certain that his hand doesn't feel good after punching that stubborn drunk in the face."
"No, it doesn't," the stranger said, and Alina turned to stare at him. "Feel good, I mean," he added hastily. "It hurts like Tartar---I mean, it hurts like hell."
Alina blinked in confusion. **Was he about to say that it hurts like tartar sauce? Weird.**
"Anyway, since I'm not gonna be arrested, I'll just leave quietly," the stranger continued, and glanced over at Horton and Jacobs. "That is, if the local militia don't mind."
Officer Horton let out a sigh of relief. "As long as you don't make a scene, you can go ahead and leave like nothing has happened," he replied. With that, he and Officer Jacobs walked away.
Alina watched them until they disappeared into the crowd, and then turned to the man who'd rescued her.
"Thanks for stopping that drunk," she said softly, watching the rest of the policemen drag the drunk away. "I owe you a debt of gratitude, milord."
"No prob," the stranger replied, and began walking away. "I'd better get going, before someone decides to force me out the door." He said something else, but his voice was low, and he was too far away.
Alina blinked again. **Did he just say that he was planning on collecting something?** she thought, confused. Then she shook her head slightly. **Getting hit in the face by that drunk must have affected my hearing somehow.**
With that, she went back into character, calling for the people to come and visit the tavern for the finest meal imaginable, not noticing that the stranger had just turned invisible.
* * *
Unbeknownst to everyone at the Faire, Strife never left. As soon as he disappeared from the sight of the mortals, he changed back into his black leather bodysuit, and went back to the "tavern", where the young woman was working. She was acting like a wench again, flirting with the men that went through the doorway, curtsying before the women, making faces at the children, and yelling non-offensive insults at the people who were standing in lines at other food vendors.
Strife couldn't help smiling at the way she was acting. She was obviously used to doing this sort of thing. As he watched her, he felt himself hardening, and fought back a groan. The young woman was absolutely beautiful, with long cinnamon-brown hair that shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, and deep violet-blue eyes. Strife grinned mischievously. He doubted she had heard him a few moments ago when he told her that he intended to collect on the debt.
If she had, she'd be afraid. Very afraid.
* * *
That night, Alina walked into her tiny apartment, and placed her bag on the chair in the hallway.
"Hiya, babe." Alina shrieked and spun around. The stranger that had rescued her from the drunk was lounging on her couch, grinning like a maniac. He wore a different outfit than he had at the Renaissance Faire; this one was a black leather bodysuit, with zippers and safety pins all over it. He looked like Edward Scissorhands, only without the blades on his hands.
Alina gaped at him, her mouth hanging open. "How the hell did you get into my apartment?"
"It's about time you got back," the stranger continued, ignoring her question. "I was gettin' ready to come find you."
"If you're not going to tell me how you got into my apartment, then will you at least tell me who the hell you are?" demanded Alina, trying to sound angry instead of terrified, which was actually how she felt.
"Oh, how rude of me," the stranger said mockingly. "I forgot to introduce myself." He stood up, and bowed. "Name's Strife, God of Mischief. And you are?"
"Obviously imagining things," Alina retorted, walking around him and heading towards the kitchen. But Strife somehow managed to get ahead of her, and blocked her path. He pouted at her, and Alina sighed. "Alina," she replied finally. "Alina Connor. Now, get out of my way."
Alina pushed Strife out of her way, and walked into the kitchen. Behind her, the God of Mischief fumed. She was treating him like he was an ordinary person, unworthy of her total devotion. **This is *not* what I expected** he thought angrily. **Time to teach her a lesson in respect.**
Strife raised one of his hands, and a tiny ball of lightning appeared in it, just barely big enough to knock an ordinary person unconscious. He threw it at Alina, and it hit her in the back. She let out a single grunt of pain, and then fell to the floor, unconscious.
Grinning evilly, the God of Mischief walked over to Alina, and lifted her into his arms. He then transported them to his private temple, the one that he didn't have to share with Ares or Discord.
Or, to be more specific, he transported the two of them to his bedroom in his private temple. When they arrived there, Strife placed Alina on his bed, and waved his hand. Her wench costume was immediately replaced by a long black silk dress that revealed a great deal of cleavage, and had a slit up one side that nearly reached her hip.
Strife immediately felt himself harden at the sight of her in the dress, and leaned over her, kissing her full on the mouth. Beneath him, Alina stirred, and then awoke completely when she realized that the God of Mischief was kissing her.
"Gehoffme!" she screamed, her voice muffled by Strife's mouth upon hers. He ignored her, and Alina let out a faint, incoherent scream of utter rage into his mouth, raising her hand.
SMACK! The impact of Alina's hand upon Strife's cheek caused the God of Mischief to fall off of her and the bed, landing with a loud THUD. She immediately took the opportunity to jump off the bed and run towards the door.
Alina reached the door and yanked it open, and froze as Strife appeared in front of her in a flash of light. He stared down at her, eyes dark with anger and desire.
"Ya know what time it is?" he asked softly.
Alina swallowed hard. "Uh...nighttime?"
Strife's eyes narrowed slightly. "Wrong, babe. It's time for me to teach you a lesson."
Before Alina could do anything, Strife shoved her down onto the floor and straddled her hips. She began struggling to get out from under him, and gasped as the God of Mischief ran his hands over her breasts.
"What are you going to do to me?" Alina asked fearfully.
"What do you think I'm gonna do to you?" Strife retorted. "I'm gonna teach you a lesson." Before Alina could say anything else,slidslid his hands into her dress and began massaging her breasts. Almost against her will, she moaned, arching her back as his callused fingers danced over her nipples.
Strife grinned wickedly, and leaned over, kissing her hard on the mouth. Alina yielded and opened her mouth, allowing the God of Mischief to play in her mouth with his tongue.
As they kissed, Alina reached down and began strg Stg Strife with one hand through his leathers. He groaned into her mouth, and a moment later, he pulled away. Alina sat up, and gasped as Strife lifted her into his arms, carrying her over to the bed.
He set her down on the bed. Without a word, Alina pulled her arms out of the sleeves, and then pushed the top of her dress down to her waist, revealing her firm breasts. She smiled sweetly at Strife, and then gasped as he pushed her backwards until she was lying down.
"Looks like I don't have to teach you the lesson," he whispered before his mouth descended on hers. "You've already learned it."
Strife made a motion with his hand, and his leathers disappeared, leaving him naked atop Alina. He undid the ties on her dress, which were the only things keeping it from falling off her, and then pulled it off of her, tossing it to the floor.
Alina felt Strife's hard length rubbing against her thigh as he kissed her, and she moaned, spreading her legs. A moment later, the God of Mischief entered her, and she winced at the pain. But as Strife began thrusting in and out of her, Alina began to find the friction pleasuraband and she moaned again, wrapping her legs around his waist.
Before she could climax, however, Strife lifted her legs into the air. Alina stared up at him, panting. Now what?
But before she could voice her question, Strife slammed into her, hard. Alina gasped and began bucking with him as he rode her, his man - er, god - hood going deeper and deeper with each thrust.
But again, just before she could climax (damn it!), Strife paused, and gave her an evil grin. "Are you sure you wanna finish this?" he asked softly. "We could just stop, and I could take you home."
Alina shook her head frantically. "Please don't stop!" she panted. "I need you! Finish it!"
"Okay." With that, Strife let go of her legs and began slamming into her, as hard and as fast as he could. A moment later, Alina felt the pressure rising in her, and she threw back her head as the orgasm shot through her, screaming her pleasure aloud.
That was when everything went black.
*
Alina opened her eyes, and saw that a blanket had been pulled over her, covering her naked body. She stretched slightly, and heard a faint snoring come from beside her. Rolling over, she saw that Strife lay next to her, sound asleep. Alina couldn't help but grin at the sight, and moved closer to the God of Mischief, curling up against him.
Striferredrred slightly, and rolled over onto his side. His eyes opened, and he saw that Alina had moved closer to him, and was now smiling at him. Strife leered at her.
"Sleep well, my lovely tavern wench?" he said teasingly, and Alina blushed.
"Yes, I did, thank you," she replied softly. "Now, I know that this is going to seem rude, but I need to get home."
"Why? Do you have to go to the Faire?"
"No. Yesterday was the last day." Alina saw a brief flash of unhappiness cross Strife's face, and she gave him a reassuring smile. "It's nothing personal. In fact, the sex last night was the best I've ever had." She bit her lip nervously, and stared into his ice-blue eyes. "But the point is, I really do need to get home. After all, I have a life and a job."
"Fine, babe. I'll take you home, on one condition."
"What's that?"
"That you give me ten minutes to make last night look like an amateur's job."
"Oh, boy..."
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Strife and Alina reappeared in her apartment. She was wearing her wench costume again, but the bodice was very loosely tied, and the blouse was barely staying up.
"That was absolutely amazing," Alina breathed, releasing her grip on Strife's arm. "No, I take that back. It was more than absolutely amazing. It was sheer bliss."
She started to walk away from Strife, but he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her up against the length of his body. "Maybe we could do it again sometime," he whispered next to her ear.
Alina shivered at the feel of his warm breath against her ear, and pulled away. "Maybe. I'm not promising anything." She gave him a soft smile. "But if you're ever in the neighborhood, you're welcome to drop in."
Strife sighed as he watched her walk into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. "Well, at least this time I have her permission to drop in." He started to turn around and walk away, but he stopped for a minute, breathing heavily.
Why did he suddenly feel the urge to follow her into her bedroom and cuddle with her?
**Holy Zeus, father of the gods...have I fallen in love with Alina?**
THE END
* * *
A/N: I've been taking lessons in being sadistic from Strife and Discord...can you tell? Mwa-hahahahahahah! *starts coughing and hacking* I'm still working on my evil laugh, though. Besides, the Strife/Alina story arc isn't finished. I promise that there will be sequels in the future. (I just can't promise when.) Anyhoo, please R&R, but no flames, because I worked very hard on this story, and because I have a roll of duct tape, a shovel, and a big backyard. You do the math.
by
Crescent Dreamweaver
email: catz4dog1@aol.com
Disclaimer: The character Strife belongs to the good people at Renaissance Pictures and Universal Studios. I just own Alina.
Synopsis: Strife decides to go to a Renaissance Faire, and falls in serious lust with a young woman dressed like a wench. Long story short, he kidnaps her, she slaps him, and he seduces her. But will his lust turn to love? Strife/female OC.
Note: This is my very first attempt at writing a Strife romance.
* *= indicates emphasized words
** **= indicates a person's thoughts
Let the story begin!
* * *
As Strife walked amongst the huge group of humans, he saw that many of them were wearing costumes from different time periods throughout history. He smirked faintly, having no doubt whatsoever in his mind that he wouldn't stand out. The God of Mischief wasn't wearing his usual black leather bodysuit; instead, he wore a black tunic and matching leggings, with a black leather belt around his waist, and a pair of black leather calf-length boots.
He looked like a hunter from ancient Greece, but, for some strange reason, he fit in perfectly. **Never look a gift horse in the mouth** he reminded himself sternly. **I don't wanna jinx it and end up standing out like a wolf among sheep.**
But, as Strife looked around the -- what was it called again? Oh, yeah. -- Renaissance Faire, he saw that there were some people that looked like his types, wearing black leather pants and jackets and vests, and that were unbelievably pale. He grinned, and started to head over to them. But before he got there, he saw that a couple of them had safety pins in their ears. Strife turned away, slightly disgusted.
He could understand wearing earrings with snake fangs on them. Those were cool. But why anyone would want to use safety pins instead of earrings was beyond him. It obviously wasn't a matter of money, because kids these days had plenty of money, either from the allowances their parents gave them, or from the jobs that they got.
Strife shook his head slightly. Kids these days were weird; no question there.
"Milords and ladies, come dine at our humble tavern!" called a person at a nearby food stall, distracting Strife from his thoughts. He looked over in the direction of the food stall, and froze at the sight of the young woman standing in front of it.
She wore a long burgundy skirt with a white blouse that was off her shoulders, and a grayish-green corset over it, pushing her bust up. **Not that she needs her bust pushed up** Strife thought. A great deal of her cleavage was showing, and it was taking all of the willpower that the God of Mischief possessed to keep from drooling. But he didn't have enough willpower to do that *and* keep his mind clear, which meant that it was full of filthy thoughts about the young wench.
Strife finally managed to get his thoughts under control so that he could hear what the wench had to say about what they were serving at the "tavern".
"We have the finest ground sausage, the most delicate pastries, the juiciest fruits, and the most mouth-watering cooked vegetables this side of Camelot!" she called. "We also have deliciously cold water, and a fine elixir made of water, sugar, and bubbles."
Strife couldn't help grinning at her last words. It was obvious what the "fine elixir" was. **Coca-Cola, anyone?** he thought, fighting down a maniacal giggle.
Suddenly, he noticed a burly man walking towards her with an unmistakable leer on his face. He had an obvious beer gut, and wore a dirty white t-shirt with a pair of blue jeans and filthy shoes on his feet. Strife frowned. No human male would be stupid enough to attack a young woman among so many people in this day and age, would he?
Apparently so. The man grabbed the wench's arm. "Hey, sweetcheeks," he said, grinning lewdly. His words were slightly slurred in the speech of someone who's had just a little too much ale to drink. "How's about you draw upon your wenching skills, and give me a little 'service', huh?"
"I'm sorry, milord, but I'm not that kind of wench," the young woman replied calmly, though Strife could see cold anger shining out of her violet-blue eyes.
"I ain't takin' no for an answer, wench," the drunk snarled.
Strife growled low in his throat, and began striding towards them. But before he got there, the young woman drew back her booted foot and kicked the drunk in the shins, hard. He yelped, and then backhanded her across the face, knocking her to the ground.
"Hey!" called Strife angrily, and the drunk turned to look at him. "Leave her alone."
"Make me, pansy boy," the drunk retorted, and reached for the young woman.
POW! The drunk went sailing backwards from the force of St's 's punch, and hit the ground hard. The God of Mischief glared at him, and resisted the urge to hit him with a ball of lightning. That would cause too much of a disturbance, not to mention it would blow his cover.
By that time, most of the people nearby had gathered around them, waiting to see what would happen next.
Because he was glaring at the unconscious form of the drunk, Strife didn't see the men approaching him and the drunk from behind until it was too late.
* * *
Alina Connor slowly got to her feet and watched silently as the policemen that were on duty at the Faire handcuffed the drunk that had attacked her, who was stillonsconscious. Suddnely, there was a commotion behind her, and she turned around. Two more policemen were there, and had grabbed the man who had knocked the drunk out by the arms.
"Lemme go!" the stranger demanded, struggling. "I was defending that lady! That drunken asshole had attacked her, and if it hadn't been for me, he might have gotten away with it!"
"That doesn't matter," replied Officer Horton. "Fist fighting isn't allowed at the Renaissance Faire, pal, and the rules are very clear. Therefore---"
"Milords, please don't take my rescuer to jail," Alina interrupted, and the three men's heads turned towards her. "He's right about the drunkard over there. If he hadn't stopped him, what do you suppose would have happened?"
"Ms. Connor, we're not going to take this man to jail," the second policeman, Officer Jacobs, explained patiently. "The rules state that anyone caught fist fighting is to be banned from the Faire for the rest of the day."
Alina let out a sigh of relief. "Well, be gentle with him," she ordered. "I'm certain that his hand doesn't feel good after punching that stubborn drunk in the face."
"No, it doesn't," the stranger said, and Alina turned to stare at him. "Feel good, I mean," he added hastily. "It hurts like Tartar---I mean, it hurts like hell."
Alina blinked in confusion. **Was he about to say that it hurts like tartar sauce? Weird.**
"Anyway, since I'm not gonna be arrested, I'll just leave quietly," the stranger continued, and glanced over at Horton and Jacobs. "That is, if the local militia don't mind."
Officer Horton let out a sigh of relief. "As long as you don't make a scene, you can go ahead and leave like nothing has happened," he replied. With that, he and Officer Jacobs walked away.
Alina watched them until they disappeared into the crowd, and then turned to the man who'd rescued her.
"Thanks for stopping that drunk," she said softly, watching the rest of the policemen drag the drunk away. "I owe you a debt of gratitude, milord."
"No prob," the stranger replied, and began walking away. "I'd better get going, before someone decides to force me out the door." He said something else, but his voice was low, and he was too far away.
Alina blinked again. **Did he just say that he was planning on collecting something?** she thought, confused. Then she shook her head slightly. **Getting hit in the face by that drunk must have affected my hearing somehow.**
With that, she went back into character, calling for the people to come and visit the tavern for the finest meal imaginable, not noticing that the stranger had just turned invisible.
* * *
Unbeknownst to everyone at the Faire, Strife never left. As soon as he disappeared from the sight of the mortals, he changed back into his black leather bodysuit, and went back to the "tavern", where the young woman was working. She was acting like a wench again, flirting with the men that went through the doorway, curtsying before the women, making faces at the children, and yelling non-offensive insults at the people who were standing in lines at other food vendors.
Strife couldn't help smiling at the way she was acting. She was obviously used to doing this sort of thing. As he watched her, he felt himself hardening, and fought back a groan. The young woman was absolutely beautiful, with long cinnamon-brown hair that shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, and deep violet-blue eyes. Strife grinned mischievously. He doubted she had heard him a few moments ago when he told her that he intended to collect on the debt.
If she had, she'd be afraid. Very afraid.
* * *
That night, Alina walked into her tiny apartment, and placed her bag on the chair in the hallway.
"Hiya, babe." Alina shrieked and spun around. The stranger that had rescued her from the drunk was lounging on her couch, grinning like a maniac. He wore a different outfit than he had at the Renaissance Faire; this one was a black leather bodysuit, with zippers and safety pins all over it. He looked like Edward Scissorhands, only without the blades on his hands.
Alina gaped at him, her mouth hanging open. "How the hell did you get into my apartment?"
"It's about time you got back," the stranger continued, ignoring her question. "I was gettin' ready to come find you."
"If you're not going to tell me how you got into my apartment, then will you at least tell me who the hell you are?" demanded Alina, trying to sound angry instead of terrified, which was actually how she felt.
"Oh, how rude of me," the stranger said mockingly. "I forgot to introduce myself." He stood up, and bowed. "Name's Strife, God of Mischief. And you are?"
"Obviously imagining things," Alina retorted, walking around him and heading towards the kitchen. But Strife somehow managed to get ahead of her, and blocked her path. He pouted at her, and Alina sighed. "Alina," she replied finally. "Alina Connor. Now, get out of my way."
Alina pushed Strife out of her way, and walked into the kitchen. Behind her, the God of Mischief fumed. She was treating him like he was an ordinary person, unworthy of her total devotion. **This is *not* what I expected** he thought angrily. **Time to teach her a lesson in respect.**
Strife raised one of his hands, and a tiny ball of lightning appeared in it, just barely big enough to knock an ordinary person unconscious. He threw it at Alina, and it hit her in the back. She let out a single grunt of pain, and then fell to the floor, unconscious.
Grinning evilly, the God of Mischief walked over to Alina, and lifted her into his arms. He then transported them to his private temple, the one that he didn't have to share with Ares or Discord.
Or, to be more specific, he transported the two of them to his bedroom in his private temple. When they arrived there, Strife placed Alina on his bed, and waved his hand. Her wench costume was immediately replaced by a long black silk dress that revealed a great deal of cleavage, and had a slit up one side that nearly reached her hip.
Strife immediately felt himself harden at the sight of her in the dress, and leaned over her, kissing her full on the mouth. Beneath him, Alina stirred, and then awoke completely when she realized that the God of Mischief was kissing her.
"Gehoffme!" she screamed, her voice muffled by Strife's mouth upon hers. He ignored her, and Alina let out a faint, incoherent scream of utter rage into his mouth, raising her hand.
SMACK! The impact of Alina's hand upon Strife's cheek caused the God of Mischief to fall off of her and the bed, landing with a loud THUD. She immediately took the opportunity to jump off the bed and run towards the door.
Alina reached the door and yanked it open, and froze as Strife appeared in front of her in a flash of light. He stared down at her, eyes dark with anger and desire.
"Ya know what time it is?" he asked softly.
Alina swallowed hard. "Uh...nighttime?"
Strife's eyes narrowed slightly. "Wrong, babe. It's time for me to teach you a lesson."
Before Alina could do anything, Strife shoved her down onto the floor and straddled her hips. She began struggling to get out from under him, and gasped as the God of Mischief ran his hands over her breasts.
"What are you going to do to me?" Alina asked fearfully.
"What do you think I'm gonna do to you?" Strife retorted. "I'm gonna teach you a lesson." Before Alina could say anything else,slidslid his hands into her dress and began massaging her breasts. Almost against her will, she moaned, arching her back as his callused fingers danced over her nipples.
Strife grinned wickedly, and leaned over, kissing her hard on the mouth. Alina yielded and opened her mouth, allowing the God of Mischief to play in her mouth with his tongue.
As they kissed, Alina reached down and began strg Stg Strife with one hand through his leathers. He groaned into her mouth, and a moment later, he pulled away. Alina sat up, and gasped as Strife lifted her into his arms, carrying her over to the bed.
He set her down on the bed. Without a word, Alina pulled her arms out of the sleeves, and then pushed the top of her dress down to her waist, revealing her firm breasts. She smiled sweetly at Strife, and then gasped as he pushed her backwards until she was lying down.
"Looks like I don't have to teach you the lesson," he whispered before his mouth descended on hers. "You've already learned it."
Strife made a motion with his hand, and his leathers disappeared, leaving him naked atop Alina. He undid the ties on her dress, which were the only things keeping it from falling off her, and then pulled it off of her, tossing it to the floor.
Alina felt Strife's hard length rubbing against her thigh as he kissed her, and she moaned, spreading her legs. A moment later, the God of Mischief entered her, and she winced at the pain. But as Strife began thrusting in and out of her, Alina began to find the friction pleasuraband and she moaned again, wrapping her legs around his waist.
Before she could climax, however, Strife lifted her legs into the air. Alina stared up at him, panting. Now what?
But before she could voice her question, Strife slammed into her, hard. Alina gasped and began bucking with him as he rode her, his man - er, god - hood going deeper and deeper with each thrust.
But again, just before she could climax (damn it!), Strife paused, and gave her an evil grin. "Are you sure you wanna finish this?" he asked softly. "We could just stop, and I could take you home."
Alina shook her head frantically. "Please don't stop!" she panted. "I need you! Finish it!"
"Okay." With that, Strife let go of her legs and began slamming into her, as hard and as fast as he could. A moment later, Alina felt the pressure rising in her, and she threw back her head as the orgasm shot through her, screaming her pleasure aloud.
That was when everything went black.
*
Alina opened her eyes, and saw that a blanket had been pulled over her, covering her naked body. She stretched slightly, and heard a faint snoring come from beside her. Rolling over, she saw that Strife lay next to her, sound asleep. Alina couldn't help but grin at the sight, and moved closer to the God of Mischief, curling up against him.
Striferredrred slightly, and rolled over onto his side. His eyes opened, and he saw that Alina had moved closer to him, and was now smiling at him. Strife leered at her.
"Sleep well, my lovely tavern wench?" he said teasingly, and Alina blushed.
"Yes, I did, thank you," she replied softly. "Now, I know that this is going to seem rude, but I need to get home."
"Why? Do you have to go to the Faire?"
"No. Yesterday was the last day." Alina saw a brief flash of unhappiness cross Strife's face, and she gave him a reassuring smile. "It's nothing personal. In fact, the sex last night was the best I've ever had." She bit her lip nervously, and stared into his ice-blue eyes. "But the point is, I really do need to get home. After all, I have a life and a job."
"Fine, babe. I'll take you home, on one condition."
"What's that?"
"That you give me ten minutes to make last night look like an amateur's job."
"Oh, boy..."
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Strife and Alina reappeared in her apartment. She was wearing her wench costume again, but the bodice was very loosely tied, and the blouse was barely staying up.
"That was absolutely amazing," Alina breathed, releasing her grip on Strife's arm. "No, I take that back. It was more than absolutely amazing. It was sheer bliss."
She started to walk away from Strife, but he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her up against the length of his body. "Maybe we could do it again sometime," he whispered next to her ear.
Alina shivered at the feel of his warm breath against her ear, and pulled away. "Maybe. I'm not promising anything." She gave him a soft smile. "But if you're ever in the neighborhood, you're welcome to drop in."
Strife sighed as he watched her walk into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. "Well, at least this time I have her permission to drop in." He started to turn around and walk away, but he stopped for a minute, breathing heavily.
Why did he suddenly feel the urge to follow her into her bedroom and cuddle with her?
**Holy Zeus, father of the gods...have I fallen in love with Alina?**
THE END
* * *
A/N: I've been taking lessons in being sadistic from Strife and Discord...can you tell? Mwa-hahahahahahah! *starts coughing and hacking* I'm still working on my evil laugh, though. Besides, the Strife/Alina story arc isn't finished. I promise that there will be sequels in the future. (I just can't promise when.) Anyhoo, please R&R, but no flames, because I worked very hard on this story, and because I have a roll of duct tape, a shovel, and a big backyard. You do the math.