Suramar Stroll

By Soule


Anarchaia chewed idly on the bone of her thumb as her eyes scrolled over paragraph after paragraph of the tome in her hands. A scroll floated lethargically at her side, a quill scribbling away as though it had only precious moments left to live; she stopped and glanced over the long block of text it’d been writing, then scoffed and scratched at a smudge.

“When you don’t use them for a while, those types of quills tend to get a build up in the nib.” Archmage Khadgar smirked across the room at her from his desk. “Especially when you don’t clean them after use.”

She cocked her head to narrow her eyes at him. “I wasn’t expecting to be gone for as long as I was.”

He resumed his work. “You expected to gain the favor of a god in less than the time you’d been gone for?”

She pursed her lips. “I suppose not.”

“Perhaps clean your quills next time, then.”

Anarchaia’s face scrunched as she scowled. “Next time? You plan on sending me on more assignments akin to that one?”

“Consider it a possibility.”

“Are you really that eager to get away from me?”

His aged face softened and he smiled but did not look up. “Is that why you’ve been insisting on doing your work in my office? You think I’m sending you away again soon?”

A blush graced her cheeks and she turned away to hide it. “I like the fireplace,” she muttered and the quill continued scratching.

“Could have one installed in your room if you’d like.”

“And this way, when I’m finished with my work I can just hand it to you.”

“You send me papers instantly through teleportation all the time.”

“Is it so wrong that I want to spend time with my best and perhaps only friend after not seeing him for a month?”

He furrowed his brow in the slightest of ways but his grin remained. His lips parted to reply, but before the words could come forth a knock rang through the room, absorbed by the many books and scrolls that lined the shelves. “Come in,” were the words that came instead.

A gnome mage garbed in a Kirin Tor guard uniform stepped inside. “Archmage, there’s a man here to see your apprentice, but,as usual, no one can seem to find her. Would you happen…to…” Her bright pink eyes followed his gaze to the corner of the room where the woman in question sat, curled up in an armchair in front of the fireplace. “Oh,” said the guard, then cleared her throat. “Anarchaia. A demon hunter is downstairs for–”

“Yes I heard you,” the undead girl snapped through her scowl. “Thanks.”

The gnome gave a nervous titter and closed the door in her wake.

“Attitude,” Khadgar said quietly.

Anarchaia grit her teeth and swiped her mask from her lap. Her parchment disappeared in a flutter of sparkles and the tome in her hand returned itself to its proper place amongst the others. “She started it.” She threw her mask over her face and adjusted her hair within. “Sure makes one wonder what else they say when they think I cannot hear.”

“Nothing I wouldn’t tell you at your request. Give Grimory my regards.”

“Perhaps I’ll request sometime. I’ll be back.” She stood and in the next instant was gone.

Grimory gave a curt wave upon seeing Anarchaia descend the steps to the Violet Citadel. “Hey. Long time, no see.”

“It’s only been a week,” she responded and smiled.

“Yeah, I know, but that’s kind of a long time after you’ve spent every day of the last few months together.” He motioned for her to follow and she did. Thumbs in his belt loops, he led her through the darkening cobblestone streets of Dalaran. “So what’ve you been up to since the Halls of Valor?”

“Catching up on some work. Writing a short compendium of all the notes I’d taken.”

Grimory nodded and set himself at a table outside a bakery and café, then propped his elbows on the tabletop as she sat across from him. The cheery young waiter took their orders–a black coffee and bottle of mead–and swept away to retrieve the items.

“So what’s up? Is that what this is about? Just a late lunch to catch up?”

Grimory shrugged and gave a sharp grin. “Is that so wrong? You’re my friend, no?”

Anarchaia lifted her eyebrows as well as the lower half of her mask to sip at her hot coffee when it’d been set before her. She hummed and quickly set the cup down with a hand over her mouth. “After how you’d treated me throughout the entire Stormheim assignment, I’d assumed otherwise,” she responded through a thick, burnt tongue.

Grimory’s brow knit and he chewed on his words carefully. “I…know that I was pretty cold throughout the last month.” He swirled his mead around in the bottle and watched the liquid through the dark glass.

“Because you’d found a girl who gave you all the attention you required.”

The Illidari pursed his lips and looked at her from beneath his brow. “That’s not it. And if we’re really going to get into this, you and Koltira–”

“It wasn’t like that,” Anarchaia quickly interjected.

A moment of silence passed between them and Grimory finally sighed. “I’m sorry. Okay? I just…had a lot of time to think this last week and, to be honest, I miss the way it was when it was just us, yeah? You and me. Before all the…drama.”

The coffee in Anarchaia’s hands chilled and the steam wafting from it dissipated. She sipped. “You’re certain you don’t just miss Alisbeth and are making me her substitution.”

Grimory scowled and stood with his mead, his seat screeching against the cobblestone.

“No, wait!” Anarchaia grabbed his hand, knocking her coffee over in the process. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. Please.”

The demon hunter looked into her mask, eyes smoldering, then rubbed at his mouth with a palm and sat again. He inhaled, held his breath, then released it through his nostrils in another sigh. “I get that that’s what this looks like, yeah? But it’s not. Yeah, I miss her kinda, but that doesn’t mean that any time I spend with you will be because I do.” He set his cheek on his knuckles and picked at his nails with the other hand. “And maybe, after being kind of a dick to you for a month, I…feel badly about it. And maybe I kinda miss you.”

What he could see of Anarchaia’s face softened and her glossy lips thinned to a somber line. She lifted a hand and the spilled coffee pulled itself from the ground and table, swirled into an orb, then disappeared. “I’ll be honest, I thought you’d just kind of forgotten about me and moved on. Like you’d only been my friend because you had to be, and since you’d found Ali, I didn’t matter anymore.”

Grimory couldn’t help frowning. “I’m sorry.” He sipped at his drink tentatively.

A small smile played at her lips and Anarchaia chuckled, quiet and breathy. “I forgive you.” She grinned her crooked, silly grin and tilted her head. “So, Heart Day is coming. Do you have any plans?”

He shook his head, his frown remaining. “Probably just the usual. Buy some flowers and give them to the prettiest girl in the tavern. You?”

“I promised Master I’d help decorate the city and Hall.” She shrugged. “I doubt I’ll go to the party, though. No real need.”

He lifted a brow and smirked. “You expect me to believe you don’t spend every Heart Day with that old man?”

She crooked her mouth to the right, clearly annoyed. “Not every Heart Day…”

He chuckled at her blush and downed the rest of his drink in one pull. He tossed a couple gold pieces onto the table and stood. “Hey, why don’t we take a stroll through Suramar. Like we used to.”

“It’s getting kind of late. The sun’s going down,” she said and hesitated when he extended a hand.

“We don’t have to be out all night. C’mon.”

Anarchaia fidgeted with her fingers, then smiled and took his hand. “No harm, then, I suppose.” With his help she stood. “I can make us a port-al!” She wrapped her arms around his neck when he lifted her into his arms. She released another noise of surprise when he unfurled his wings and took to the sky.

The salty sea wind rushed over both their faces, chilling their eyeballs and urging forth tears. The waters below raced by as they flew, sparkling with sunset oranges, pinks, and purples.

Anarchaia smiled up at him and chuckled, though it was drown out by the wind.

The loud bugs of the night had already begun their songs when the two landed amongst the thick rows of bright orange willows. Fireflies lazed about the warm coastal air, blinking on and off. Anarchaia’s boots crunched against the dry grass as he set her down. A tired bird cawed in the distance through the draping vines.

The mage gave a wistful sigh as she looked around. “I honestly kind of missed this place. It’s so pretty.”

“Yeah.” Grimory followed when she sauntered away and through the thick trunks. “A lot more peaceful without the demons and fel-drunk Nightborne.” A fox, alerted to their presence, whimpered and bound off.

They walked for a short while, talking of the unexciting things of their week. Eventually they came upon a bubbling creek and an ornate bridge above it. She strode ahead of him with fingers clasped in the small of her back. Quiet croaking from wary frogs echoed beneath them as they stepped onto the bridge.

“Brings back memories,” Grimory said quietly when they stopped to rest against the stone wall.

“Yeah. Remember when we met Valtrois? And she tried to kill us?” She chuckled.

Grimory joined her in a laugh. “I think she owes us an apology, still.”

“Valtrois? Apologize? There’s a better chance I’ll be Guardian tomorrow.” She pushed away from the railing to continue across the bridge and, instead of following the path, she turned to follow the shoreline of the river.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Grimory replied with a smirk as he followed. “You’re powerful enough.”

She laughed outright and reached out to touch a cattail as she passed. “Tell Master that.”

“Want me to?” He bent to pluck a lily from the water and shook the cold droplets from its petals.

“Oh yes. I can only imagine how that conversation would go.”

Grimory thought for a moment, flower to his nose, and smirked again. “Excuse me, Mr. Archmage, but if you could gather enough sense into that senile, old brain of yours, you’d see how clearly capable your apprentice is. I know you love having her around because you’re so obviously in love with her, but–”

“All right. Ha ha. Hilarious.” She turned to flash him a smile. “And sweet. In a surreal sort of way.”

The two came upon a small, babbling waterfall at the end of the river. “Only being honest.” The Illidari set himself in the grass beneath one of the willows.

“He’s not in love with me. And there’s no way I’d ever be capable of being Guardian.” She spun to look at him, robes swirling. “But it’s the thought that counts. Thank you.” She paused when he extended the lily for her to take, then smiled and obliged. As a show, she brought it to her nose and sniffed, though smelt nothing.

“It’s getting dark. Sure it’s not getting close to your bedtime?” He gave her a coy grin and she scoffed.

Anarchaia lifted a thumb and forefinger and a lit candle appeared neatly between them. It floated up, illuminating the area beneath the dome of willow branches. “You and I have different definitions of bedtime,” she responded with an equally sly grin and set herself beside him.

“You’re right.” He leaned back and brought his arms up to cradle the back of his head in his laced fingers. “My definition is much more fun.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled all the same. The same eyes scanned over the man’s torso–its glowing tattoos, chiseled muscles, and finally, an angry, red wound right above the hem of his trousers. She furrowed her brow and automatically reached out to touch it. “What happened?”

He hissed and his hips adjusted to squirm away from her hand. “Sparring. I’ve been doing a lot of training this last week. Trying to learn to…control myself.”

“Have you been sparring with a lumber mill?” She chuckled and conjured a moist cloth. She pressed it to the wound and he sat up to grab at her wrist.

“That’s not necessary, yeah? Heh.”

She looked up to see his eyes crackling quietly and color in his prominent, tanned cheeks. A smile forced into her lips and she looked away to set aside the flower and rub at the wound some with the soft towel. “You should take care of your wounds. They’ll get infected.”

“I normally have them healed, but…I’ve been pretty busy.” He jerked when the cloth caught on a dried piece of blood and came away red.

Anarchaia conjured a small container of ointment and popped the cap off. She dabbed a dry corner of the cloth inside and wiped the substance over the cut, sealing the open spots and stopping the bleeding. Satisfied with her work, she sent the items away. “Honestly, how’d you get this far without me?” she said jokingly with a grin and turned again to look up at him. Her smile faded some at the gentle, dreamy look on his face–his burning eyes half-lidded, lips curved in the softest of frowns, cheeks flushed.

“I don’t know,” he responded quietly, not looking away from where he knew her eyes to be.

A short time passed where they looked at one another peacefully, until he leaned down to press his lips to hers. She allowed it and closed her eyes. He lifted his hand to push his fingers into her mask and cradle her ear and jaw, pushing further into their kiss.

Their lips parted into one another and she sighed. She brought her hand up, beneath his arm, and ran her fingertips up his shoulderblade. He pulled away for a brief second to breathe but quickly pushed back into her lips. His mutated tongue slithered past her glistening lips, searching for hers.

He pressed himself into her, slowly urging her onto her back in the soft grass. For a long while they kissed there beneath the willow in the soft glow of the single candle floating above. The waterfall rushed quietly and the frogs eventually fell silent. She tangled her lithe fingers in the soft hair on the back of his head.

He inhaled her sweet, heavy perfume and it made his head swim. Something in his loins tensed when she made a quiet noise against his lips. He pulled away from the kiss but kept his forehead against hers as he cautiously grasped at her mask.

Flushed and breathing quietly, she grabbed his hands.

“C’mon…” he pleaded, but she shook her head, offering no response but a small frown. He sighed and ran the backs of his fingers down her thin neck instead, down over her collar bone, over a breast, down her front until he found her belt. He skillfully pushed it through the buckle with a single hand and pushed up her robes when the belt sprung open.

She eagerly arched her back as he pulled it up, then assisted him in pulling it off and over her head along with her hood. No sooner was the hem past her face when his lips were upon hers again accompanied by a hungry, writhing tongue. It found hers and wrapped around it, undulating in the growing heat of her mouth. Her fingers tightened in his mane when he pushed the muscle deeper to tickle the back of her throat.

She whined quietly. Her hands smoothed over the muscles of his back; palms traveled down, over the thick leather of his belt, and pushed away the hanging, rune-etched cloth there to grab each half of his toned hind quarters. He hummed against her lips as he grinned and pulled away, his tongue–wet with both their saliva–retracting.

“You missed me that much, huh?” he breathed against her lips as she unfastened the large golden buckle at his front.

“Shut up, Grim,” the mage whispered back with a smile and kissed him again. A gloved hand came up to rest on his cheek while the other unknotted the ties of his pants. But she did not yet reach inside. Instead she pressed her palm to the hardened bulge, over the restraining leather, and gently caressed.

He knit his brow and groaned. His hips moved ever so slightly against her hand.

She pulled away to give a breathless chuckle. “Did you miss me?” she laughed.

Grimory ran his lips and nose down the side of her neck to bite and kiss at the lobe of her ear poking out just below the bunched hem of her mask. “Yeah,” he admitted, husky and quiet.

The grin on her face faded to a somber smile, not having expected the answer. She gasped when he nipped at the skin of her neck. “I missed you, too.”

His rough hands found their way under her shirt and up, pulling up her top. The cool night air ran between their torsos, raising goosebumps on his and leaving the tips of her small breasts erect. He brushed against one with the pad of his thumb and she inhaled sharply and flinched.

She finally pulled him free from the constraints of his breeches. He sucked at her neck as she rubbed up the length, then growled and ran his hand over her breast and around to her back to pull her chest to his. Her thigh came up to rub against his hip and he responded by gingerly pressing a knee to her nethers. A quiet moan escaped her and she adjusted her hips to grind her aching womanhood against it.

Ohh,” she sighed and bit her lip. She stroked at the firm member in her palm, occasionally pausing to swirl her thumb over the very tip.

A groan sounded in her ear and his fingers curled around the hem of her pants. She stopped him with a gentle hand over his knuckles.

“Let me,” she said and pushed him away. The mage sat up and unlaced her linen trousers, then pushed them down until her knuckles tickled the stitches on her thigh. She turned over onto her stomach and arched her back slightly into the ground, presenting him with her pale blue backside.

“Why not remove them?” he chuckled and moved back a bit, eyes trained on her slick, glistening lower lips–engorged and willing.

“Just trust me,” she mumbled, then blinked when his arm wrapped around her hips to pull them up, effectively pulling her elbows with and causing her cheek to fall to the grass.

“If you get off on being uncomfortable…” he responded, then bent down.

She shuddered when his tongue pushed inside her most intimate part. It swirled around within her and she closed her eyes and whined.

Her perfume suddenly filled his nose again and he closed his own eyes. His tongue rubbed along every inch it could reach, twisting and prodding. He teased around the spot inside he knew to be the right one and grazed a sharp fang against her lip; she jerked and reached back to grab his horn, but he was quick to take her wrist.

She inhaled to reprimand him about his teeth, then released a short moan when the appendage within her slowly rubbed over the spot it’d been avoiding. Her finger found its way to her lips and she bit down on the bone beneath the glove. More moans, sighs, and quick oh!s sounded out from behind her finger as he stroked and massaged with his long, undulating tongue. Her toes curled within her boots. Thick fluids ran slowly down, dripping from the button at the apex of her sex and cooling the sensitive skin in their wake.

Nethers throbbing and unable to take it any longer, she reached through the tight space between her thighs to grab at his member again, but her fingers fell just short of the tip. “In,” she breathed into the grass.

He smirked and sat up. The tip of his tongue cleaned the fruit of his labor from his lips. He crawled to hover over her on his hands and knees, fingers inches away from hers on either side of her head.

Anarchaia gasped in surprise when he wrapped his arms around her torso and pulled her up to kneel with him, her back pressed against his warm chest so closely she could feel his heart pounding through the thick muscle there. She bit her lip and turned to look up at him, then kissed him when he leaned down. Her searching fingers again reached between her thin thighs to grab his hot, solid length and pull it through where she straddled it just against her flower. She grasped the head with a palm and rubbed against the rest with her moistened lower lips.

He groaned into her mouth. “I thought you said you wanted it in,” he breathed between deep, hungry kisses, then moaned again when she moved her hips, rubbing him within the space between her thighs. He ran his palms up her body and under her shirt to gently cup her breasts.

She flinched when he bit at the crook of her neck and hissed. “No biting,” she warned, then jumped again when he pinched one of her nipples.

“No promises.” He pressed his hips to her rear and breathed hot against her neck. His shaft now thoroughly slicked with her feminine fluids and throbbing with desire, he urged her back to the ground. He again took a moment to admire the shine of the engorged, soft skin peeking out from between her thighs. He pressed the tip of his manhood to it and paused to steel himself.

“What’s wrong?” she said through quiet breaths, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder.

A coy smile spread across his lips and he grabbed her by the hips. “Nothing at all.” His smile faded as he grit his teeth when he pushed inside. The heat inside blanketed his length, hotter the deeper he pushed, and he exhaled. “I’ll be honest,” he chuckled, panting softly as well. “I missed the warmth.”

She pursed her lips. “Thanks,” she responded, unenthused, then pushed herself onto him all the same. A sigh eked out her slightly parted lips until he reached her backmost wall at which point she bit her lower lip and grinned. “Me, too, I suppose,” she laughed in response, then moaned when he pulled out–slowly, patiently.

She squeaked when he thrust back in with far more force than he’d withdrawn, then sighed once more when he did it again. “Grim,” she panted, fingers clawing at the soil beneath her.

He grunted in response, pushing into her longingly. Unable to hold himself back any longer and burning from the foreplay, he leaned down to wrap an arm around her and brace himself on the other against the ground.

She cried out beneath him as he pushed into her fervently, pleasure striking through her with each brush against that spot within. “Yes,” she chirped, “yes.” A yearning to simply tear off the rest of her clothing and turn to hold him back, kiss him, stare into his fiery eyes with her own grew within her chest and she grit her teeth, knowing she couldn’t. She instead mewled, the noise echoing off the willow branches and drowning out the crickets and cicadas.

He growled, his climax already threatening to burst forth. The arm around her chest wandered down to between her thighs where his finger pushed into the soft folds there. The tip of his digit found the sensitive nub hiding between the lips and rubbed in small circles against it.

She gasped and whined, her elbows shaking. A quiet “Oh, gods,” sounded from between her shallow breaths and her insides tightened around him. “Faster. I’m close.”

Grimory happily obliged, increasing the pace with both his drives and his massaging. He moaned himself and buried his face into her neck; it was all he could do not to sink his teeth into her. It was only moments before the pleasure built up within his loins and core. “I can’t–”

“It’s okay,” she replied, out of breath and moaning. “Come. Inside. Fill me.” She bit her lip to contain her rising screams, but when he ground into her hard with his firming member and his finger swirling against her button, her elbows gave and she cried out loudly against the grass when her cheek hit the ground.

Her muscles pulsed around him and he growled a final time, thrusting into her hot depths until his length could fill her no more and the excess spilled from between their parts and onto the soil and grass. On his hands and knees above her, he found himself hard pressed to catch his breath. He furrowed his brow at the sensation of her canal still shuddering and throbbing around his softening member even moments later, then released an exhausted laugh at her clawing, writhing fingers. “Are you still cumming?” He then hissed when she clamped her nethers around his still sensitive shaft as though to spite him.

She finally collapsed beneath him, unsheathing him from within her and panting heavily in the grass. He lowered to lie beside her, still breathing quietly and tired. A muscular arm, glistening with sweat in the candle light, snaked beneath hers to wrap around her waist and pull her close.

Anarchaia smiled and rested her arm atop his.

They lay there for a long time, listening to the sounds of the night and the gentle dripping of wax into the dry grass from the floating candle. The small waterfall nearby trickled softly. The dome of willow branches swayed in the cool night breeze.

Regaining her composure, the mage sat up with a contented sigh. She pulled her pants back up and retied them while he, still lying beside her, did the same. She readjusted her shirt and threw him a smile over her shoulder. “You sure you don’t have any plans for Heart Day?”

He smirked and brought his hands up behind his head. He closed his eyes as she turned to rest her arms on his chest. “Oh, I don’t know,” he replied casually, then smirked down at her with a wink. “I think I can make room in my busy schedule.”

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