Stone Elf Prince Tibon is eager to return to his home in the mountains, but when he unwittingly trespasses in the forest, he’s captured by an Unseelie Fey. As the interrogation turns into an erotic adventure, Tibon realizes he’s having a wonderful time. Or would be, if his captor wasn’t entirely invisible!
(Prince Tibon & The Kobold)
The Kobold stood not quite as tall as Tibon, perhaps a half-head shorter, but his shoulders were broad and his figure muscular and square. Through the glamour that whispered around him like a breeze, Tibon made out fuzzy details: skin the warm nut-brown of acorns, and eyes the dark green of pine-needles. He wore only a cloth wrapped around his loins and a leather harness about his shoulders that buckled over his broad chest and from which hung various weapons, gourds, and sacks along with a string of apples tied by a string. From the harness, he slipped a curved and wicked looking blade that Tibon glimpsed from the edge of his peripheral vision.
Tibon tensed, eye watching the steel, planning how to escape. If he flipped backwards and rolled on his shoulder, he could let the Kobold come down after him, and there he could rely on his agility to wrest the heavier being to the ground. Tibon mapped the move in his head, but the Kobold stooped suddenly and sliced the bonds holding his legs free.
“Where I say.” And the Kobold chuckled again.
Relieved that he didn’t have to try to fight when completely bound, Tibon started walking, following the directions of the Kobold, and ever looking for the place where he would have the advantage. They came out of the trees into a small clearing at the far end of which was a cozy-looking home cut from a great living sugar maple. The tree, if time mattered at all in the Borders, was near to five-hundred years old, and it had grown around the cut windows and the framed door, bark growing thick as though trying to merge the dwelling into its heart.
“This is your house?” Tibon said lightly, forcing his voice to guest-like humility, “I like it. Homey.”
“Inside.” The Kobold said.
Tibon hesitated, glancing around the clearing, hoping for a finch or butterfly, or even a raven, but the forest here was still. The Wardens were not at hand, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. My friends call me Tibon.”
“That is nice.” The Kobold gestured with the knife, “Inside.”
“My hands are still tied. Can’t open the door.”
The Kobold stepped around him and flipped the latch, then gave Tibon a very un-princely shove, sending him stumbling over the lintel.
The dwelling was devoid of decoration or accent. A brick-clay fireplace, a small table, a rough bench of cut logs, a narrow stair that led up and another that led down into and under the great gnarled roots of the tree: all was wooden, brown, and subtle.
“Love what you’ve done with the place. Could use some curtains, though. I know a wonderful silk-trader…” Tibon stood still in the center of the room, looking around him, seeking a means of escape. Inside the wooden heart of the tree, away from stone and sand, his own powers were dimmed, his fey magic subdued. He kept up the congenial chatter, his mind racing,“Maybe a splash of red around the hearth. Some paint would do…”
“Silence, Elf.” The Kobold took Tibon’s arm and pushed him towards the lower stair, the one that went down and down and down, but Tibon was a Stone Elf and his granite flecked eyes adjusted to the light swiftly so that when he reached the wooden planked floor he was ready. Diving forward, he spun around and launched a kick towards the Kobold’s head.
It was no longer there. The Kobold was gone, vanished. Tibon’s foot connected with nothing and he was thrown off balance. Something caught him around the waist and threw him face-down to the floor. Not vanished, Tibon realized. Invisible. And had ducked. The Kobold was as fast, or faster, than he was. No sooner had he made that realization than the Kobold was on top of him, kneeling over his back, holding him down, still invisible, nothing to see, only to feel.
“Naughty Elf. Look what you’ve made me do.” The Kobold said very quietly, and Tibon could feel the creature’s breath on his face, the slight scent of blackberries in the murmur. He could feel the heat of the Kobold’s body on his own, the weight of his knees pressing to his ribs. Tibon’s hands were unbound from behind his back and then bound again to a root that protruded from the floor like a great ring. The Kobold shifted, and Tibon realized his ankles were being bound as well.
Then he felt that wicked curved blade at his throat and closed his eyes. Not only had his quest been a failure, but now he was going to die at the hands of a Fey creature beneath the ground of the forest. Tibon closed his eyes. And felt the blade shift direction, slide under his satin doublet, and slice it clean through.
“Ach, no! Kill me, but spare the satin.” He groaned, and the Kobold laughed again, a merry sound in that dark place.
“Don’t like it.” The Kobold spoke suddenly, “Made by great looms that clank and groan as they weave. Don’t like it on you.”
And then the creature proceeded to strip every inch of clothing from Tibon, cutting laces and clasps where he could, and merely slicing through every thread where he could not, until even his silk undergarment, shorts of the warmest indigo color, woven and stitched by the finest seamstresses in the land, was cut away and Tibon was naked, sprawled and bound face down on the wooden floor of the Kobold’s lair.
It was true that he’d been in far less dignifying situations, and one quite recently, in fact, but it was the pure danger of this situation that excited Tibon a bit. “So, you don’t mean to kill me. What do you mean to do?”
“Tell me why you were in my forest.” The Kobold’s rich warm tone didn’t vary, but his strong hand reached for the back of Tibon’s neck, touching lightly at first, and then more firmly, as though testing the flesh in some way. It slid down to Tibon’s spine, between his shoulder blades. “Tell me why you came here, trailing along with your noisy great beast beneath my quiet trees…”
The hand stopped briefly, then splayed and rose so that all Tibon could feel was woody-calloused fingertips that explored over his back, finding the smooth ridges of his tense muscles and soothing them flat, pressing down his spine one vertebrae at a time. Even knowing that it was a Kobold, knowing that it was invisible, knowing that he was under the power of a creature whose magic was as old as, and a match for, his own, Tibon found himself enjoying that touch.
“Water.” He admitted as the hand moved lower, playing into the small of his back, sliding up the rise of his buttocks. “I heard the brook, and thought it was close.”
The hand swept down his right buttock, curving beneath and then moving up again to slide down the left. “That old story. I have heard that before. Tell me the truth.”
“That is the truth.” Tibon insisted, but there was a lack of urgency in his tone as he felt the Kobold’s hand duck between his cheeks, spreading his ass slightly before smoothing upward again.
“Tsk tsk.” The Kobold clucked, and Tibon felt warmth beside him as it stretched out. Tibon twisted his head, but the Kobold obviously had no desire for him to see him again, and remained invisible. “You lie.”
The hand curved down again, this time sliding deep, and lightly pressing at the puckered opening it found. Tibon gasped, squirming slightly before it inched away again. “What do you want, Kobold?”
“The truth. Why does a Stone Elf prance into my woods with his smelly horse?” The Kobold’s hand returned again, then pushed lower, prying Tibon’s legs slightly apart, “I didn’t ask you to come. Did not invite you. Naughty Elf.” And the hand jerked away and landed a light slap on Tibon’s ass-cheek, barely hard enough to sting.
Tibon gasped, feeling his cock twitch against the hard floor. Traitor, he thought to it, before turning his attention back to the Kobold. He tried to make his tone as bored as possible, “Is that what this is? Punishing me for trespassing? Well, get on with it. I haven’t all day.”
“You’re immortal, Elf. You have centuries!” The Kobold slapped again, a good solid spank, and Tibon felt a hot flush burn across his muscled ass. “All you have to do is tell me the truth.”
“I have!” Tibon growled, losing patience, and his reward was another spank, followed by two more. He was hard now, his erection pressed hard beneath him. “I wanted a drink of water.”
The Kobold’s hand dipped between his cheeks again, once again finding his hole and prodding it lightly. When he spoke again, his voice was low against Tibon’s ear, fluttering the loose hairs that draped there. “Are you still thirsty, Elf?”
Tibon shook his head, gasping a little, all of his attention on that finger that was toying, tickling, teasing against his sensitive skin.
“I didn’t hear you…” The tip of a digit slipped inside his dry hole, and held still.
“No, I’m no longer thirsty.” Tibon managed to say through gritted teeth, pleased that his voice sounded calm and even.
The Kobold hummed, a little sing-song up and down, “Shall I tell you what I am?”
Tibon groaned, not sure he wanted to hear at all what the other had to say. “What are you, Koba’los?”
“Mmmm.” The Kobold hummed at the common ancient Above World name for its kind, “I am hungry. Hungry for you, Elf.”
Copyright: Lizette Lynne
Originally Published as “Feeling Unseelie”: 3/23/2014
Re-published as “Prince Tibon and the Kobold”: 6/17/14
The right of Lizette Lynne to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. www.celestialerotic.com
Text: Copyright Lizette Lynne. All rights reserved.
Photocredit: imagerymajestic, published on 29 November 2012 Stock Photo – image ID: 100121853