The Masquerade I (Explicit)

((The following story contains explicit adult material - you were warned. Thanks as always to Jon’s player for allowing me to write with him and his character.))

A man wearing a sleek, silver, and black mask resembling the long, slightly curved beak of a Rook stood against a wall just inside the entrance to the ballroom like a statue. His hair was dyed a rich dark black and slicked to perfect stiffness. Over his sharp-looking tuxedo, he wore a stiff, military suit jacket that was as green as the Gilnean forest. Black embroidery and many silver buttons outlined his chest. A red sash tied around his waist, and a leather strap with a silver chain held it all closed. He could swear the darker green ascot tied around his neck was choking him. It was much more suited to a nobleman or high-ranking member of the 7th Legion on portrait-painting day than a consummate spy and an Agent of Cheese. 

Few here knew him as Stavros Darkovin. Fewer still knew him as Jon Chess. Currently, both were amusing himself by listening to the conversations around him while carefully checking that his tools of the trade he had smuggled in were still in place.

Indeed, Jon Chess was in disguise this evening; A necessary precaution in the Admiralcy’s point of view. Jon was too recognizable a name to allow inside Proudmoore Keep, where the evening festivities were to be held. Being the biggest event of the season for the Kul Tiran nobility, the masquerade was a ripe opportunity to shift out the wheat from the chaff. With the war over and a fragile peace restored, there was a new concern that the attention of the city's more hidden enemies might move to more lucrative fields. One of those enemies was rumored to be here tonight; A nobleman with ties in all the wrong places who funneled money through the Ashvane Company to aid illegal suppliers of Horde forces during the war, and was now making moves to strengthen the criminal element in Boralus. A month of tireless work had narrowed the list of potential suspects down to a handful of men, and tonight, they had all helpfully gathered themselves together in one room. Jon was to mingle with, watch, subtly interrogate, and if there was sufficient evidence, remove them from the board without causing a scene. 

It was this field of a room he was scanning, bustling with fine garb and even finer wine when he spotted a blonde woman subtly make her way over to him. Though maybe it was the perfume she had drowned herself in that gave it away.

“Excuse me sir, but you are too handsome to be standing here all by yourself.” She smiled coyly, a hand coming to rest on his arm.

“And you are too pretty to be standing here with me when there is a crowd full of willing young men you should be wooing - Inside the ballroom, ma’am.” 

Her lip jutted out in a pout,” You’re too kind, but that willingness is exactly why I’m here. I want a gentleman, not a pack of drooling boys.”

“Those drooling boys will do you more justice than I will, I can assure you...”

“If you’re worried about an angry husband, I can assure you I’m quite single… unless it’s your wife you’re worried about?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, leaning in much closer than was necessary to be heard. “She must not be that satisfying, for it seems she’s left you here all alone.”

“I must insist...”

Her hand stroked his jawline, dragging a fine nail across his skin to tilt his head toward her.

“I could show you the stars...”

Jon did not let her come any closer, sidestepping around her and directing her body back towards the main hall. “You do me honor, and the possibilities make me both hunger and blush, but I am very happily married to a woman who is buried deep in my heart and soul."

“If you just give me time, I’m sure...” She started to speak, but was cut off suddenly. Confused, she opened her mouth several times, trying to mouth words. But each time, no sound came out, and the confusion and concern grew in her eyes.

From behind him came a helpful cough, “You’ve seemed to have something on your arm sir. Here, let me brush it off for you.”

Jon turned his head to the new voice, and the world stopped for just a moment as he beheld a vision of a Magna from the Kirin Tor, Alia Atherton-Chess.

Even with the mask, he still knew his wife in a heartbeat, and the incredible work the dressmaker had done made her all the more breathtaking. Alia's dress was long and form-fitting, the mageweave a light mauve-color that descended into a darker variant of the same shade. The gown was layered over with black lace, which also served as straps that hung off the shoulders to serve as sleeves, dipped tantalizingly low, framing her breasts enticingly.

“There we go. All better?” Alia’s melodic voice brought Jon’s attention back to the present, his eyes refocused at once on her smiling face.  Her mask was painted in a silver that glittered in the candlelight and decorated in purple crystals that very well could have been polished mana gems. Slim and delicate, it seemed to be in the shape of a butterfly and drew inspiration from Nightborne culture and Suramar, the city forever locked in a false night. There was no necklace to adorn her delicate swan-like neck, the only jewelry she was wearing at all were a pair of tear-shaped pearl silver earrings. They were only just visible, in part because of the short-stemmed, pale lavender roses pinned just so to keep her hair out of her eyes. Jon had to straighten himself up and pushed the urge to feast on her bare skin away - there be time for that afterward.

“Much better, thank you... I am sorry, I was just caught up in the view in front of me.” Jon replied hastily. He took her soft hand to calm her fussing fingers before it wore a hole into the material of his jacket sleeve.

Alia grinned in a way that made her eyes sparkle,” Well, if you must do so, would you mind if you enjoyed the view as we danced?”

“I would desire nothing more!” He exclaimed, stroking her palm with his finger as he led her to the dance floor. They left behind an utterly confused woman, trying to figure out why, how, and who had so clearly undermined her.

Alia looked at him with an inviting look, “Tell me, my lord, do you make it a habit of stroking a woman's palm before you dance?”

Jon turned to face her. ” Would you believe me if I said no?”

”Would you believe me if I said yes?” She quipped back.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe.”

She bit her lip with a smile.“Then yes. Of course I believe you.” 

They took their positions on the dance floor, paying proper respect to each other before the music began. The song was delicate but grand, and they moved together with poise and ease. Jon led her confidently, going through the steps he had taught Alia himself shortly after their courtship had begun. Those days felt like years ago now, though he did not recall ever finishing that lesson. Who knew she was practicing this entire time without him? He thought of Alia using the arcane to give life to his spare clothes to serve as a dance partner during his times of absence for work, and he chuckled aloud.

“What’s the matter? I’m not stepping on your feet am I?”

Jon shook his head, “No, just surprised that’d you be so jealous as to practice dancing so you could join me tonight.”

Alia’s face was a deep pink, noticeable even beneath the mask,” What…? I wasn’t jealous!” She stiffened in his grasp, stammering out,” I had to learn. A representative of the Lord Admiral very well can't not know how to dance.”

Jon bit his tongue, but intrigued, leaned in to whisper in her ear, taking a moment to inhale the soft hint of flowers mingled with her natural scent, “Oh really? Then can you explain why you silenced that woman with a Counterspell completely out of hand? That was terribly rude of you.”

“I was... only looking out for your safety.” She started to run her hand through the short hairs on the back of his head, “That woman could have been a succubus in disguise, sent to seduce and lure you to your doom. I may have just saved your life.”

He pressed his lips gently against the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, “Just face it; Alia Chess, my loving and adorable wife, is jealous.”

Alia pushed herself away in a sudden spin. Jon caught her before she went too far, and his hand stroked her breast as he brought her back to him.

“How can I be jealous of a man who is not my husband, but a complete stranger?”

The disguised husband was taken aback. His grip on her hand tightened.

She continued unflinching,” After all, this is a masquerade. You could be anyone beneath that mask. Perhaps I mistook you for my husband, and not wanting to miss out, You have chosen to lie in hopes of getting under my skirts.”

“IF that is true, how do you know that your husband is fine with letting another man stroke your ass like this?”  Jon asked in a low voice of a growl. With a guiding hand on the rise of her ass, he drew her in, caressing the fabric and flesh.

”Well...if my husband didn’t want me to receive attention, maybe he shouldn’t have let me come here dressed like this.”

”Maybe. What a short-sighted bastard, for you are too tempting for any blackguard to resist…anyone could come around and snatch you up.”

Alia’s hands were no longer idle. The hand tickling the back of his neck stilled, sliding down to his chest in a slow, deliberate design. In time with the music, she played with the buttons down his jacket, undoing the first few so his throat was exposed, then gripping and pulling the material as her hand traveled lower. Painstakingly lower, as she teased the jacket open in a mock undressing. Her fingers started to pull at the red sash when he ripped her hand and held it in his own tight. 

“You’re a naughty wench. Are you going to play and have your way with me while your husband is gone?”

She leaned forward, quickly nipping on his ear before replying, “He won’t mind. I think he’ll appreciate the idea of my being kept in good company in his absence.” 

He zigged when he should have zagged and tripped Alia, using her fall to pull her back against him with a force. Just out of earshot he could hear her labored breathing, and not from the strain of dancing consecutive songs. He recovered their flow gracefully, but now with her plainly aware of his magnificent erection straining at the confines of his trousers. His breath was heavy on her neck. His breath was heavy on her neck.

“That’s where I think you’re wrong, my dear. Chess is known to be an overly-protective and possessive man. I think he might humor the idea as a fantasy, but if he ever found you in such a circumstance, he might be wild with jealousy, and force you to a wall to establish that you are his, utterly his, and mark you inside and out as such.”

Alia’s body trembled in his arms, her hands unable to keep a steady grip on their own.

He continued, “But maybe that’s what you want? Do you want to be pinned to the wall like a real little butterfly? Such a delicate thing. If there wasn’t such a crowd watching, I would see if my thigh could feel the heat rolling away from your intimate flesh from my advances... for I know that it strokes your inner fire to be properly manhandled."

"Jon...don't... stop..." Her voice was small and meek and vulnerable. Her face and neck were red hot, and “They’re all looking at you.”

She was right; they were watching. He could see them at the edges of the floor, eyes hungry for a prize they couldn’t have. It took all Jon had to not leave her neck with an angry mark for all the other suitors to see.

“Believe me,” he responded slowly,” They’re all looking at you.”

An image bubbled to the surface of Jon’s mind of him just taking her here and now. Not bothering in secreting them away to one of the sectioned off rooms, and probably not even bothering to find a darkened corner in this room. Doubtful he’d even bother removing her clothes when he could just use one of the sharp knives on his person, cut her panties from her, and take her cunt right then and there, on the floor with everyone around to watch. He might even let some of the other men touch her, finger her, taste her honey, use her mouth on their cocks if she was good. He might even let them if she was bad. Would it even matter to her? Would she be so hot and needy that she’d just accept it as long as he was the one filling her with his cock by the end of the night? The growing fantasy in his mind made his blood boil, but he had enough sense to harden his mind quickly to the prospect of exploring the fantasy further with Alia until they could return to the comforts of a locked bedroom.

After all, he wasn’t here for her.

Jon fell silent for a long time, resting his head in the crook of her neck as one song bled into another, taking rhythmic deep breaths to calm down. When he did finally speak, he had released her from his arms enough so she could face him, but still kept her close so his breath was barely a whisper tickling her ear. 

“But undoubtedly he cherishes you, and so he would allow you to earn forgiveness. You outshine all others in his heart, a beloved morning-star in his sky... but the man who would try and dim that light... I doubt there would be any forgiveness on this side of the grave." He finished his thought with a voice needier than he had meant it to be, laced with arousal like a poison coating a blade, but with a hard, serious, professional edge to it.

The music stopped and the dance ended rather abruptly, snapping them back into reality.  Alia was the first to recover. She curtsied low, letting Jon look down and admire her breasts and the way her dress both displayed and held them in place for his pleasure. “...Th-then for both our sakes, let this be our last dance. I’d hate for a gentleman such as yourself to meet such a terrible, violent end.” Alia cooed, her voice sounding less confident compared to how it should’ve been. Jon could see the fire of desire - of lustful hunger - being unwillingly sputtered into submissive silence.

"For the chance to evaluate and experience the depth of your charms, I can think of little else worthy of dying at so inexpensive a price," Jon said with a bow, "But the idea of causing you inconvenience is likewise abhorrent to me, and so I accept, with regret, your banishment. Should you change your mind, summon me at your bidding, Madame Chess."

“I will remember that...If you can remember that you never asked for my name, Mister DarKovin, wasn’t it?”

“Sharp as always, I see.”

“Mhm, quite.” They both turned and went their separate ways, blending into the crowd within a blink of an eye.

The moment Jon was out of her sight, a deep sense of loneliness overcame Alia all at once. Seeing Jon talking with that woman, and how she continued to press her advances, rattled something loose inside. She could feel the waves of jealousy (and no small amount of lust) creeping, crawling up her spine to settle in the base of her throat. It reached down and scraped one finger along the bottom of her stomach, green-eyed and hungry to feast on the irrationality of its nature. She knew Jon loved her, would never stray from her, but the more she pushed it away, the fiercer the claws that reeled her back in.

The first and last time she had felt it this intensely must have been almost a few years ago, at least. After their first encounter, Alia attended a fundraising date auction where Jon was one of the participants. She had planned to bid on him, in part as payment for her saving his life, but mainly to lessen his fears that he would be undesirable to the crowd. Not even Norgannon himself could have predicted her former supervisor single-handedly swiping the Agent of Cheese from everyone's grasp with an exorbitant opening bid.

Unsure how to cope with the overwhelming alien sensation, she wound up drinking herself into a solid drunken state rather than watch Jon play the dutiful date right next to her. As a rule, Alia wasn’t one to turn to drink. She was never able to get behind its dulling effects on one's senses. But right now, she’d give almost anything to dull her senses. Senses that told her that her cunt was hot and dripping. That her breasts were itching to be feasted on, and the skin on her neck aflame, aching to have a pair of lips ease her sweet suffering.

Alia did her best to avoid eye contact with anyone as she leisurely made like a tapestry and hung in the back of the festivities, looking around for somewhere to sequester herself - at least until she didn’t feel so… needy. Perhaps she could convince one of the servants to let her into the library where it would be quiet. Fel, even some fellow mages in attendance would be nice. She could use a long, boring discussion about ley-lines and new methods of enchantment to distract herself from the pomp and posturing around her:

“...And then she just waltzed right in! Wearing that! Can you believe it?”

“I quite look forward to going out on the hunt myself. I'll bag the largest boar, just wait!”

“Oh look, there goes Mr. Simmerson. Did you hear about his recruiting scheme…”

“-and I marched right back into that shop and demanded they swap the sapphire they gave me with a pristine sapphire. Who do they think they are? Scams, all of them!”

“The wine does not pair with the hors d'oeuvres. Kul Tiran Admiralty indeed.”

“What an incredible round! I think that may have been the best one yet. You’ve improved since last season-”

“Excuse me miss, you seem just as bored with this function as I am. Would you like a drink?” A man spoke behind her from seemingly nowhere with a clear Kul Tiran accent. Behind the hawk mask gilded in bronze, silver, and gold that covered his face was styled dark-colored hair paired well with dark eyes and a confident smile. He was her height, if not a little taller, and had somewhat of a slender build, though she couldn’t help but notice how polished his posture was; someone of wealth and status to be sure. In his hands, he was carrying two glasses filled with what looked like Dalaran Red.

Alia shook her head. “I’m sorry to disappoint m’lord, but I am not in the mood to drink.” 

The man smiled with disappointment, “A shame. I’ve always been one to rely on a good drink when things get boring. Do you mind if I keep you company, at the very least?” 

Across the room, Alia caught sight of a familiar silver and black Rook mask talking to a group of guests who were utterly enchanted by their newest conversation partner. One of the women playfully slapped his arm. The green beast spoke first.

“I don’t see why not. You may call me Atherton.” She offered her hand, which he took and gently kissed the top of.

“Atherton? I am known as Ross Dalen. It’s an honor, Ms. Atherton, to be present among such esteemed company like yours!”

“Why whatever are you talking about Mr. Dalen?” Alia questioned, politely taking her hand back and folding them in front of her.

Mr. Dalen replied outright, chuckling half-heartedly, “I could not but overhear some of the other women speaking about an exquisite butterfly amongst us. I must say, I did not know it was possible to turn everyone’s face green just by walking into the room.”

“Must have been something in the drink. It gives me more reason not to partake.”

The gentleman shook his head eagerly,” I’m afraid I’d have to disagree with you. I grew up the second son after my four older sisters and brother. I know jealousy when I see it, and it wasn’t just because they wanted to know who you were waltzing with.”

“And so the point in you coming over to speak to me was to...?”

“See what all the fuss is about, and to take in your beauty.”

“What beauty? You can not see anything but my mask.” Alia quipped with a little smile.

Mr. Dalen followed suit with a wide grin. “Ah true, but what a beauty this mask is!” 

“You’ve said that to every lady.”

“Maybe, but only meant it with you.” He raised his hands in mock surrender, still holding the two glasses carefully.

It was clear that he was enjoying this. Perhaps a little too much for Alia’s taste, but something about this new game was just too entertaining for her to stop. She cast a glance for Jon, but no luck. She looked down at the wine, “You’re still holding the drinks, Mr. Dalen.” 

He looked down and gasped. “So it’s true! But, I think I am waiting for the lovely butterfly in front of me to tire from her long hours of fluttering about, so that I may have sweet nectar prepared for her refreshment. But please, call me Ross.”

“Call me Alia.” She replied, taking the glass closest to her from his grip.

“Ah! Alia, such a pretty name for a butterfly. And I imagine such a pretty little face to go along with it.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“What would it cost me?” Ross asked with a raised eyebrow as he took a sip

“More than you can afford, good sir, though I mean no offense.” Alia replied as she took a small whiff of her wine. It seemed safe enough. A thought passed through her mind, An arm and a leg if you’ve put something in this drink... and that’s if my husband’s feeling merciful.

“Try me.” He said, straightening himself, “I don’t mean to brag, but I’m something of a self-made man.”

“Really? Tell me more.” 

“Well, beyond helping my brother with our father’s estate and vineyard, I’ve personally sponsored books for the orphanage in Boralus, as well as medical supplies and weapons for our forces while the war was still on. Do not mistake me, I’m happy that there’s been a peaceful resolution to the conflict, but it’s left me without a cause to champion.”

“You were championing the war?” Alia raised an eyebrow.

“Tides no! I grief for every life lost! I merely meant that with troops returning home, soon there will be no need for such generosity.”

“You could still help provide aid to those returning.” Alia pointed out, “Entire harvests have gone to waste or have been destroyed. The majority of the wounded may never recover to their full health. People will need help getting back on their feet, not to mention the Orphanages will be packed-”

“-Shush my butterfly.” He smiled, putting his fingers to her lips,” It’s ultimately unimportant. I don’t mean to sound like a prig, but the matters of business are far too complex to bore such a beautiful little creature as yourself.“

“Oh. Of course, silly me.” Alia sighed, biting back her annoyance with her cheek between her teeth, tuning Ross out as he babbled on. Typical nobility, talking down to a woman of lower status like a child. Probably because my ideas are “simply too charitable for a rich asshole like him, who only really cares about status and wealth being used to occur more of both”! Silly me indeed. Kul Tiras, Stormwind, and Dalaran. They aren’t all that different, are they?

“-You know what surprised me about you, my butterfly?” 

Alia reluctantly re-engaged to the conversation, “No Mr. Dalen. What surprises you?”

“I have watched you all evening, and you’ve only danced with one other man.” He cocked his head, and something in his eyes made Alia uneasy. “Was he that unpleasant a partner to have sworn you off of dancing entirely?”

Alia felt the heat in her face turn sour with embarrassment,” ...If anything sir, the unpleasantness would have been from me. I’m afraid I’m not a very good dancer.” She paused, then quickly added,” The man you saw me with had asked for my hand at the door- as soon as I walked in- before he had the chance to see just how terrible of a fool I would make of myself.”

The gentleman clicked his tongue,” See, I know that is a lie because I saw you dance. We all did! How could I forget the vision of perfection, gracefully gliding with the music like a swan over the lake.”

“Mr. Dalen I think that’s enough flattery…”

“Of course, you two were dancing so close together you might as well have been fornicating in front of us all!”

Alia’s face blanched, “I beg your pardon?”

Dalen continued unhindered, “Please, don’t act so surprised. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you either. You're a very beautiful butterfly, but you know that already, don’t you?”

“I need to go-.” She passed off her drink to a waiter and turned to leave.

Alia’s retreat was halted by Ross’s hands wrapping around and grabbing her shoulders, fingers digging into her skin enough to leave marks. She could feel the bruising start to well up underneath his grip. He spun her to face him. She tried to wriggle free without causing too much commotion, but she couldn’t quite shake him off.

Then he forced her against his chest and mashed her lips to his.

Alia just saw red. She did not think or even blink before she acted. In the time it took Dalen to pull back, Alia had already brought her arm up and into his chest, pushing him back and suddenly knocking him off balance. He did not fall over, but in his haste to right himself, he fell back into a servant carrying wine glasses that spilled all over his rich apparel. A deeper crimson stain was beginning to form on his coat and seemed to go deep into the fabric. With shock and rage, he cursed and swore at her.

“You little witch! You’ll pay for-”

The Magna didn’t let him finish. Faster than he could grab her, she connected the palm of her hand with his cheek. The slap was as loud as a clap even drowned under the music and clearly stung his face, leaving a glowering red welt behind. Just below his eye was a small nick where her wedding ring had cut him. Ross staggered backward, clutching his face, eyes watering. He went to reach for her, but his mindless swipe was no use. Alia was gone, blended into the sea of people like a fish takes to water.

She could feel the curious eyes on her, wondering, judging, and willed her feet to take her somewhere, anywhere else than here.