My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

I drove into the entrance of Irene's neighborhood feeling a mix of exuberance and nervousness that only served to amplify each other to an even more volatile mixture.

For once, my teeth could rest easy in my mouth; the first evening in forever where the cold was somewhat bearable, and I won't have to worry about chattering my molars blunt. No snowfall inches deep to maneuver around, no patches of frozen puddles to skid across, like the cool, calm season before it, winter seems to be finally coming to an end.

There were a lot of cars pulled up in a lot of lots, house after house I drove past, merriment after merriment echoed back at me in the driveways. The end of the year really does bring out the social butterfly in everyone… and after that certain fiasco a few months back, I'm sure lots of people were keen to move on to a brighter and better set of 365.

Personally, grievances and anguishes aside, this year really wasn't all that bad for me…and if I had to go through it all again, grievances and anguishes included, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

For them, I would.

I almost forgot how samey everything looked in Irene's neighborhood. My second time around her block and yet I've still almost taken two wrong turns already - can't help it, private residences seamlessly blending into the next in one long terrace line of generic.

Thankfully, spotting her house was a much easier affair than finding her street - hers was the only lot that was without any other vehicles parked up at the curb, well, except for mine now, I suppose.

I was early, actually… ten minutes twelve seconds precisely, as indicated by a quick rousing click of my phone; obviously it was really nothing to overblow when it came to anybody else, but Irene was certainly the meticulous sort.

Girl's probably got her whole week planned out to the most minute of details, and who knows? Ten minutes could be the biggest difference between nothing to do and everything to be done. What are the chances I call, text, knock on her door, and inadvertently intrude upon the busiest, most crucial moment for her all year?

Or am I just overthinking this?

Yeah, I am overthinking this.

I left my loyal steel stallion to rest near her mailbox, where I couldn't help but notice a few white slips protruding out from the narrow slit, which probably meant either someone was far too lazy to get their mail… or far too busy.

Okay, really should stop overthinking now.

Stepping up the little incline to her front door, I gave the big, brown slab of timbered wood in front of me a firm, solid knocking that I'm sure could be heard anywhere throughout the house.

Now I wait.

Five seconds went… then a little over ten… I shifted a little, feeling Ria's present dig harder into my ribs… it's been half a minute already, should I knock again? Or was she already coming? Actually, considering the occasion, going off on suspicions… who else could be coming?

Irene, or just maybe…?

A rattling click, I blinked, and the door flew wide open with a swift, rippling stream of air - Irene stood directly on the other side, sweat pouring down the sides of her face, tousled, soggy hair half-obscuring the disgruntled look in her eyes, and with a weary, heavy breath distinctly echoing inconvenience, interruption, she spoke.

"You're ten minutes early."

I fucking called it.

"I…" my head fell slightly in an apologetic bow. "I didn't think you'd mind, honestly."

"Well, you won't hear me say that I do."

"But you do."

"Not my words."

"But your sentiments."

"Again,' she breathed out again. "Won't hear me say it. In fact, slanderous accusations aside, I'm actually really glad to see you. I missed you."

Leave it to Irene I suppose to sound absolutely displeased by her own sense of delight. Like, I never knew elation could sound so disappointing.

It was my turn to breathe, to speak, but halfway through, I lost all the air in my voice and all that left me was an almost dying wheeze… because… like the luscious succubus she was, Irene had gone and stole it away from me in the way she smelt definitely… but even more importantly, and even more arousingly… the way she wore.

For some strange, yet presumably explainable reason, in the late eve of a year, and in the dawn of a new one, Irene had chosen to dress up in nothing more than a simple gray singlet that clung to her almost skintight, and a pair of short pants that may as well been XL size boxers for men.

I let my eyes feast - I mean - process entirely what I was seeing; thin, spaghetti strappings exposing the top of her shoulders with one threatening to run down her arm as if itching to show a little more.

That wasn't the only thing in danger of a little exposure either… as in the nature of a clothing so thin and revealing… the front of her singlet almost seemed to be on the brink of slipping off with just the slightest of movement, and when she did move… boy, did she move, alright… and judging by the little faint bumps poking slightly out of the fabric… I don't think Irene was wearing any precaution underneath in the increasingly likely that they actually do slip.

The only thing more glaring, more ridiculously eye-catching about her was simply everything else about her. Her hair in a disheveled, damp mess of black vines ruffling in the wind, the patches of sweat darkly staining the thin fabric tightly shaping her every curve, the hems of her shorts squeezing, practically suffocating her thighs. Then there's the worn and weary expression on her face, the little hunched sag of her posture…

First Ash, then Amanda, Adalia at a constant... God, what is it about women and somehow looking their absolute best even at their absolute worst?

At this point, I wasn't sure if I was actually the one here that was wrongly dressed for the occasion.

Somehow I found my voice again, and the only thing I could say was, "Why do you look like that?"

Irene, catching the look in my eyes, could only quietly scoff in return.

"Like what?"

"Hot," I admitted outright. "Very hot."

"So I take it you also missed me dearly then?" she said, the little curve at the corner of her lips shaping in flattery. "Good to know."

Christ... where the hell are my manners?

"Goes without saying, Irene," I muttered. "I'm happy to see you," then I blinked, spared another brief eternity to stare at her again. "Rephrase - I'm really, really happy to see you."

"I can tell."

"Still haven't answered the question, though," I said. "So, what... is this what you usually wear when you're home alone or...?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice stopping short of a teasing snicker. "You wish."

Boy, do I.

"So, why are you...?"

"I said it already, didn't I?" she said. "You're early."

There she goes again, stoking the flames of my curiosity to greater, hotter peaks. She's gotta be doing it on purpose now.

"What were you doing before I came here then?" I blinked, an impulse and an urge rewording my question. "Why are you sweating so much?"

"It's hot."

"Hot?"

"Inside," she jerked her head back deeper into her home, and as she slowly drifted her gaze back, I got the strong sense that she'd rather show than tell. "Well," she said, stepping off to the side, and nudging her head inside once more. "Coming in?"