They follow her out.

Okay. 

"Hi." 

"Hello," says the unfairly beautiful human. "I think you should come back to our room with us."

She closes her eyes.

"No."

She doesn't sound like she means it.

(Oh fuck this is hot.)

The unfairly beautiful elf puts his hand on her shoulder.

He is unfairly strong, too, though he only shows as much of that strength as necessary to make his point.

"Hmm, perhaps I should clarify," says the unfairly beautiful human. "I think you will come back to our room with us."

He doesn't really have to add 'whether you like it or not'.

She puts up just enough resistance to make a point of it. 

Her pupils are dilated and her breath comes shallowly. 

Anyone who was using some kind of life-based magic to examine her body would quite clearly find that she was extremely turned on. 

They march her down the hall like that, and all the way to the dorms, and eventually the unfairly beautiful human touches his key to a door.

The room on the other side is massive. It has a high vaulted ceiling supported by two sparse rows of marble columns, and on one side of the room there is a bed so tall it's set in a pyramid of shallow steps, big enough to entertain several guests in, and on the other side of the room there is an only slightly smaller bed that's sunk into the floor like a sort of cozy pit lined with pillows and floored with a mattress. Everything—the beds, the steps, the glossy marble floor—is some shade or other of off-white, warmer in some places and cooler in others, occasionally accented with a hint of soft grey. At the end of the central corridor that runs between the two rows of columns, there is a curtained archway past which an alert observer might glimpse a bath nearly the size of the larger bed.

Wow. She forgets her token struggles for a moment, gaping at the room. 

The unfairly beautiful human closes the door behind them all, leaves his friend holding Elodea, and goes to investigate the contents of all the alcoves and furniture and so on. It's not clear whether he's looking for something in particular or just taking inventory; his methodical search could be either.

She swallows and blushes and looks up at her captor. 

He's very tall. And very pretty. And very inescapably holding onto her.

She whimpers softly and squirms and closes her eyes. 

Then she will miss some of what happens next, and the next thing she knows he'll be scooping her up and carrying her to the big bed.

Oh. Okay. 

She trembles slightly. 

He tears her clothes off with casual violence and pins her to the bed.

Casual violence, in fact, seems to be the order of the day.

Oh.

Fuck. 

Yes. 

Pain isn't specifically her thing but it has been so long since she's actually gotten laid and this guy is so hot and--

She can't consent to anything. 

But if it's the slightest bit ambiguous, the curse can't tell the difference between fighting and responding. 

He is, it turns out, capable of getting even more violent.

She has several decades of extremely violent personal experience. 

She does--something--and then her shoulder is dislocated and her arm isn't pinned and nails are raking down his back. 

He snarls, grabs her arm again, and bites the shoulder she dislocated. Now it is not only dislocated but also bleeding profusely.

She grins and headbutts him in the face. 

There's something—different—about the way he gets when she's somewhat-seriously fighting back. More intense—and he was very intense to begin with.

(His friend sits by the side of the bed, keeping an eye on them but apparently not moved to interfere.)

You know, logically speaking, the added intensity shouldn't be hotter, given the circumstances, but. 

If she thinks so, that's very convenient for her!