Being one of Jadis's scouts, Bertilak was used to being able to come and go whenever she pleased, so long as she looked for useful things. After Tamiel brought back a car full of food and the man, Gabriel, Bertilak took a can of ravioli for herself and left on her bicycle. It didn't take a genius to know that stealing from another community would only warrant trouble, so Bertilak didn't want to be here when that happened. No trouble, no problem, as Jadis has always said.
Riding her bicycle, Bertilak ate her raviolis with her fingers, steering with her knees and coasting down hills. She'd been riding bikes since she was less than five, so this was easy going for her. Besides, she needed the alone time to think of what she could bring back to Jadis and the others.
Having been one of the Scavengers since the beginning, Bertilak knew Jadis's rules. The rules were easy. One: take, don't bother. Two: respect, but share. Three: no trouble, no problem.
The first rule was one of the important ones as Jadis couldn't stress the lack of need for unnecessary risks enough. Living in a dump – a scrapyard at that, too – was dangerous enough even without the monsters out there. Other people that were not Scavengers were just as dangerous, so they were to be avoided at all costs. Being a scout meant Jadis trusted you not to get yourself killed or to put others in danger. Scouts were quick on their feet, quiet, good at following orders, and listened to their gut with Jadis approved intuition. It was a noble position to have.
Jadis's second rule wasn't something that bothered Bertilak too much, but what qualms she had she kept to herself. In order to keep the peace, Jadis quickly established that there were no personal belongings. All resources were to be distributed equally, regardless of rank. Jadis as the leader – or any of the scouts – did not eat any more or less than anyone else. That was the part of the rule that didn't bother Bertilak.
One of the quirks to rule #2 though, (the quirk that upset Bertilak privately) meant that there were no marriages or relationships anymore. If you liked someone, you could sleep with them without asking their partner for permission, so long as they consented. There are no real attachments anymore. Having a concept of favoritism dissolved the order they worked so hard to maintain. In order to thrive, you had to get along well with everyone: no preferences and no grudges, or you would have to leave or die.
For that reason alone, Bertilak didn't sleep with anyone. Call her old-fashioned, but she preferred fidelity, and while she didn't think love was possible in this world anymore, she still wouldn't go as far as to have multiple partners. They didn't have that kind of medicine anymore.
Besides that, Bertilak contributed to her community, but kept to herself, too. She was of the mind that it was better off to be alone. It was one of the reasons she chose this new name; after everyone she knew before was gone, Bertilak decided that it was time to make a new life. Being Bertilak would be good enough. Besides, no one could actually be born with names like Jadis or Tamiel or Brion or Farron.
The last of Jadis's rules was deliberately vague, and one that couldn't be explained so much as followed by the example of others, whether it be what to do or more importantly what not to do. So long as you kept your head down, contributed, and followed the rules and what Jadis said, you'd be fine.
Winslow was the last person to break rule #3. That had been a nasty bit of business. His punishment was death, and Jadis made it quick. Winslow had been a friend, but it was because of him that the food shortage became drastic. Once she killed him, though, Jadis couldn't bear to part with him, so she didn't finish the job. The entire community took part in decorating his corpse with spikes before he could wake up as a monster. Bertilak wasn't disturbed by the ceremony because she knew it wasn't malicious; it was honorable.
With the death of Winslow, a new position opened up. Winslow's job had been to go out further than anyone to find food, and he'd been good at it. Now Tamiel and Bertilak vied to replace him, and so far, Tamiel was winning since she brought in a truckload of food – some of the first cans to that weren't full of rot to be found in a while. While everyone was equal, there was a leader: Jadis. Whoever could bring back the most food would be Jadis's replacement when she dies. Such is the way of life now.
Bertilak wanted that position so that she could implement changes. Reteaching people to speak for one. In the beginning, being quiet saved your life, but now that the world was too quiet, Bertilak believed it was time to talk again. Tamiel only wanted the position so that she could institute a hierarchy. It was obvious that Tamiel's least favorite rule was to share food and respect those she deemed beneath her.
Of course, Bertilak didn't share everything with the others, but that's only because the others had no use for what Bertilak kept to herself. Though Bertilak may live in a garbage dump now, that says nothing about her hygiene. Tossing the empty ravioli can away – hunger still gnawing at her belly – Bertilak hopped off the bicycle and carried it into the familiar thicket. Bertilak made it a point to try and come here at least every week.
She'd been here enough times to know that the overgrown kudzu and close-growing trees prevented monsters from making it through. Of course, the same greenery that kept this spot private also meant it was a little hard for Bertilak to carry her bicycle through it, but she managed. She set it down and pulled a broken off tree branch over it for camouflaged with practiced ease. Without her bicycle, she continued through the thicket, avoiding crunchy leaves when she could. The sound of running water signaled that she was getting close, and Bertilak couldn't help but smile with glee.
A few more steps and she was in a small clearing with a creek, the water much higher than normal and sparkling tantalizingly. The creek had a sandy bed, but on the far side of the creek from where she emerged the bank was a flat rock. The rock sloped gently down towards the creek, smoothed by time and water. An awkward tree stump jutted from the rock bed. The rest of the tree had fallen backwards, rotting slowly and covered in mushrooms. The tree had once been huge, but something happened to it for it to die. Now the tree trunk blocked off the other side of the creek, too high – even lying on its side –for any of the monsters to climb over. It was a perfect little paradise.
In her purple rubber boots better suited for mud puddles but no comfortable for climbing garbage, Bertilak sloshed across the creek to the tree stump she hollowed out. From it, she withdrew an old fashioned washboard. She'd found it in the scrap yard one day, and it wasn't too rusty. Here she used it to scrub the grime out of her clothes. Stripping away her thick denim clothing eagerly, Bertilak kneeled in the creek and washed them as vigorously as she could in the water. This was a bit of ingenuity on her part, but the domestic feeling was comfortable, kept Bertilak sane.
She had soap, a bottle of hand soap she found, but it was running low and she'd rather use that for herself than her clothes. Bertilak had run out of the shampoo she'd found long ago, but that hardly mattered. The Scavengers kept their hair greasy and slicked back out of their eyes. When she'd go back, she'd have to redo her hair after washing it anyway.
Once she finished, she spread her clothes out on the rock, drying them in the sun, and pulled her boots back on. While the creek bed was sandy, yes, she'd rather not accidentally step on any hidden rocks. Besides, she needed a place to keep her knife nearby, so she slipped it into her boot, careful not to nick herself with the blade.
Exchanging the washboard for the half-empty bottle of hand soap in the tree stump, Bertilak, naked except for her boots, wadded through the blissfully cool creek. The only noise she made was a sigh of relief. It was a hot day and Bertilak was starting to detest the grime on her skin, so this bath was going to be very refreshing. Pumping out a small bit of soap on the palm of her hand, Bertilak lathered it on her skin with businesslike efficiency. Soap couldn't be wasted, but maybe when she'd go out scouting she'd find more soap and more shampoo along with some food. That ravioli wasn't enough, and neither would be the carload of food for long, she suspected.
Such is her life now, but Bertilak wished she lived somewhere besides a scrapyard. Somewhere warm and enclosed at night, safe. Somewhere that didn't smell rank with rust and rot like the monsters. Somewhere where she'd have friends she could trust, who cared about her as much as she did them. But Bertilak doubted such a haven could exist.
Meanwhile, Simon and his men were on the road again. Simon had been kept running around with his men for a while now. First, he had been on runs to the Hilltop to do their collection and intimidate Gregory and his people. Then Negan had him on a new errand: find Daryl. Simon had been sent to Alexandria to see if Daryl actually ran back home. Dutifully, Simon had ransacked the place looking for Daryl, but it was a fruitless endeavor, he wasn't there. Now Simon had been searching likely places where Daryl could be hiding, abandoned buildings and such, but it was no use. The man couldn't be found.
Simon and his crew hadn't been at the Sanctuary now for almost three days. They were running low on supplies, so they'd have to go back soon. Simon didn't want to go back empty handed, so he was keeping a sharp eye out as he drove back home to the Sanctuary with his men. Clutching the steering wheel of his dusty, black pick-up truck harder in his grip, Simon sighed. At least when he'd get back to the Sanctuary, he could have a nice shower. Before he could start fantasizing about soap, steam, hot water, and his comfortable (empty – lonely) bed; Simon suddenly spied a red can on the side of the road, glaringly obvious against the green of the grass.
Suspicious, Simon slowed down, mulling it over in his head. Where they were wasn't close to any houses, stores, buildings of any kind. The can didn't look like it belonged there, too clean. This was an oddity to be investigated. Not one to leave any stones unturned, Simon stopped the truck in the middle of the road, the other truck far enough back that they had time to stop, too. In the passenger seat, Skinny Joey jerked awake at the sudden stop, the seatbelt choking him slightly. "Why are we stopping, Simon?" Skinny Joey grabbed his gun from the floorboard, skittish and on alert.
Unbuckling his seatbelt, Simon didn't answer him. He cut the engine and hopped out of the truck, waiting until all the men followed his suit. Once he had their attention, Simon started issuing orders. "I want a man on the mounted turret, and two men circling each truck. Keep an eye out for people and corpses; but only shoot the corpses. Skinny Joey, you come with me. I wanna take a look at something." No one questioned him, and Simon didn't bother trying to explain his hunch in case it would be a fruitless endeavor. Without looking back to see if Skinny Joey was following, Simon entered the thicket that the empty can of ravioli was conveniently dropped in front of.
Being tall and broad set, Simon made surprisingly less noise moving through the thicket than Skinny Joey, who did fit his namesake. Simon was cautious, but Skinny Joey was too sure of himself and relied too much on his weapons. Wishing he had asked someone else to come with him, Simon almost sent Skinny Joey back, but then the man started talking. "What are we looking for, Simon?"
"Shut up, Skinny Joey. Your feet make enough noise already," Simon commanded flatly. He wondered why he was doing this, but he just had this feeling…
Obedient at least, Skinny Joey didn't say anything else and made a conscious effort to tread lightly. The silence didn't last for long though as Skinny Joey soon exclaimed again, "Simon, look!" Pushing ahead of Simon, Skinny Joey pulled at a broken tree branch revealing an old-fashioned bicycle with the kind of handles that curved downwards rather than the handlebars that jutted out to the side horizontally. Dropping the tree branch, Skinny Joey immediately hefted up his gun and started looking around. Simon had to give him credit for that.
Thumbing his mustache thoughtfully, Simon knew that there had to be someone nearby. While he doubted it would be Daryl, he knew it had to be somebody. Whoever it was went through the trouble of hiding their bike – their obviously cared for bike that lacked a coating of pollen or grime – so they must intend to come back for it, unless something happened. Since it was just one bike, it had to be just one person, too. Simon doubted that they had a friend ride with them. The more he examined the bike, the more Simon started to formulate a plan. "Skinny Joey, you take this bike back out to the trucks." It was a very nice bike after all.
Skinny Joey nodded, and despite his nickname, he was able to wrestle the bike back through the thicket where they came with his gun held up, too. Simon doubted anyone would be able to attack Skinny Joey since the vegetation was too thick, but Skinny Joey's alertness was admirable. Pulling out his own gun, Simon continued forward, making much less noise now that he was alone.
He was just about to give up and go back, figuring whoever hid the bike must have met their end, when he heard the tantalizing trickle of rushing water. Attracted by the sound, Simon pushed forward, and nearly stepped out into a clearing if it weren't for the sight of a woman in the water giving him a pause. On the defensive, he raised his gun and aimed it at her, but then he smelled… soap? Confused at the out of place scent, he squinted at the woman, and got caught up in the moment.
The woman in the creek had her back to him, so he took his time examining her. The water was high, and she herself was crouched, the water nearly up to her chopped off, dark hair that came down to the middle of her shoulder blades awkwardly. She looked to be naked, but Simon couldn't see anything. Despite the clearness of the water, the sun was hitting it just right so that the surface sparkles and everything underneath was hidden by the glare. It was almost mystical, as if she were a water nymph or something, but Simon felt ridiculous just for thinking that. Whatever she was doing was hidden from Simon's gaze, but he was sure that he was smelling soap. It was a particularly strong scent, though he couldn't place it for what is was, whether it be floral or citrus like.
Suddenly the woman submerged her face in the water, splashing water over her head and soaking her hair until it was nearly black now. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Simon moved forward, intending to catch her off guard. Just then, though, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned to face him. The woman's arm was outstretched to him, and Simon, out of some suppressed instinct from before the world went to shit, wanted to reach forward and help her to her feet.
However, in her hand was a knife, sparkling just as brightly as the water, and Simon stopped in his tracks. Slowly he tracked his eyes up her arm, away from the knife and towards her recently cleaned face. Her eyes were the exact same shade as the water, except they weren't sparkling.
They were at a standoff, though obviously Simon would be the winner, since he had a gun and was out of the knife's range. Just because she was a naked woman, alone, didn't change a thing; Simon would shoot her if he had to, but he didn't want it to get to that point.
What struck him, though, was how she wasn't talking and she wasn't preserving her modesty. Normally, he'd expect a naked woman to be outraged, to be indignant, to be scared; but she didn't seem like any of those things. When Simon unintentionally dropped his eyes to her heaving, soapy, fucking perfect breasts; she didn't outwardly react, didn't take advantage of the distraction to lunge at him. She was too smart for that, and so was Simon. Her other arm was held out, balancing her, and in her fist was a bottle of hand soap, the source of the smell. So, she had been bathing; just Simon's luck.
It would be Simon's luck to meet a woman – an absolutely fucking perfect woman, naked and all – only for her to be pointing a knife level with his crotch. She's a perfect stranger, but damn was Simon a sucker for a woman with striking eyes, nice arms, and of course, luscious tits. She was even squeaky clean, skin pink from scrubbing, glistening with the water. Her dark hair clung to her skin, curled teasingly close to one of her erect nipples. This was a wet dream come, true, entirely pornographic.
But the eyes, the serious look on her face. Simon was no fool. This woman was a killer, a survivor. She had the confidence to sit in a creek and scrub herself clean, so he didn't doubt that she could handle herself. Damn if that didn't get Simon's goat as much as her tits. He liked a strong woman, not interested in saving damsels in distress like Negan did with all his wives. And Simon knew that even though she was naked and brought a knife to a gun fight, she wasn't in distress per se.
Besides, Simon could see the tautness of the woman's muscles in her arms as much as he could see the heavy roundness of her breasts. It was a deadly combination for a guy like Simon, but again her eyes. He wanted to take a dip in her eyes before the creek, even though they were currently flinty. Shit, he was in just as much trouble as her.
"Hello. You're alone, aren't ya?" Simon asked, the gun in his hand never wavering. The woman didn't say anything, not even a flicker in her eyes or a twitch on her face. Damn, would she be great at poker. "I know you are. I found your bike. And your ravioli can." Again, nothing from her. Simon sighed, annoyed. "Listen sweetheart, you can either sit there and get pruney, or you can start talking. Which is it gonna be?" He paused, giving her a moment to think.
She remained silent and still for a long moment, and Simon was about to resort to threatening her, when she finally gave him a reaction. It wasn't much, but she shrugged, but that was better than nothing, better than what she had been doing. Progress, albeit slow progress.
"You can talk, right?" Simon hadn't considering it, but that could be the issue.
The woman in the water deliberated again, and then nodded once. Now that she was being more receptive to him, he could see actual emotions flicker across her face. She seemed more curious than anything else, which was unusual given the circumstances, but that made her all the more alluring to Simon for her complexity.
Truthfully, Bertilak wasn't scared. If the man had had nefarious intentions, he wouldn't have hesitated to rush her, especially considering how vulnerable she was and his tremendous size. Obviously, he wasn't cruel either since he could have shot her while her back was turned. That didn't mean Bertilak was naïve enough to think he wouldn't hurt her. All she had to do was play her cards right, though, and she could get out of this unscathed.
Of course, underneath all rational thought, Bertilak was well aware of the fact that this man was looking at her naked as she was. His expressive face communicated enough, that he found her attractive and confusing. Though she wouldn't consider herself vain, Bertilak appreciated that he thought she was attractive.
He wasn't too bad looking himself. Even with his intimidating height and goofy mustache, he had a strong physique and a rather handsome face. Bertilak liked the perplexed look that wrinkled his brow as much as she liked the tightness of his jaw when his gaze dipped to her breasts. It was his eyes, though, that really restrained Bertilak. It had been too long since she had seen eyes like those, and Bertilak was very tempted to do something about what those eyes were making her feel now.
"So," the man said, and Bertilak shivered. She tried to convince herself that it was from the chill of the creek rather than the deep pitch of his voice, but lying to herself was counterproductive. Not commenting on her shiver, the man continued, "You can talk, but you just choose not to. That makes this a little tougher. Like knowing your name. Mine's Simon." He repeated himself jovially, the kindliness foreign to Bertilak, "Hello."
It wasn't until now that Bertilak was starting to regret the name she'd made for herself. Among the others with names like Jadis and Tamiel, Bertilak felt pretty normal. Compared to a name like Simon, though, now Bertilak was starting to feel silly. Considering this first impression, though, her name seemed to be the least of her worries.
Obviously hesitating to speak, Bertilak bit her lip and then swallowed thickly. It had been a long time since she spoke, so she cleared her throat. "Um," her voice was rough from disuse, pitched low, "Bertilak."
Simon smiled at first, please that she had spoken, but then he frowned, mouth puckering a moue of unsureness. "Burr-te-lack," he enunciated carefully, "did I hear that right?"
Defensive, Bertilak nodded, and gnawed her lip again. Her arm was starting to her hurt from being so tense, and she was chilled from the water now. They needed to move.
"Bertilak, then," Simon repeated comfortably, "you wanna get out of the creek and put those clothes on?" Ever so slightly, he tilted his gun towards her denim clothes drying in the sun. Her discomfort was obvious then. "As much as I'm enjoying the view," he lasciviously added with a deliberate drag of his eyes down her body and a roll of his tongue across his bottom lip, "and I am enjoying the view very much, I need to be able to think clearly when I make you an offer." He shifted his weight from foot to foot, hip canting out to the side, the muscles of his legs prominent enough under his pants to roll and catch Bertilak's eye.
The knife wavered in Bertilak's hand. If she was distracting him with her body, he was distracting, too, with that tongue and those eyes. The sexual tension between them was obvious, hanging heavy and thick in the air, crackling with electricity, the heat of the day paling in comparison. Bertilak had her hopes that something else would be thick, too. Slowly, she raised herself up, revealing her strong thighs, her long legs, and the ridiculous rubber boots on her feet. Clearing her throat, Bertilak steeled her nerves, and bluntly asked, "Lie with me?"
Simon couldn't believe his ears, and who could blame him? Bertilak – an interesting, weird name for an interesting, weird woman – offered him sex. That couldn't be taken any other way. It gave Simon another pause, and he considered her.
Though she was younger than him, she was obviously experienced to be offering this – this seeming too good to be true. Maybe it was a trick to kill him? But those blue of hers weren't lying. Hell, maybe Simon had hit his head on a tree branch in that thicket and this was all some fever dream. This could be a plot of a porno, but Simon wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, or deny a pretty woman. "Lie with you? You mean, like, fuck you here? Right now?"
Drawing her brows together seriously, Bertilak nodded. She had an absolutely adorable pout on her face. The knife was still in her hand, but lowered to her side, unthreatening. On her feet were a pair of rubber boots, once purple, but now faded with time and use. It was humorous given her state of undress, but Simon couldn't deny the twinge of cuteness it had, too. Yes, Simon was undeniably hooked.
"Well, okay, sweetheart, if you insist." Casually, Simon holstered his gun, and started unbuttoning his shirt. His gun was on his hip, along with his knife, so if she tried anything, he'd be ready for it. "But don't think I'm gonna let you off after this. I've got men, I've got your bike. You do as I say."
In response, Bertilak carefully slid her knife in one of her boots. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, flicking water droplets his way, as she walked over to the tree stump and stowed the hand soap away. The bath couldn't have come at a better time. Bertilak turned back to Simon, who by now had slipped off his unbuttoned shirt and was untucking his undershirt from his pants. Slowly, so as to not appear threatening, she approached him and carefully chose her words, sounding them out clearly. "I come with you after," she frowned, frustrated with herself.
English wasn't her first language. It just so happened that she'd recently moved to Virginia from Belarus just as the monster epidemic started. Many of the scavengers were similar to her for that, coming from the DC area, but originally from a variety of countries. It was one of the reasons why Jadis was chosen to lead, since she could communicate the best with everyone. Additionally, that was why there was a no talking rule. The new language they designed served everyone best, and was less dangerous or complicated. Less arguments that way, Jadis claimed. Bertilak saw it as a wasted opportunity to re-salvage cultures, but she couldn't bring that up until she was leader – if she was chosen for that.
"I come with you after," Bertilak repeated, surer of herself as she continued, "I do as you say…after." She nodded her agreement. It was fair enough considering she doubted escape to be possible on her own. Besides, Bertilak would be lying to herself if she didn't admit her curiosity about his offer, whatever that could be.
Stepping into his space, Bertilak caught his hands, which were surprisingly softer than her own, but that's what happens when you spend two years of your life in a scrapyard. "Now you do as I say," Bertilak told him firmly, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. She came just about to his chin in height. Bravely, she teased with a hint of a smile playing about her lips, "You come after me." She led him to opposite bank where her clothes were drying, sloshing through the creek together. That seemed as good a place as any.
Equal parts firmly and gently, Bertilak urged him to lie down on her clothes. There were dry enough, thick enough to make the rock comfortable. If he had any complaints, he wouldn't for long. Simon seemed surprised by her directions, but Bertilak wasn't worried. She made the offer, so this was on her terms.
She kneeled over his lap, tugging on his faded white undershirt. "This off," Bertilak imperiously commanded, leveling her gaze with his with an upturned eyebrow. "Now."
While Bertilak's dominance so far had been surprising, Simon surprised himself when he did tug off the undershirt without question. Balling up his shirt, he tucked it behind his head as a makeshift pillow on the rock. The denim clothes underneath him were damp and they itched a little, but he could ignore it. He told himself that he was going through this how she wanted because this had to be quick, but as he watched Bertilak unbuckle his belt and push his pants – and underwear – down to his knees brusquely, he felt otherwise. Hell, she hadn't even kissed him yet. Admittedly, it was…exciting to be treated like this, as if he were just for her pleasure. Interesting, too, considering when he stepped out and saw her in all her feminine glory he thought that she had to be manna from Heaven. Exposed as he was now, he was only half hard. Quickly glanced up at her, wondering what she had in mind did him fully hard.
The look on Bertilak's face wasn't one of displeasure exactly, but she seemed so serious. With confidence, she took him in hand and squeezed, seemingly happy with his girth and length. "Mine," she pronounced. Simon didn't say anything at that, but then she squeezed him harder and tugged, causing him to emit a low groan and look back up at her. She was watching him, her blue eyes no longer flinty, softening up to him, though not completely yet. "Mine." Her grip tightened again, and she twisted her wrist.
At that, Simon groaned out to her eagerly, "Shit! Yes, yes, just for you." Breathing through his nose, Simon's chest heaved. Though she was touching him, he wanted more, and urged her to do so by lifting his lips, pushing himself further into her hand. "I'm yours, just keep fucking touching me."
In response, Bertilak fully smiled. "Good." Then she licked her hand, spat in it, and lowered it back down to him. Her spit slicked him up well as she pulled and tugged at him. She brought her other hand up and smeared his precum over the mushroom tip and then down to the rest of him. Even with both of her hands she couldn't hold all of him. "I like," she informed him sagely, as if her approval was something he lived for. Being a man, though, Simon did feel his ego inflate as much as his dick was now. It was nice to be told how impressive he was.
While she worked him over, Simon watched, enraptured. His mouth hung open, panting, and moved his hips with her. Her hands were strong, sure of themselves, and her palms were a little rough. The added texture, though, only aroused him further. Quicker than he cared to admit, he realized that he was close, too close too soon. "Ugh, you better stop, Bertilak, or I'm gonna come."
Immediately, Bertilak pulled her hands away and gripped his muscular thighs instead, rubbing up and down and squeezing his flesh. Abandoned, his cock pulsed and ached for completion, flopping like a fish down against him, the tip nudging near his lightly furred navel. Catching his eye again, Bertilak shook her head fondly, still smiling. "Not yet," she clucked her tongue at him impishly. Ever so slowly, she crawled up to him, but rather than hovering over his erection like he was expecting, she skipped over it completely, and perched herself on his hips, just above it. The curve of her rear brushed against it, and he felt himself throb as she arranged him to where he was nestled against the cleft. Bertilak was a complete oddity; he had no idea what she had planned next.
Gazing up at her expectantly while he caught his breath and edged away from his climax, he took in the sight of her as she was. Bertilak's skin was also dark, and he suspected it was naturally so, not from the sun. Her skin was shiny, but not from oil but from the water that was rapidly evaporating off her skin in the heat of the day and her lust. She shined with the healthy glow of cleanliness, and Simon felt like she was close to godliness in that aspect, too.
Truly, she was shaped perfectly, her stomach neither flat nor as muscular as his, with that roundness that boasted as much softness as her thighs, rear, hips, and breasts. Those breasts were tantalizingly close now, unblemished except for a freckle here or there, little brown spots that caught the idea when she moved and bounced. Her arms were toned, and he her neck curved up to her rounded jaw. Bertilak's hair was drying in waves, frizzing from humidity, and the wildness fit her look of nymph-like.
While he took her in, she was doing much of the same. Her hands were flat against the hard and well-defined muscles of his stomach. Skin delightfully soft and covered in downy black hair that thickened in a line towards the middle. Absentmindedly, she counted in her head his muscles – a perfect six – and then she was cupping the undersides of his pectoral muscles. He was chesty in a good way, hard rather than soft, yet still a perfect handful. Bertilak swept her thumbs over his pink, erect nipples and his chest hair swirled around them, guided by her movements. Simon's nipples were sensitive, and her jerked in her touch, and Bertilak loved it. She told him as much, "I like these." Again, she thumbed his nipples, pressing a little harder; and again, he jerked, but pushed himself against her hands.
Growing confidence, Bertilak continued to touch him, marveling at his own beauty. "Hard," she palmed his stomach again, but when she dragged her fingers through his happy trail, she admitted, "Soft, too." Her fingers danced back up to his chest and she repeated the cupping movement on him. "Hard," she flicked her thumbs over his nipples and then curled her fingers through his chest hair over his sternum, feeling his heart thumping madly against it. "Soft, too," she repeated to him softly.
Simon was breathing more easily now, and he sat up a bit on his elbows. Bertilak didn't like that though, and gripped his shoulders, pinning him back down. "Stay," she commanded him. A little irked, Simon reached up for her breasts, intending to mimic what she had done to him; but then she caught his hands and placed them over his head in a one-handed grip on his wrists. Her other hand cupped his chin in her palm, thumb pressing into that cleft just below his bottom lip. "Stay," she reissued her command more sternly, her blue eyes flashing dangerously.
Never one to be still, Simon dared to poke his tongue out and flick it over the tip of her thumb, growling softly in the back of his throat. He could easily break her grip and flip her over, but Simon's curiosity prevented him from doing so in addition to just something else he wasn't quite sure of yet. Before he could speak, Bertilak shifted her hand until she covered his mouth completely, though she was smiling when she did it. "No, no, Simon," Bertilak teased.
Then an odd look passed over her face, and she pulled her hand back far enough so that she could run a finger over his mustache. "Not soft," she told him, confused by the coarse texture when his body hair didn't feel that way. "Not bad," she assured him, and continued, "Different. Nice."
Smiling softly at him now, Bertilak had a curious look on her face as she cupped his cheeks in her hands, trusting him not to move now. Leaning further over him, Simon's breath caught in his throat when he felt her breasts brush against him. She didn't seem to notice or care as she stretched out over him, pressing herself against him from sternum to pelvis. Bertilak was sitting on him fully now, and he could feel the heat between her legs, the dampness teasing him and he couldn't help but grind against her rear.
At the feel of him, Bertilak giggled, "Not yet, Simon." Then she tilted backwards, grinding back against him as she teased him, "Hard, but soft. Very nice. Not bad." The teasing look dropped away as she studied the hard planes, sinful mouth, wide triangular nose, pronounced cheekbones, high forehead – his eyes especially as she pressed her face closer towards him. "Handsome man."
He was caught doing the same to her, admiring her pretty mouth aching for a kiss, nose pert, flashing blue eyes that were beginning to twinkle like the stars do when they start to come out at night. Maybe before the end of the world, Bertilak wouldn't have been considered a contemporary beauty, but looking at her now Simon thought she was a classic one, the kind of beauty that doesn't have to change or adapt with the times. Bertilak was just beautiful – to Simon.
Though he had been staring hard at her face, Simon was still surprised when she actually kissed him. It was a hard kiss at first, greedy for a taste, and he found himself opening his mouth to her when she tapped her tongue against his bottom lip. Then she drank him in, passionate, fierce, demanding. And Simon could do little else but let her take what she wanted, and Simon had no desire to do anything else. When he tilted his head just so, his mustache brushed against her nose, and she pulled away, softening the kiss into something sweeter and gentler. By the time she pulled back fully, Bertilak was rubbing the tip of her nose against his in a nuzzle. "Beautiful, Simon."
As she pressed one last kiss to his mouth, she tipped down and ran her nose of his mustache and kissed down his neck to his Adam's apple, his collar bone, his sternum, and then one of his nipples that she sucked into her mouth. Urgently, she murmured to him, "Pretty boy." He was being wonderfully responsive to her ministrations, and Bertilak really liked that.
Briefly, as Simon was caught up into the haze of pleasure, he wondered if this is how it felt when he littered kisses all over his bed partners in such a way. Before Simon could dwell on it further, though, she nipped at him with her lips and Simon's attention snapped away to focus fully on his pleasure.
By now he was steadily humping against her instinctively, grinding for that delicious pressure he just wasn't getting yet. Bertilak was doing her own little dance on him, alternating between pushing her rear back into him and then rubbing her cunt against his hard pelvis, her strong thighs gripping him as though she were riding a bull. He could feel her arousal drip down on him steadily now, and as she dragged herself up to his bellybutton and then back down, Simon suspected she was pleasuring herself using his hair for friction against her clit. His suspicions were confirmed when Bertilak moaned quietly and shifted her mouth to his other nipple.
Then he was moaning himself, albeit much louder than her. Hesitantly, he brought his hands up to her hair, and it was frizzy, but soft, too. She allowed him to touch her, and Simon moaned louder when she lightly bit his nipple with her teeth this time. "Bertilak," he groaned, wishing her name was shorter, "Bertilak, enough. Lemme fuck you already, please. Please, lemme fuck your pussy, Bertilak." He was a little embarrassed to be begging, feeling exactly like how his partners must whenever he dragged out the foreplay with him.
With a pop, Bertilak released his tortured nipple from her mouth and sat up on him, pushing back against his uncomfortable erection. "Simon," she chastised him, blue eyes sparkling like the creek behind her. His heart faltered in his chest at the sight, but Bertilak didn't notice, continue blithely, "I'm fucking you," she poked his chest at the end of his sternum. Her smile was exchanged for a smirk. "I'm going to ride you."
Simon's throat felt too tight and his heart was stuttering again. While he was taller, broader, and bigger than Bertilak, her motions and words made him feel small. Not in a bad way, though. More like, he was precious to her, admirable and worthy of worship, though looking at her he felt it was the other way around. Just the simple words she used to describe him earlier had been enough to make him melt, pliant to her touch. Sure, he'd been called hard before, and even handsome – but soft? Beautiful? Pretty? Those were foreign compliments, but he liked them none the less. Bertilak made him feel good with more than just her hands, and in multiple ways with her mouth. The way she dragged her eyes over him as if he were a piece of art – it made Simon's heart constrict as much as his dick throbbed with want. What was Bertilak doing to him?
Before he could comprehend it further, Bertilak had already raised herself up on her knees, one hand pressing down on his stomach, though not so hard as to knock the wind out of him. Her other hand reached down, and when she took him in hand, then all of his attention was on her once more rather than being lost in thought.
Bertilak stroked him a few times with businesslike efficiently that had Simon pulsing needily, the head of his cock dribbling with precum. Then she dragged him through her dampened lower lips, spreading the moisture everywhere, grinding her clit against his mushroom tip. Simon sucked in a deep breath through his teeth, restraining himself from having his eyes roll back into his skull or drop his head backwards. He wanted to watch her fuck him into submission just as much as he wanted to submit to her will.
Watching her closely, Simon clenched his jaw when she placed him at her entrance teasing both him and herself by barely letting herself swallow the head of cock. He was going crazy over here, but she was going so slow. "Please, Bertilak, please, fuck me. Ride me raw," Simon actually whined, unabashed this time.
With a pleased smile, Bertilak did as he asked and sunk her heat down on him until she was fully seating, engulfing his entire cock with her pussy until the sensitive tip was nudging up against the end of her passage. There was no pause, no adjustment period for her, because as soon as he was in her, Bertilak was lifting herself again until he was barely seated inside her. Then she dropped back down heavily, smacking her rear down hard against his balls. Bertilak repeated this over and over again, riding him hard rather than fast, but he didn't need the speed to by fully stimulated.
He grinded his teeth together, relishing the feeling of her; so tight, so wet, so hot. It felt like he was drowning, he could barely breathe – he loved it. The force of her was so hard that he couldn't even thrust up into her; Bertilak was literally doing all the work. Steadily, Simon's groans were starting to rise in volume, grunting every time she slammed down and caused his balls to jolt.
Bertilak's fluids were leaking out of her, making an obscene noise, and it was all over him, as hot as candlewax and the same white color. Her arousal dripped down his cock, glistening droplets in his wiry, black pubic hair – and he could feel it edge down past his balls over the pucker of his asshole, making him shiver. She was just so damn wet.
Belatedly, Simon reached up to grasp her, needing something to grab onto. She was pushing down on him so hard that the rock underneath him was unforgiving, but he didn't care. Bertilak smacked his hands away from her hips, though she didn't reprimand him verbally. That idea shot down, Simon's hands scrabbled for purchase at the denim under his palms, but came up short, his fingers unable to curl into the material. He drew up his legs, pressing the tops of his hairy thighs against her back and spreading himself a bit.
Simon's pants slipped down to his ankles, caught on his boots, and he bet he would look ridiculous if one of his men stumbled in and saw him, but he couldn't find it in him to care if Skinny Joey came looking for him. His hands grabbed the backs of his thighs pulling himself against her, and Bertilak didn't mind, so he settled for digging his blunt fingernails into his own flesh.
With the added support of his legs, Bertilak pressed her back against him and rode him harder without the fear of falling off. It also added a deeper angle, and the head of Simon's cock went from just brushing against that spot deep inside her to full on hitting it. Now Bertilak began to emit low, barely audible grunts as she rapidly approached her climax.
Below her, though, Simon was much closer to his own explosive end. At least he had the curtesy to tell her in so many words. The admission just burst from his lips, too loud in the woods, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, Bertilak! I'm so fucking close! Oh my God, you're just so damn wet. So fucking tight. Shit, shit, so hot, Bertilak. You're so hot. God! Bertilak!"
Smacking his rippling stomach with one of her hands, Bertilak cut over his groans, "Not yet, Simon, not yet. One more, one more." She forced herself to go faster, and brought her other hand down to viciously rub her clit with her fingers, rolling it and pinching it much as she did with her nipples before.
Eager to please her, Simon tried to hold on so she could come first, but he just couldn't. "I can't," he gasped, disappointed in himself. Even with his knees drawn up and boots flat against the rock, he couldn't thrust up into her considering how she had his hips pinned down using one hand. Desperately, he concentrated on his breathing to stave off his orgasm.
But when he looked up at saw her riding him, face crumpled in a stern look of pleasure and breasts bouncing up and down and she was touching herself – Simon came before he even knew it, this new position pushing his come up further inside her. The only other signs of his orgasm were the inarticulate shout he gave, no doubt able to be heard by his men, in addition to all his muscles tensing and quivering. His head flopped backwards, and he was thankful to have the forethought to ball up his undershirt for a pillow, saving himself from a concussion.
The first thing Simon felt after the mind-blowing pleasure were the aftershocks tingling through his extremities down to his toes curling in his boots. He had to force himself to let go of his thighs, his fingers stuck in their curve, and his thighs stinging from the dig of his nails. Dimly, he was aware of the denim itching his back, and the wet spot under his rear from his come dripping through his ball sack down his crack like melting ice cream. The rock was unforgivingly hard underneath him.
But then all too suddenly, Simon was aware of the overstimulation of his cock as Bertilak rode him through his orgasm, rubbing the heel of her palm on her clit now and staring down at him, looking only frustrated rather than angry. Simon whined pitifully, embarrassed at his lack of control and stamina, but then Bertilak froze and he felt all of her inner walls contract around him, and he was coming again, the orgasm smaller and so surprising as she milked him dry. Well, that certainly made him feel better.
Finally, she stopped moving, though her inner walls had tremors that had Simon whining softly again. His cock softened and slipped out naturally, along with copious amounts of come from both of them, and Simon was soaked in a waterfall of it. He'd have to wash off in the creek to get clean, but he had plans now of taking her back to the Sanctuary of having a proper shower with him. After all, he owed it to her after getting her all dirtied up again so soon after her bath.
Tired, he dropped his legs down and flopped one arm over his eyes, hiding his face from her in shame. She moved off of him, and he whimpered at the loss of contact. God, he had make so many high-pitched noises today that he was surprised himself. Since when had he turned into a damn chipmunk?
Then Bertilak caught his arm in her hand and pulled it off his face, forcing him to acknowledge her. "That was very nice, Simon," she sighed, a dozy look of pleasure on her face, blue eyes glassy. "Lie with me again? Later, yes, lie with me again, later?" Bertilak asked him bravely, unbothered that he came before her.
Heaving a deep sigh, Simon looked up at her face, remembering how it had pinched in ecstasy and was so damn beautiful. In fact, she was still beautiful now in the aftermath of her orgasm, just as beautiful, not diminished in the slightest. "Hell yes," he eagerly agreed, "I owe it to you, Bertilak. But this time, we can do it where I live and I'll even make you a damn good drink, too. How's that sound?" From the angle of the sun, he could tell that they'd have to leave soon if they were to make it to the Sanctuary before nightfall. There he could explain the situation to her.
Tilting her head, Bertilak thoughtfully hummed, "Drink?" Her blue eyes blinked at him slowly, and she dragged her hand over him middle, cutting trails through the slight sheen of sweat covering him.
"Yeah, how does Sex on the Beach sound?" Simon placed his hand over hers. He was really warmed up to her now, daresay he liked her. Hopefully, they could work out a good deal so he could see her regularly and still be on friendly terms.
Bertilak's eyes slid away from his towards the creek. Then she looked back at him meaningfully, "Familiar."
Simon chuckled at her, "Yeah, but trust me, that's a little different. I think you'll like it, though." Feeling mushy in the wake of good sex, Simon pulled her hand up to his mouth and gave it a whiskery kiss on the palms, very aware that this was the hand she used to get herself off. She blushed, but this time didn't pull away. "You don't talk much, do you, Bertilak?"
Imp that she was, Bertilak shook her head no, and Simon laughed again. "Damn, I like you; and I'd like you if you chattered my ear off, too, I think."
Bertilak shrugged her shoulders, breasts swaying with the movement and Simon helplessly tracked them with his eyes. "Yeah, I know I talk enough for the both of us," Simon confessed to her and this time it was Bertilak who was amused, though she didn't laugh. Instead she only smiled in agreement, the smile reaching her blue eyes and Simon mirrored her look, all too happy now. "Yeah, I can tell this is going to be the beginning of something beautiful."