Altar

There are many different types of love. It starts in the root of one's own soul, the acknowledgment of self-worth. Embracing one's own emotional needs; accepting and appreciating who you are. Another is familial, like the love between a parent and child; natural and instinctual, expressed by protection. It is nurturing. Supportive.

For Ashi, these types of love were so unfamiliar to her that she had not been able to identify them when they were presented to her. 'You wouldn't know it if it walked up and bit you.' That sort of lack of understanding. She did not have the support of her sisters; the type that may have helped each other through hardships. She could not fathom parental love; the concept of nurture and care as foreign to her as the lands beyond the cave in which she was born.

There was, however, one type of love that Ashi could understand. A type of love that extended beyond the reaches of what is considered normal. An exhausting type; in which all favor and blessing was imposed upon. One that drove her with a need to lay down her life—body and soul—for the sole purpose of seeing the exalted one's vision through.

It was mania. Obsession. It was worship.

The differences between the past where Jack was born and the future where Ashi was born were staggering. The air was so much cleaner. Its people quieter. No explosions, no heavy clangs of metal. Nothing took flight except for the birds.

At least, that was the scenery that greeted them now, well over a year separated from their return. Returning to the past would be a return to an era of peace, is what Jack had promised. But the course of a promise rarely did run smooth. Upon returning to the past, the pair had watched the first—and in this time period, the only—citadel of Aku crumble to the ground, ending the demon's reign in a cacophony of light.

The former empire was in a state of chaos, thanks to the grinding palm of evil under which its citizens had lived for so many years. The fields—once blooming and bountiful with food and flora and fauna—had been painted black with ash and decay. Whatever crops could be salvaged from the trampled earth was little more than enough to sustain them. All other valuable resources—stone and gems—were used to fashion memorials to their malevolent overlord, leaving no means for trade with other nations, rendering the proud and powerful empire to near ruin, reducing it to shells of its once shining honor.

It was a scene Ashi had an unnerving relation to. The moans of pain and the scent of burnt soil. The chanting she and her sisters would recite in their youth came back to her, thrumming in her ears to match the pounding of her heart.

It was all too familiar. It had to come to an end.

So the pair got to work.

It took months for the palace to be restored to at least a semblance of its former glory. Refortifying its structure, the scent of newly chopped wood and fresh coats of paint. Stunning commissioned artwork hung from the walls as a celebration of good's triumph over evil. However, now, the most important task was at hand: to see the lost prince and his ever mysterious companion were wed. An event like this will bring joy to our people, the Emperor had said. Our allies will join us from afar. And we may all ring in a new era of peace and love.

The concept of self-love...

...came to her in waves. Though she had been able to—with the help of new friends and allies—break herself out of the brainwashing of her youth, darkness and self-doubt still lurked in the corners of her mind. When Aku had taken possession of her body—forcing her to fight the man she had a passionate need to fight with, not against—the voices became clearer; overwhelming and consuming. That all of her progress meant nothing at all. That she would always be a puppet.

Jack's declaration of love to her that day not only freed her from her bindings but also gave her a new sense of clarity. That a man who once eyed her as if she were a snake—an enemy that could not be trusted—could change; could love her. She knew. That she was not her mother. She was not her father. Because she had changed.

Though her newly discovered powers of shapeshifting and the like were inherited, they were all her own. She could choose to do with them whatever she wanted. She could make her own destiny. Which is why her mind had not spared a second thought when she opened her mouth and screamed, opening the portal and thereby fulfilling her and her love's destiny. To make good on her promise to Jack. That they would destroy Aku. Together.

The concept of familial love...

...came to her in the early days of living in the palace. An attempt at cooking a special meal for her then-husband-to-be gone thoroughly wrong, resulting in a mess so devastating that when the Empress stepped into the kitchens, Ashi dropped to her knees awaiting punishment. She expected a slap in the face, perhaps a kick in the ribs. Spilled blood. It's what her mother would have done. It's what she considered normal, despite her conscious mind explaining 'no, it's not', desperately trying to substitute her trauma with her newfound happiness.

She was then understandably surprised when the Empress did none of those things. She did not expect her to kneel down with her, to her level, and provide a gentle touch on her cheek. Moreover, she did not expect the queen to shoo away servants, preferring to help her daughter not only clean up the mess but prepare a new meal together.

And what of romantic love? Ah, such an unfamiliar and ever-changing path.

Up until very recently, Ashi had still been trying to put the pieces together. Jack was a man who spoke in low tones with carefully chosen words that elicited the feeling of hearing poetry. Words of affection came easy to him. It was not, however, easy for her to return them.

It was not as if she didn't feel the same way—she most certainly did—it was just that the words themselves did not come as naturally to her. Instead, she tended towards more physical expressions. Having been so deprived of that kind of affection for most of her life, touch became the way she best communicated. Holding his hand as they walked, combing her hands through his hair as he dozed off in the afternoon breeze. A quick kiss when no one was watching. Over time, these expressions became bolder and bolder until eventually, their shared intimacy manifested itself into something more powerful. Passionate. Almost primal. Not unlike their embrace in the bowels of that abandoned ship, moments after having escaped from certain death. Whether or not she could put her feelings into words at that moment was inconsequential. Because it made sense. The need to be close. The need to express.

One of the most thrilling parts of loving another person was being able to read their emotions. Jack seemed to do it with ease. Ashi seemed to have a knack for it as well. Putting back the pieces of a broken empire was no easy feat. So occasionally, when the voices became too demanding, the challenges overwhelming, they would simply look at each other and be certain of their course of action.

They'd escaped the palace that morning, a frequent journey meant to pretend to live a quieter life, away from the responsibilities that bound them to the throne. They walked in mostly silence, making their way into the city's collection of markets, seeking fruit and other novelties. They admired the infant flowers in their path, on the brink of blossoming on the slightly chilly spring morning.

Though they'd only leave for a few moments, half of the day at the longest, it was an agreeable way to gain back something they had lost. Ashi appreciated these moments the most. Scenes reminiscent of their earlier times together, traveling alone with no deadlines. Just a means to enjoy each other's company.

However, as these escapades most often proved, a quiet getaway it was not.

Jack, after all, was a prince—an easy detail to forget when traveling with him in the future, as he'd been dressed only in a modest white gi and katana. (Of course, he was famous in the future as well, but he moved from place to place so quickly that he was often hard to spot.) Additionally, Jack was a hero; the man responsible for slaying Aku, freeing his people of their shackles. The tales of his heroism in a strange and distant future only added to his allure, elevating him to the highest status of celebrity.

Ashi watched in wonder, as she always did, at the throes of citizens that greeted him, offering him gifts, accommodating his every need. His people shined with excitement at his presence. Praises were sung, sometimes quite literally—songs written as odes to his journey, his daring, sung by voices whose power and sincerity vibrated in their bones. Others showed off works of art that he had inspired. On this morning, an old woman pressed a pendant into her palm, a small figurine carved in his likeness. She chuckled and pocketed the item, stealing her husband away from his adoring fans, sensing his discomfort. She'd shown him the little object later and he smiled weakly. It is flattering, he admitted, if not a touch overwhelming. He returned the item to her and mumbled. I do not consider myself someone worthy of so much praise.

What? she blurted. This was something she could not understand. Did he not understand the impact he'd had? On his people? On the world? On her?

Her confusion deepened, mixing with an anxiety that had been steadily growing in her gut for the past several months. A feeling that something was... wrong. The time they'd spent together, their time alone... still felt so new, so exhilarating. She almost couldn't fathom anyone could ever feel this way—like tiny miracles erupting across her skin every time he touched her. And yet there was a part of her, a heaviness in the pit of her stomach that questioned if it was enough. If she was enough. Of course, she could tell by the way he held her, the way his eyelids drooped and his smile became crooked when he told her he loved her to conclude that—no—nothing was wrong. Yet she couldn't shake it, this nagging feeling of inadequacy. She'd been upfront with him and asked him if he was pleased; if there was more she could do. He responded by embracing her, telling her that her happiness was his happiness and so long as she was pleased, that well would never run dry. The answer was sweet, of course, but expected, and it did not help alleviate her concern.

So now, to hear him doubt his merit, as if he was not worthy of the love delivered to him; all around him. It unsettled her. She sat with these feelings through the remainder of the day and then, suddenly, something in her mind clicked. The missing piece fell into place.

The only type of love Ashi had ever known... was worship. And when she stepped out into the company of his people, all she saw was... worship. Adoration.

Jack was a master of many things. His spare time, infrequent as it was, was generally used to learn something new; even impart his wisdom onto others, herself included. Perhaps it was time... for her to teach him something.

One week later

She'd indulged him with drink that night, pushing him only a touch past his usual limits—just enough to see the muscles in his shoulders release the tension they always seemed to carry; enough to see the faintest color dust his cheeks; enough for him to be freer with his laughter, his affection, despite the formality of others in their company. She knew her moment had come when, in a rare moment when his attention was not being sought after, he'd snuck his lips behind her ear and pressed gently, an even exhalation of breath on her neck. She'd laced her fingers with his and waited for a lull in conversation to announce their departure. One of the room's occupants, Suke, a handmaiden with whom Ashi had grown close, gave her an amused look and Ashi could feel a tingling sensation spread throughout her chest as she absconded with her prize, tugging at his sleeves and guiding him down the darkened hallways until they reached their suite. She nudged him through the passageway and slid the doors closed with a soft shush.

Turning to press her back against the panels she delighted in his sudden stillness. Confusion, no doubt, stiffened his posture as he scanned the room, washed in the soft glow of dozens—dozens—of lit candles. He turned to her and her breathing stuttered. The flickering lights of flame cast shadows across his face, intensifying his already sharp features: the darkness of his eyes, the fullness of his brow, the cutting line of his jaw. It beckoned her as his eyes continued to shift about, taking note of the explosion of color and the fragrance of flowers. Jack had already been well aware of Ashi's fondness for decorating their shared space with flowers but this... they may as well have stepped outside and into the gardens. Petals dressed the floor, bouquets peeked and bloomed from vases in every corner, a few even hung from the ceiling.

How did you manage this, he asked, and she needed only to say one word, Suke, for him to nod along in understanding. Of course, he responded, I should be wiser now to the two of you's antics. He spoke in such a gruff tone that some may mistake it for offended, and Ashi laughed as she stepped toward him. Her husband was, admittedly, none too fond of surprises. She touched his waist, a gesture meant to relax him; a reassurance that catching him off guard like this would all be worth it.

His eyes held hers as she grasped the hilt of his enchanted katana, an accessory that stubbornly clung to his hip despite its lack of demand in an era of peace. She pressed an open palm to his chest, signaling him to step back and take his seat at their bed. He complied but never broke their gaze, settling on the cushioned mattress whilst she lowered herself to her knees, placing the sword atop a stand at the foot of their bed. She lowered herself further until her forehead touched the soft rush woven floor. It is an honor, she spoke, to be in your presence this evening.

My love, he responded. What is all of this? She did not answer, not with her voice anyway, knowing he would catch her intentions soon enough as she slowly crawled up to him, flicking her wrist as to scoot him further and further backward until his back rested against the wall. A flash of white teeth greeted her as the questioning nature of his gaze shifted from curiosity to excitement. She settled herself into his lap, thighs cased around him, keeping her distance, refusing to indulge him further with the soft press of her chest against the firmness of his.

I want to do something special for you, she said.

Every night with you is special, he replied, his lips upturned lazily. She returned his smile with one of her own; a small one, accompanied by a quick roll of her eyes. Flatterer, she called him as she tapped her fingertips to his chest, to which he replied: Flattery is selfish in its motives. I only ever wish to tell you the truth.

A wider smile blossomed across her face. There was no way she could refute his statement. Never once had he told her a lie, save for the occasion, earlier in their relationship, in which she'd served him a meal that he'd complimented despite the unsettling twist in his stomach. Those lies, however, were lily-white—light as a feather—said only as a means to protect her feelings. He had eventually come clean, of course, revealing the truth to her as was his nature, and they had both agreed that no lie, however small, would pass between them again. And it was his brand of honesty, that type of purity, that lit his skin from within, giving him an almost perceptible glow that drew the eye of anyone near. Like a messiah at the top of a mountain.

She kissed him then, modestly, barely a touch of her lips to the corner of his mouth. His own lips parted in response and she shivered as the breath of his sigh caressed her cheek. His fingertips joined the air there, traveling up to push a lock of hair behind her ear, settling his hand at the back of her neck. His lips dragged across hers, opening to gently coax her into something deeper. She melted, as she could never not do, and teased his bottom lip with her tongue, eager to taste him. But he denied her entrance, apparently now in a teasing mood of his own; a small form of retribution for the sin of surprising him.

She sighed in frustration and he laughed in a low tone—that deep, soulful voice that would cause any person in their right mind to swoon. She felt the graze of his teeth against her bottom lip, before his mouth went slack, finally giving in to let her tongue slip between his parted lips. What a thrill it was, she thought, to be able to taste him like this. A flavor like ginger and salt, sweet and sharp, that complimented his persona. And to still be so thrilled by it. That that taste she had grown familiar with could still feel so new.

The sensation triggered a sense of urgency in her gut; like she had to get her fill of him before this feeling was taken from her. She knew this feeling well—a product of her upbringing. Any moment of relief, anything that remotely resembled peace was fleeting, cut off with a harsh command or a painful strike; a violent snap to return her focus to her mission. The irony was not lost on her—that he should now be so engaged in an intimate embrace—that she could fulfill her past life's destiny. She could kill him. Perhaps if her mother had approached her 'samurai problem' from a different angle, carnage for carnality, each of their stories could have ended differently. But what a moot point, she knew, for she would not have this taste. She would not be able to draw this sweetness out of him, bathe in the soft sounds of his groans and gasps, feel safety and security in the strength of his hold, had she not endured every scrape, scratch, and burn. The bloodlust of her old life had shifted, morphed into something she would not trade for anything; something perhaps even more wicked, certainly more primal in its nature. And Ashi took pride in the knowledge that, unlike her bloodlust, this was a lust that could be satisfied.

He tugged at her hair to expose her neck, taking it with his lips, and her hands bunched at the fabric about his shoulders; hips now rocking by will of their own. His free hand drifted down to the back of her thigh and squeezed. This was her signal, she knew, that it was her turn to be straddled. How strong the temptation was, to fall in line and obey his silent order, knowing full well that his descent upon her would be sweet. How she would love to feel his weight on her, relinquish her control, and gradually come apart at the seams beneath him. But no, she thought, her resolve renewed. She bent her head, interrupting the delicious assault on her neck, to press her forehead to his and whisper against his lips. That is not what tonight is about.

She moved her hands to his hair, continuing to kiss him as she freed the thick strands from their bounds. Her hands continued down his shoulders and pushed his gi aside so his chest, too, could be free. A happy sigh escaped him as her mouth met his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing happily against her tongue. Touch me, Samurai, she murmured into his neck and he wasted no time moving his hands to push her clothing aside, touching her bare shoulder, her collarbone and, slowly, down her chest until he reached her—

He pulled back in surprise, not expecting to encounter the naked skin of her breast. His eyes dizzily traveled to her chest, up to her eyes, and back to reveal... she'd worn no undergarments. Had this been true the entire night? he wondered aloud. Ashi only offered a shrug for his dazed expression, satisfied that her wicked little secret, known only to her, now had company. His eyes immediately traveled further downward to confirm a new suspicion but the sash at her waist kept the answer out of view. She had a response to that, like a choreographed dance, and sat up on her knees, pinning him against the wall, imprisoned by the weight of her hips. She toyed with the knotted belt and waited for his eyes to meet hers, laughing when they never did. He was, evidently, too enthralled with what lie—or rather, what didn't lie—beneath her clothes. She tilted his chin up so their eyes could meet.

This, she whispered, is all for you. My hero.

She let her fingertips do the talking, letting them drift down her torso, all the while heated by the intensity of his gaze. A simple tug of her belt and a shrug of her shoulders and the fabric fell from her in a whisper, exposing her completely. She watched as he licked his lips and let her fingers continue their dance, circling her navel before finally, slowly, delving beyond the dark hair between her legs.

Spirits, she gasped, I'm already so... ah, so... feel.

She reached for his hand, guiding it to her center, letting the warmth of her coat his already heated fingers. Do you feel it? she asked. She released his hand to let him touch her as he pleased, sliding herself along his fingertips as they teased her entrance. Her breath ran ragged as his thumb drew slow circles against the sensitive pearl of nerves, the sensation like being caught in a storm, electricity drizzling through her veins. Her head fell back in a haze as his clever tongue reached out to lathe at her breast while he pushed a digit into her, filling her, but not quite enough. She arched her back and his fingers curled, drawing themselves in and out, catching that spot inside of her that made her see stars.

Her thighs shook and she grabbed his wrist to stop him, her climb to her peak catching her off guard with its quickness. His head lifted, an expression of self-satisfaction danced in his eyes and she held his hand in both of hers. You see? she said, her voice pitched in incredulity. You see what you've done to me? She pressed his hand to his lips and his tongue snaked out to savor the taste. Her tongue joined in as well, to his surprise. She dropped his hand and joined their mouths together again, the sweet and salty taste of his mouth now infused with a flavor all her own.

His hand found her thigh again and squeezed, harder this time with that silent command—turn over. Now. She ignored it, her hand already halfway down his body to feel for his length, anticipating its ache for attention. She pulled the fabric of his fundoshi aside just enough to free him and they rocked together—her wet against his hard flesh—their groans nearly in sync like a symphony of desire. She felt Jack's hands digging into her hips now, a clear and desperate need in both of them for him to lift her up and sit her down right where she belonged.

This is all for you, she moaned, her words slurred by the intoxicating liquor of lust, spreading further and outward with every beat of her heart.

My hero, my savior... Her words trailed off and she leaned up to press her lips against his ear and whine.

My master.

The sharp intake of breath, the stiffening of his body in shock, and the raw, piercing look of concern in his eyes—all reactions she'd anticipated before the words left her mouth. He placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to lean back and look at him. He stroked his thumb beneath her cheekbone and whispered her name.

She met his gaze with determination. She would not be backing down.

Jack, she started. Everything you have shown me, taught me... you are my master. He tried in earnest to cut her off. We are equals—he wanted to say—but she spoke over the betraying crack in his voice. You are the greatest hero this world has ever known, she continued, and yet for some reason, you believe yourself unworthy of the praise given to you. And for what reason? You deserve complete adoration.

So please, she begged, her voice now taking on a different edge, a breathy tone that hinted at her desperation—her need to fulfill this fantasy. Allow me to give you what you so deserve... allow me...

Her words brushed his lips.

To worship you.

Jack had to close his eyes, tighten his grip on her shoulders. The humidity of their mingled breath heated them both like the heavy air of a rainforest, yet still, he could not quell the shiver that ran deep within him. He leaned his forehead against hers, trying to calm the sudden quickening of his heart, the heaviness of breath, the burst of adrenaline that served to chill the back of his neck.

Ashi could feel the trembling of his fingers as silence hung between them. He leaned his head up and their eyes met and she saw, for a brief moment, the face he wore when she'd first met him: skin freckled with dirt and blood and a deep scowl hidden beneath a thicker beard. Predatory, like a wild animal that had worn down the fortitude of its trap, mere seconds from escape. The intensity of such a gaze may have swayed a lesser companion to look away, but she held strong. She was her own animal, a tiger already mid-pounce; the only question that remained was where she would land.

Jack's arms gradually loosened around her and fell to his sides. He leaned his head back and he watched her, unblinking, eyes still made of stone. Finally, his brow relaxed and his chin lifted ever so slightly—a subtle, yet rare display of arrogance—and he spoke.

Very well.

Her face split into a grin but she quickly schooled her features, planting a lingering kiss on his lips in gratitude and barely restrained excitement. As you wish, she breathed. Jack watched as his wife sat back on her knees to guide him out of his fundoshi. She winked as she made a playful gesture in tossing it across the room. She wrapped her hand around his length, perhaps standing taller and prouder than she'd ever seen. She hummed her approval before leaning into him again.

What Ashi didn't know was that the entire situation—the ornate setting, the wicked way she spoke, her pleas to worship him—made his cock ache like he'd never felt before. She had no idea just how right she was. How she was feeding into a part of him that he often neglected.

His ego.

He'd been taught from an early age that pride cometh before the fall—that one cannot defeat another if one knew not how to defeat himself. However, to have mastered so many skills and weapons, be fluent in numerous languages, and be in peak physical condition from such a young, impressionable age, pride had proven a difficult sin to cast out. So when she'd turned back to him, her focus on him like a guided missile, he felt a surge of strength in his chest and he let himself relax. What kind of husband would he be to deny the wishes of his wife? He was half tempted to stretch his arms up and rest his head on his palms. Ashi noticed the puff in his chest and offered him a smile warmer than the candles' glow.

To savor his lips, to rain down his neck, to traverse the broad plane of his chest—every press of her lips was meant to honor him. She forged a path further down to touch upon every ripple of muscle that made up his torso—her tongue relishing in its hard hills and smooth valleys—all the while stroking his length languidly. You're so handsome, she whispered, and she granted herself a peek of him and sighed happily as his eyes fluttered shut, her ministrations clearly having their desired effect.

At long last, she'd reached her destination—the star of her little show—and she made sure to plant kisses along the thick muscle of his thighs, thanking them for providing her a comfortable resting spot. She could feel Jack tense up, only slightly, knowing that he was unused to this kind of... treatment. She'd performed this act for him before but only a few times and always very, very briefly. He'd been nervous, those few times, about losing himself too quickly and would therefore be unable to offer her much in return. And therein, Ashi knew, was the source of his problems. His greatest trait as a hero yet his greatest failing to himself: that he should always put the feelings of others first, he neglected to take care of himself. It was in part why his journey to the past had taken so long and it was the only part of Ashi's feeling that something was missing between them. Jack went out of his way to make sure she was satisfied, studying how her body arched and shuddered for him; why shouldn't she be afforded the same liberties? Foolish hero, she smirked to herself. Why should not a king enjoy the praises of his saints?

That is what tonight is about.

She reminded herself to move slowly so as not to seem clumsy. She flicked her tongue against the back of her teeth, testing its wetness, before finally opening her mouth to him, placing a drawn out kiss at the base. She dragged herself upwards, leaving a long, wet trail behind her and dipped her tongue into the slit at the head. She grinned as his hands responded immediately, curling into fists, pulling the sheets taut. Her mouth hovered there to toy the head, having learned of its sensitivity, before bringing it past her puckered lips, engulfing him in heat. Her tongue rolled to savor the salty musk of him before she lifted her head to look him in the eye. Does this please you, my lord? She needn't wait for an answer.

She repeated the cycle—lathing him with her tongue, bringing him into the shallow depths of her mouth, releasing him—over and over again, feeling the pulse of his veins grow stronger with every revolution. She moaned as she felt his hips angle up, a silent plea for more; deeper. She granted his plea, bobbing her head smoothly, using her hand to match the rhythm of her mouth. Her free hand was not idle; her long nails lightly teasing the skin of his inner thigh, the quiver of his body a blessing. He'd opened his mouth to speak but what came out was barely coherent. A mess of sighs and gasps and broken words. She loved these moments; when he became so overwhelmed with emotion that his calm facade would fall away and he would resort to speaking in his native tongue, a language she still did not fully understand.

What was that, my lord? she asked. I could not understand your words.

I.. I can't...

Can't? Master—she had to pause to give space to his groan, now seemingly pleased by the title—what is it that you desire? Tell me. And I will see it done.

I can't, he panted, look at you. Her fist moved up and down the head of him lazily, deliberately, and he screwed his eyes shut even tighter. It's... too good, he said, I'll—I'll lose myself.

I'll go slow, she reassured, temporarily releasing him to stretch her palms over his thighs. But, she said, I want you to lose yourself. She traced the cutting edges of his hips, circled her tongue around his navel, gave him space to cool off before she continued. Ready? she asked, and with a slow, shaking breath, he nodded. Good, she said, my sweet savior. Because I do want you to look at me. His eyes opened slowly and he was rewarded—or punished, hard to discern from his expression—with the sight of her tongue flat against him, leaving a searing trail up his length. His eyes shut again and his chest expanded with a sharp intake of breath but, always a man true to his word, he opened them again to watch her.

She kept her eyes open when she brought him into her mouth, seizing his full attention. Her free hand reached below to feel at his sack, no doubt heavy with the prolonged denial of his release. She caught his eyes trying to roll back in his head and she sighed against him in bliss, loving to watch a man so strong be rendered so weak.

It was not long before the tension built right back up, aided, of course, by her gradual increase in speed, the tightening of her grip, the stronger pull of her mouth. His words were coming out broken again but this time she could make out her name, mingled with my love, repeated over and over like the chorus of her favorite song. She could see his teeth gnaw at his bottom lip, trying to hold back, telling her he was close, so close, so close.

You can come, my lord, you can come, she chanted, speaking to him between mouthfuls of his cock. And after you do, I'll make you come again and again... and again. As long as you desire it...

She felt his hand rake into her hair, unaware it was meant to pull her away, thinking it undignified to release with her lips still on him. He was so stimulated by her touch, so seduced by her words, so thoroughly blissed out, ready to erupt at any second, that could no longer form words; his attempts at speech now completely useless. She, however, mistook the gesture as an affirmative one, an outright encouragement to push beyond her limits. The thought made her giddy and had her mouth not been full she would have grinned.

She dropped her hands to dig her nails into his thighs. She sucked him, as enthusiastically as if she were praising him aloud, for all that he'd done—for his people, for the world, but most importantly, for her. She took him into her mouth as far as he could go and felt him graze the back of her throat. It triggered a chain reaction in him, the feeling so hot and new and delicious, that his fingers curled on instinct, tightened in her hair, striking her with that perfect combination of pleasure and pain that she melted for.

She moaned. And then he bucked.

The sensation caused her throat to spasm and she pulled back; just enough to get a firm grip on his cock. She held her head steady, aided by the strong hand now tangled in her hair, as he thrusted once, twice, and several more times still. He cried out, voice rough like gravel, and the sound flooded the room as a heavy warmth flooded her mouth. She pulled back to free him, pumping with quick strokes of her fist to watch as his seed burst out of him. His own fist, the one not tangled in the silk-soft strands of her mussed-up hair, slammed into the ground, a burst of violence to match the eruption happening within.

She bit her lip to stifle a certain smirk as he slumped backwards in a boneless heap, head lolling to the side to rest on his shoulder. His groans were husky, a large hand covered his eyes, as if incredulous, as if he could not quite believe what he was feeling. His chest heaved, biceps tightened, and his abdomen flexed, and Ashi drank in every sight; an unintentional yet remarkable display of his beauty. The room grew quiet as his breathing slowed and recovered, finally sitting up straight to look at her, his smile slow and lazy. Satisfied.

That was, until he looked down.

His eyes widened, no doubt surveying the mess he'd made. His seed was everywhere—his stomach, her hand, her lips, she even suspected there would be some in her hair—and she saw his eyebrows turn downward, as if guilty, and the grin she'd been holding back could no longer be contained. She drove her fist up his shaft once more to tease the head, his cock weeping, and he shuddered, wiping that nonsense apologetic look off of his face. He placed a hand over hers to cease her movement, the sensitivity now too strong. She shooed his hand away and brought her fingertips to her lips, slowly licking them clean, delighting in the positively tortured look on his handsome face. She smiled up at him, wide and bright, and for the first time since closing the panel doors of their bedroom, she broke her character.

That was fun!

She heard a solid thud as the back of his head hit the wall, a low and exasperated chuckle reverberating from his chest. You, he said, are a very crazy woman.

Tell me, he whispered, lips ghosting the highest point of her spine, both his voice and touch surprising her. His breath had been so steady, his body so still, that she believed him to be asleep. He mumbled more words as his lips trailed up to her neck and she sighed dreamily, rolling over to face him.

Yes, Master?

Jack's small, sleepy smile fell and he shook his head at the phrase. Evidently, the title was only suitable when he was thoroughly stirred up.

What started all of this?

You told me, she whispered with delicate fingers along his bicep, that you do not consider yourself worthy of praise. So I thought, this will not do. Ashi snickered as Jack's brow furrowed, thoroughly unconvinced. I suppose, she continued, that I just wanted to do something for you. Just for you, she emphasized. Our… time together… often feels like it's only… about me. And I enjoy it, I really do, but I started to wonder, her voice trailed off then, not expectly her honesty to cause her so much embarrassment. If I was any... good at it.

Ashi... you're—he had to stop to swallow the lump in his throat—great. He blew air out his cheeks, also not expecting her admission of insecurities, unsure of how exactly to continue, especially when they so closely matched his own. I suppose that I've always just been nervous, he finally said, about not lasting long enough. I don't want to... let go before I know that you are... satisfied.

Ashi returned his worried gaze with a grin and he sighed. That type of smile managing, once again, to put him at ease (until she spoke once more).

I've heard the proper term is come, she said.

He wrinkled his nose. Seems vulgar, he said.

She laughed and kissed the tip of his nose.

You're cute.

A new touch of worry brimmed his eyes once more as he looked into hers carefully.

I'm sorry if I ever made you feel that you were less than.

No need to apologize, she responded. I have learned that… sometimes people hold onto these ideas that are... unfounded. Slightly outside the realm of truth. Take you for example. She paused to brush a lock of hair behind his ear. Haven't you ever strayed from your own expectations? Fight just to show off? Let yourself relish in all of the praises you receive?

He told her no, he'd never stepped into a confrontation for his own selfish desire for glory. And that, yes, he tended to avoid ostentatious celebrations in his namesake. To be surrounded by so many strange faces and loud voices often heightened his nerves. However, he added, he did enjoy the occasional outpour of gratitude and, sure, he did not deny every gift given to him—he was not a fool. For he was a wanderer and supplies could quickly run low.

With that being said—he said, clearing his throat—to be praised… like that, especially from a woman who—he'd have to clear his throat again—a woman who looks the way you do, well...

I am overjoyed that you enjoyed yourself, my lord, she said, her voice attempting to be sly yet falling apart with the barely-suppressed giggle in her throat, pleased by the compliment. He rolled his eyes playfully and turned to lie on his back, plucking a petal from the floor of their bedroom to hold in his palm. She nuzzled up beside him, stroking his chest lazily as he blew the petal away and they both watched as the delicate blade fluttered to land amongst the tangle of their sheets.

Though, he said, I am not sure I approve of your choice of words.

Is there something else you'd prefer to be called?

He flushed at that, such a frivolous expression given they were in each other's arms, gentle fingers on heated skin, with no attempts to cover themselves.

Master, she mused, I quite like it. The idea of you telling me what to do. She paused to shrug. Did it ever occur to you that it is in my nature to be attracted to a little aggression? He sighed dramatically and she laughed along in earnest, her voice clear as a bell against hallowed walls.

Am I to understand, then, he said slowly, that the takeaway from all of this… is that you would like me to be meaner to you?

Not meaner, no, she said, still laughing. Her eyes floated up to the ceiling for a brief moment in thought. I love watching you when you are in a fight, she said. Your movements are so precise and your eyes take on this focused edge. She paused once more to push his hair back from his forehead, looking deeply into his eyes, finding a similar type of focus as he listened to her words. It can be quite hard to look away from, she breathed. You're so powerful. Commanding.

Therein lies the source of my confusion, he said, of why you did all of this. You were in control here. You had all of the power.

Think of me as a saint—he snorted and she grinned—for once. And you were my altar.

He sighed again, eyes following the flickering shadows dancing on the walls. I suppose I could stand to be more... authoritative, he said. His gaze met hers again. After all, he whispered, his mouth slowly morphing into a grin. I am destined to be king.

His voice dropped then; that provocative smirk of self-satisfaction lighting his features and Ashi could do nothing else but melt. That, she said, brushing her thumb across his lips, I like that.

If I may, he said, ask you one final question. His eyes had somehow darkened to match the tone of his voice, his touch now becoming more... exploratory. If you truly meant to act as a worshipper, why not just—he stopped to gently use his fingertips to lock her chin in place—give yourself up to me?

Like, she said with suddenly hitched breath, an offering? She spoke as if it wasn't a question and he nodded in reply, smirk deepening.

Precisely.

Is that a future request or have you since recovered?

He chuckled at that and pulled her into a kiss. Long, slow; a languid thing of soft lips and tongue. He rolled her over and pinned her wrists down at her sides, giving him an uninhibited course down her body—from the column of her throat to the tops of her thighs. His lips hovered over her most sensitive area and she did her best to spread her legs open a little wider to welcome him. He did not grant her that favor, however, choosing to tilt his head to the side and pay his attention to her inner thigh. He brought his head back to her center once more, letting his breath tempt her before once again denying her, taking his time on her other thigh.

Ashi groaned and Jack released her wrists, a playful smile on his lips as he seated himself more comfortably on his stomach, propping her legs on his shoulders. Finally, after what had seemed like a short stretch of eternity simply admiring her with his gaze, he dragged his tongue over her. Her back arched against him with the same slowness as his mouth.

Ashi, my darling, he whispered, his fingers toying with her, already slick; his smile delighted by her whimpers, and he spoke. Always ready at a moment's notice, aren't we?

She licked her lips as his mouth continued to draw shapes into her, his tenderness almost exhausting in these moments; an incomprehensible precision to the lazy way he moved, and she undulated in turn, waiting for her passion to boil over. And then, suddenly, he stopped.

Sit up, he told her. She perched herself on her forearms, taking note of his shift in tone. Darker. Clearer. Her toes unintentionally curled in anticipation.

All the way, he corrected. And she obeyed, coming up to meet him on her knees. He kissed her again, stroking her sides, cupping her ass in his large hands, caressing the backs of her thighs. She moved her hands to wrap her arms around his neck before, again, he stopped.

He moved so that he was behind her, massaging and kissing her shoulders and she sighed. She could feel his arousal thickening behind her. His breath tickled her ear as he whispered.

Do you wish to offer yourself to me?

Yes, Master.

Then...

And with a slow brush of his fingers down her spine, he said, with force:

Bow to your king.

King, she thought with a shiver. She bit her lip, took a deep breath—that dizzying brand of excitement spreading throughout her chest—readying herself for the long night ahead. She tilted her head to look at him over her shoulder, making an exaggerated display of licking her lips with a smile. He kissed her, moving his lips down her neck, digging his hands into her hips. That silent command. To do what he said. And she whispered, knowing that these would be her last words, soon to be broken up, nearly incoherent with passion.

As you wish.