Background: It was a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean, come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with, y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. Do not read, however, if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been together for a long time and they're very secure in one another). You might get warped. Heh heh.
Also Note: In the interest of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon" is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons, but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.
Note to the Third Power: This chapter contains "not too very graphic" sexual situations and funny language! Beware! Keep away if you're "sexually sensitive" or just... well, a prude. Be warned!
Descendants of the Mundane
Chapter 2
by Orin Drake
"S-sure." John admitted,
a little stunned that the pat on his back hadn't been harder, somehow.
"I like pizza."
"Any topping preference?"
Kyrie asked, on her way to call in the kitchen. It wasn't so easy
to hide the growing sadistic grin on her face. My, what a question.
But that much had passed
over the platinum-haired boy's head due to nerves--for the moment.
Would it be too terribly presumptuous of him to say anything? A sign
of weakness to resign to whatever they wanted to eat? So he chose
what he thought was a carefully middle ground stance. "Anything but
anchovies and pineapple."
She gave him a thumbs-up
acknowledgment and dialed. He hated what Cloud had recently discovered
he liked. Hm, this ought to make for interesting situations--if the
boy were to stick around, anyway. All she had to say to the guy on
the other end of the line was, "Leonhart, two regulars." Perhaps
it was more sad than efficient--they did eat pizza an awful damn lot.
Were Squall there, he'd probably chastise her. But then he'd eat
it just like the rest of them, so hey.
Upon hanging up, Rodger
gave the new kid a non-verbal invitation to join them in wait at the kitchen
table. Nervously, he followed without a word. His interrogation
wasn't up yet, he felt...
"So." The brunette
began, carefully rolling into the "getting to know you" stage as
he sat next to his wife. "Tell me about yourself, John."
The other boy swallowed
a little uncomfortably, slowly sitting across from him, Kyrie at the side
of them both. Looking at her for just a split second, she had this...
this look in her eye. For some reason, some absolute wonder of the
universe, it actually set him at ease a little. "E-everything?"
"Whatever you'd like to
tell." Rodger answered naturally. Hey, he wasn't pushing the
guy into admitting previous crimes--he had an idea that Ky had probably
already done that. He just needed... to make certain. He trusted
her judgment immensely, but they never could be too careful.
John felt the immediate
urge to either run screaming out of the room, or be absolutely up-front
and honest. He wasn't certain why he was unable to run out of the
room. "Well, I'm... not from around here."
A good start. "Where
are you from, then?"
Well... it was everything
or nothing. Get up and walk out after having made it that far, or
spill. And he was still wondering why he wasn't able to get out of
the chair. "I guess I'm from another... dimension." To his
continued suddenly surreal worldview, the couple didn't even flinch.
Kyrie smiled lightly at
his puzzled look. "We've been through so damn much that nothing surprises
us anymore." She joked--half seriously.
He believed it, alright.
Just the absolutely natural looks on their faces... But Rodger was
still leaning in, still waiting for more to spill. Nervous but increasingly
confident, he took a chance. "I, uh... I'm just passing through until
the gateway opens again. It probably won't be for a couple of days..."
He trailed off then stopped dead, realizing that he likely sounded like
he was trying to invite himself to stay and coming off like a major fucking
jerk. "I--what I mean is--"
"You've never been here
before?" Rodger interrupted carefully. He was intently watching
the boy's reaction, but... well, he kind of liked him. Not like that--he
just got this feeling about the guy, that he was decent enough. And
he knew his wife was... accepting of him, to say the least.
"No." He admitted
softly. He'd never been through that particular gateway before.
It had been sort of a last ditch escape route...
Kyrie offered an innocent
comment. "But I did say we had a spare bedroom..."
Of course you did.
Her husband wanted to say, grinning. Instead, he was a bit more polite
about it. "Sure. If you don't mind our schedules, John.
They're pretty random for the most part."
Every moment was getting
more and more surreal. Unreal. "N-no. Not at all.
As long as I'm not in the way."
The couple exchanged one
more quick glance; it was like they were awarding John his citizenship
or something. So it was agreed. The conversation immediately
turned more "normal", Rodger taking the lead. "I'm guessing all you
have are the clothes on your back..?"
It wasn't accusatory in
tone, but he still felt a little bad about that, too. They were willing
to feed him, give him a place to stay, and clothes. He felt
like... well, like a gigolo. That thought almost made him laugh out
loud--but he held that in for the sake of politeness. "Uh, yeah...
But, I can... I mean..." He stopped, taking a better look at this.
He had no money with him. Certainly not such that would be taken
as currency here, he was certain. Crystallized demon blood was only
accepted in so many places, and he didn't have that much left anyway.
"Don't worry about it."
The brunette dismissed. "I have lots of clean clothes. Some
even stylish." He joked.
"Vincent sure didn't think
so." Kyrie added.
The doorbell rang, initiating
a full-blown rush to get to the door. Well, alright, maybe it wasn't
quite that dramatic, but it sure looked it. One second all three
of them were there, and the next it was only the two boys. Rodger
grinned at the puzzled expression, explaining only, "She's got a good record
for freaking out the pizza delivery people."
John nodded. She seemed
like the type, alright. Yes, they may well be getting along...
As if paged by his thoughts,
she came back into the kitchen with two pizzas and a satisfied expression.
"New guy."
"Still the champion."
Her husband congratulated, getting up. "What'll you drink, John?"
"Cola, if you have it."
He stated sheepishly. Hey, he was getting into the swing of things.
It was just that taking it slowly seemed more appropriate. And less
likely to get him killed or thrown out.
"Hyne, Ky." Rodger
commented, looking in the fridge. "You trying to tell me something
with all of this rum?"
She grinned up from collecting
the plates. "Just one of Quisty's random gifts." Bringing the
plates over, she announced to John, "She's my aunt. The one who gave
me her Save the Queen."
Once again it struck him
how... interesting of a family the girl must have. He started wondering
about Rodger's side, too...
The pizzas turned out to
be plain and simple cheese and pepperoni. A blessing--his favorite.
And cola. Wow. He'd really lucked out... he hoped. They
could still be psychopaths. But they were nice, attractive ones,
anyway.
"We usually eat in the living
room." Kyrie let him know, turning the first pizza box so everyone
could partake freely. "Unless you think you'll be extra messy."
The way she'd looked at
him as she'd said that... maybe she hadn't even meant it any other way.
But he got the feeling she probably did. "Uh, no. I think I
can manage."
Watching the news, anyone
would think everything was peaceful, pleasant and perfect, all throughout
the world, with no one arguing or disagreeing on any issue at all.
John remained fascinated, while the other two threw in their two Gil from
time to time, making little comments. Even that was fascinating--just
learning about a whole new world would never get boring. Neither
would hunting down demons, he supposed, but not in such a good way.
When news ended, there was
a relatively low-class police drama afterward. Even that was utterly
interesting--even though John personally had seen the exact same concept
already done elsewhere. Not that he was complaining, it was simply
that he was pretty sure he knew what was going to happen. Regardless,
he watched, ate, joined in a little on their sarcastic commenting, and
overall felt pretty damn good just being a part of them.
"Full yet?" Kyrie joked,
noting only the last little bit of pizza left on John's plate.
He didn't think it wise
to admit he'd eaten so much that he hurt a little. Maybe that wasn't
a lot by normal standards, but he wasn't used to food, for the most
part. Certainly not pizza. Damn, it had been a long time.
He'd eaten practically a whole pie by himself. Good thing he had
a killer metabolism. "Very." He confessed. "Thank you."
Polite, hot, likes pizza.
She counted in her head, rising to take the plates back to the kitchen.
"Feel free to get a shower if you'd like." She invited.
Oh god that sounded good.
He tried to contain himself--hot, clean water, clean clothes... But
then, it was an opportunity for the other two to talk. Alone.
Not that he minded that, but on some level he was still a little... uncertain.
The shower option was too good, though. "If you don't... I mean,
if I could, then..."
"Go for it." She reassured
him.
Rodger took his place immediately
without needing to be prodded. He got up and politely took the plates
from his wife, making sure he sounded as innocent as possible. "Why
don't you show him upstairs?"
A thankful look passed over
her before she turned to John and indicated he follow her. To his
own surprise, he neither paused nor looked back. The promise of the
shower was too good to pass up. Yeah, that was it. Just the
shower.
Kyrie stood more or less
in the center of the upstairs hallway, pointing like a stewardess.
"This, is the bathroom. Right next to it is the linen closet.
Across from it is our bedroom." She made absolutely certain to indicate
that
room, before taking a couple of steps back. "And the room at the
back and across is the guest bedroom."
He felt quite playful all
of a sudden, only moments from a clean shower and a change of clothes.
"And what's that other room?"
She lowered her voice mysteriously.
"It's the room without a name." Changing back to her normal tone,
she dismissed it as, "Just the 'crap that won't fit anywhere else' room.
Now let's see what we can find for you to wear."
Something jumped
at that--and not unpleasantly. He'd never thought it was possible
to be placed on a pleasant edge. Learn something new every
day, or so they say. He followed her eagerly into her bedroom, taking
a quick moment to familiarize himself with things. No weapons to
be seen--but there were some... rather interesting bits of hardware on
the wall over the bed that he didn't think he'd ever seen before.
They weren't for shelves, that much was clear.
Pretending not to have been
watching, she beckoned him to Rodger's side of the closet. "Feel
free to grab anything that fits. You look about the same size, so..."
she dropped that off before it lead anywhere too early--allowing herself
just one more sweep of his body. "But if you'd rather just slip into
pajamas, he's got a million of those." She paused thoughtfully.
"I'm not sure why, but he does."
He looked over the small
folded pile of pajama tops and bottoms of all fabrics and colors shelved
in the corner. Yes, a collection of sleepwear was odd... but maybe
not, depending upon just what that hardware on the wall was used for.
He kept that grin to himself, seeing something... soft. He hadn't
slept in anything other than whatever clothes were already on his back
in a decade. Unable to hide that second grin threatening, he found
a set of dark crimson in something smooth, but a little too thick to be
silk or satin. Hey, whatever--it was soft, and he had his choice.
And he liked red. Red like the amused eyes that were sizing up his
decision.
She only smiled back at
him, then walked into the hall. "There are clean towels in there
already. I hope you'll come back down and say goodnight afterward,
at least."
There was certainly a little
playfulness in her voice there. Maybe he still had a chance after
all. Without being beheaded or castrated by her husband; he seemed...
relatively cool. For the moment, though, all thoughts turned to shower.
"Sure. Thanks."
She nodded, walking back
down the stairs. Part of her really, really hoped he'd undress in
the guest room so she'd get a peek as he walked to the bathroom--but no
such luck as the bathroom door closed before she even reached the bottom
step. Damn. Oh well, there was still plenty of time.
Rodger noted the incredibly
satisfied look on her face; satisfied, but not sated. Making sure
the water had been turned on first, he walked up and wrapped an arm around
her playfully. "I bet you've got something devious going on in that
head."
"I bet you're right."
She responded suggestively.
"Think he'll freak?"
He found himself curious.
"I hope not." What
an awful thought. Things progressing and then BLAM! the boy
runs like his life's at stake. "It might be too soon, though."
"Yeah." Rodger agreed,
letting go of her and walking a little further away from the bathroom door.
Just in case. Beckoning her over, he admitted, "He seems... alright."
That was amusing.
"Good to know."
"I mean, even not taking
your sickness into account." He joked. "He seems like... I
don't know. 'One of us', maybe."
"I know what you mean."
She glanced up the stairs, thinking. "Timid, of course. But
I guess we'll see how that goes. You were a saint once, too."
"Evil girl." He grinned.
In truth, conversation about
the new boy didn't last any longer. They simply sat in front of the
TV and relaxed together as was routine, letting the pizza settle.
It was a pleasant routine to have, especially on the days when they rarely
got to see one another. Again, damn Vincent. It was temporary,
granted, but... damn him, anyway.
"Well..." Rodger finally
yawned. "Considering you don't think much will happen, and he's already
been in there for an hour, I'm thinking we ought to go to bed."
She feigned utter disappointment.
"You mean, sleep?"
He chuckled lightly.
"Aren't you tired, Ky?"
"Honestly?" she grinned.
"He can take care of you."
He joked half-heartedly. Alright, so he was a little bit...
"randy"... But he was also tired. "Alright, we'll compromise.
Sex in bed."
"Good deal." She agreed,
getting up. "But first... I see what I can do to get the toothbrushes."
She knew full well the water was still running. And, if all else
failed, she knew how to pick the lock, too.
Rodger shook his head, following
her up the stairs so he could change clothes. Hopeless, she was utterly
hopeless.
Polite lady that she was,
she knocked on the door. There was a startled dropping or slipping
of something or other--Oh Hyne I hope I didn't just kill him--before
he responded, "Yes?"
"Just needed the tooth brushes."
She announced. "Is it alright to slip in?"
Now that was a question
that brought goose bumps to the surface. Or maybe that was just the
increasingly cooling water. "Uh, yeah." He was never so glad
for warped and sandblasted glass shower doors.
She wanted to look.
She wanted so badly to just take a peek, even though shower doors are designed
so one couldn't see shit--but she didn't. Somehow she controlled
herself.
Until he blew it entirely.
"How long have I been in here?"
She had a reason
to look over, and he seemed to know it. So, caution to the wind.
"Over an hour." Glimpse.
He saw her look over, alright.
The cleanliness and relaxed environment was putting him in a much ballsier
mood. Wow how time flew when you were getting clean. "Oh, sorry."
"Don't worry about it."
She forced herself not to throw another glance in his direction.
The first one had revealed absolutely nothing but a big artsy-looking blob
that somewhat resembled a human, anyway. "We're in the process of
going to bed, but don't worry about making noise." We won't worry,
either.
He felt he really ought
to quicken his pace; mostly because of the now cold water. So, he
shut the water off even before she'd turned to go... and waited.
Since she was not absolutely
sure that was an invitation, she was forced to pretend it hadn't happened.
Dammit. Damn, it. She threw a split-second glance
back, then closed the door behind her. Only then did she realize
he'd been looking at her the whole time. Probably wondering what
she was up to. Damn she hoped she hadn't passed up something fun.
All the way down the stairs
she had to remind herself that he didn't invite her. The mental reminders
continued through brushing her teeth; Rodger looking quite amused beside
her in the downstairs bathroom mirror. He hardly needed an explanation.
Getting all of the lights
turned off for the night, the stairs creaked. Not that it should
have been a surprise, she supposed; she'd told him to come down and say
goodnight at least. But that son of a bitch. The pajama pants
were intended to ride low, fine--but they rode low enough to establish
the fact that he wasn't wearing anything underneath. To add insult
to injury, the top was open, completely unbuttoned. Yeah, he better
have weapons to defend himself.
Rodger bit his lip to contain
himself. The boy clearly knew what he was doing. A vicious
tease worthy of Kyrie herself. Instead of waiting to see what might
happen and accidentally fall into hysterics, he decided taking his leave
of the situation might actually prove more productive. "Well, good
night, John."
Silver hair still a little
damp and plastered mostly in front of his eyes, the boy made an unconscious
gesture that Rodger knew would drive his wife even more viciously insane--he
ran his fingers through the bangs and shook them out, then drew them carelessly
back. Of course, being wet, they stayed for only a moment before
falling right back in his face. "Good night... Rodger." He
felt a little weird about calling him by name for some reason. Odd.
"And thanks for everything. Really."
The brunette held up a hand
that said "no thanks necessary", then gave Kyrie a vicious little smirk.
Relatively certain that she was probably going to walk into their bedroom
shortly and want quite a bit of "activity", he resigned himself to getting
ready. With a nod to her, he walked up the stairs and disappeared.
Ballsy, indeed. But
a cruel bastard. She let herself gaze at him with a slate blank stare--but
that tiny, knowing turn of the corners of his lips didn't cease.
"Well, then." She finally relented. "Get some rest. Maybe
there will be touristy things for you to do tomorrow while I try not to
lose it in front of political hierarchy."
He, too, had come to the
conclusion that tonight was too soon for anything... "closer". But
it still kind of annoyed him. She clearly saw the signals... and
it amused him greatly to know it was getting to her. He felt it in
the rise in her body heat, the quickening of her pulse--not to mention
the slight tension in her voice. Yeah, he thought he liked her just
fine. She could dish it out as well as take it... well enough.
"I hope so." He purposely dropped his voice huskily, just a little.
She half wanted to indicate
the wall of weaponry to him again... but they say good things are worth
the wait. Whoever the fuck "they" are. Probably some frustrated
nut jobs. "Allow me to escort you up the stairs." She nearly
threatened.
And he just about believed
it to be a threat. Wordlessly, he lead the way. Not that he
actually thought he'd get pushed down the stairs, but... well, sometimes
he wouldn't put it past her. He walked all the way to the guest bedroom,
then stopped just outside the door. "Good night, Kyrie." He
spoke like a high class gentleman this time around.
"Good night, John."
She almost growled.
Amused for the time being,
the boy nodded and swiftly side-stepped, closing the door quickly behind
him. Kyrie waited there for a moment; not because she planned on
following him, but because she had to contain herself. He hadn't
pissed her off or anything--but he'd really, severely, utterly, teased
the living hell out of her.
Finally able to walk again,
she left the bedroom door wide open, almost in hopes that he'd hear her.
"That bastard." She whispered almost seriously.
Rodger, waiting patiently
at the foot of the bed, covered his mouth and laughed as quietly as he
could manage. "He knows exactly what he's doing."
"And that's why he's a fucking
bastard." She found herself grinning in good humor in spite of it.
Before her husband had the chance to conduct his infamous tornado of clothes-chucking,
she'd already pulled the shirt over her head and was well on her way to
yanking the pants off.
"He must have really gotten
to you." He stated sadistically.
She gave him a joking glare,
then promptly pulled back the blankets and got into bed without another
word. This also made him laugh, taking him longer to get out of his
clothes. "Do you want that door closed?"
"Not until I'm done insulting
him." She grinned.
He made an overdramatic
sigh, getting under the slightly cool covers beside her. "Don't you
think our 'noises' are going to scare him off rather than invite him in?"
"I honestly don't know what
to hope for." She threw back, pouncing.
"I bet you wouldn't mind
the company." He joked, bucking her off of him and to the side, then
turning to spoon her.
She couldn't hold back that
wicked little laugh. "No, I wouldn't." She admitted, kicking
the covers off. They always wound up on the floor anyway.
"Neither would I."
He whispered huskily in her ear. "I mean, you know, I'm not entirely
gung-ho about another guy, but... I'd play." He wasn't sexually attracted
to men, but John wasn't exactly torture to look at, either.
She bit her lip and hissed
in a breath with that picture alone. Dear Hyne. How perfect.
The thought, the vision...
Little did they know of
the extraordinarily acute ears picking up each breath just down the hall.
He'd heard the very slip of clothing off of them, and of course the conversation...
He was insane. That's the conclusion he had come to. A strange
house with strange people, in a strange bed--
No, not anymore. When
had he gotten out of bed? Did it matter? He was already well
on his way to their bedroom by the time he realized this could be a bad
idea. That very thought was decimated by his lustful hunger when
he saw what awaited him in the dark.
Rodger was laying on his
back, arms around Kyrie's waist; she was laying on top of him, also on
her back, playfully trying to "escape" his grasp. As soon as the
boys' eyes fell upon one another, Rodger's lips twisted into a completely
evil grin. He slid his arms up and around his wifes' to lock her
own in place, useless, at his sides.
She took a moment to try
to desperately assess the situation--to no avail. None at all; this
was all completely in the moment. There didn't need to be any fucking
rhyme or reason. She was, indeed, the most libido-blessed girl her
husband had ever known. And now Mr. John Sparda was going to test
her out for himself.
The half devil pulled his
shirt off though it were a dead monster laid across his back, tossing it
aside. Underneath was a perfectly toned body, just sculpted enough
to give it shape and slight definition. The pants, being that they
were loose anyway, slid off like water with the slightest tug. All
else was completely forgotten.
Kyrie felt in that moment
that perhaps two wires had crossed in the deepest depths of her brain.
Some
kind of electric current was sure as hell running through her. Just
looking at that gorgeous thing before of her, grinning wickedly...
Now he was the predator, and he was going to take every possible
opportunity.
"Check the nightstand."
Rodger whispered gruffly, his hips jerking slightly on their own accord.
This was so, fucking, kinky. Oh yes, he would enjoy this.
John barely registered what
he had been asked to do, but followed the instructions. Under normal
circumstances, he'd have given pause to the dozens of multi-colored condoms
inside the drawer. But this, clearly, was not a normal circumstance.
While he'd never had need for the devices before, the attention on his
goal never wavered as he sheathed himself successfully the first time.
Now that was something to be proud of. Wrapper forgotten somewhere
on the floor, he stepped back to the foot of the bed and regarded the picture
again. Never in a million years... but oh he was so willing to try.
Seeing that all was safe
and well, Rodger finally gave in to every lustful urge. Holding Kyrie's
arms even tighter with his own, he forced a knee between her legs.
That done, he slid his other leg between hers and hooked his knees around,
forcing her legs open--not in a grotesque, hard core pornography way, just...
in an easy-access fashion.
She could not contain
that insatiable moan. Her whole body went limp for just a moment,
totally overcome with her own reaction. This was unreal. Just
one well-placed touch would be all it'd have taken...
Regardless of John's general
lack of experience with this sort of thing, he did have some killer
instincts. He crawled onto the bed, lunging forward on his knees--but
stopped before touching her with any part of his body. So she liked
to tease, did she? Well, he could comply. Very, very slowly,
he backed away and lowered his head until his lips made delicate contact
with the inside of her lower thigh.
The silken tickle of his
hair against her skin was, at first, an unwelcome memory--she flinched,
jerking in Rodger's arms. He held her tightly, both aware of her
reaction and to add to the play. It was as much comfort as it was
encouragement, and it brought her back to the moment at hand. That
bastard was kissing toward her knee. Served her right, but
still... When he continued paying more attention to her legs than
anywhere else, she threw out a cursing, "Cruel."
Being turned on didn't just
make the boy ballsy--it made him cocky to the point of stupidity.
And yet somehow he didn't think it'd be taken too badly among these people.
"Can you gag her, too?"
The brunette mirrored that
wicked grin, holding on just a little tighter. "I've tried."
"You both suck." She
moaned quietly. Then, "Or you ought to, anyway."
Bright blue eyes bore into
hers, amused. "Let's not rush things." He kneeled down again,
kissing his way back up from her knee so slowly that he almost annoyed
himself with it. Back to the inner thigh, the soft trail of lips
was interrupted with an abrupt bite. It wasn't the sort that drew
blood--it was the suddenness of the act, the pain against the tickly smooth
pleasure a split second before that caught her off-guard. And that,
somehow, was exceptionally erotic.
Rodger hissed in a soft
breath, watching and feeling her reaction. Well, two could play at
that game. He began moving in sync with the silver haired boy, nuzzling
her hair out of the way then running his lips over her neck as the other
set were roamed freely over her abdomen. There were nips without
warning--a contest of them, almost, playing off of one another. And
poor helpless Kyrie in the middle was losing her composure altogether.
Poor, helpless Kyrie.
Poor, breathless, gasping Kyrie. Oh, they were good in unison.
A little too good. Her thoughts were running into each other like
a bunch of blind, overexcited chickens. She could neither issue orders,
nor bother to wade past the absolute influx of pure pleasure. She
was
completely helpless, moving quickly beyond the point of even needing to
be touched anywhere--
She cried out with the very
energy of the connection--not to mention how fucking awesome it felt.
She'd been ready, open, and advantage had been taken, though carefully.
The Materia inside her were spinning, coupled with his demon powers and
her Sorceress blood--explosive was not hardly the word. Even Rodger
felt it racing through the very flesh of his existence, moaning loudly
and digging into her hips with his fingernails. It was terrifying
and magnificent; and they hadn't even started yet.
John had to admit to himself
here and now that he was not good at this. Not at all. But
he was damn well going to try. He caught his breath as much as he
dared before pulling away slightly, taking some of that humming energy
with him. But that would do no good, would it? A devious smile
on his lips, he thrust himself back into place to create another astounding
wave of crackling power, crying out himself in the process.
All control was abandoned;
Kyrie moaned in a low, guttural tone and locked her legs around his waist,
rocking in fierce rhythm against the boy atop her. The sheer weight
and friction of the motions above--not to mention how fucking, gloriously,
perfectly kinky this was--made Rodger moan at the same time, getting almost
as much out of the whole thing as the other two. Maybe more so--he
was holding his wife while a fucking wet dream of hers in the flesh was,
well, fucking her. He made a mental note, just before losing the
ability to think coherently, to buy her something nice sometime soon.
Another thrust sent the
three of them into sheer animal lust; claws, teeth, growls, purrs, and
that raging inferno of raw energy making it that much more extreme.
Good at this or not, John was doing a damn fine job by any standards.
He managed another three powerful motions in succession, but that was all
he could afford himself--he was lost in a sheer wall of polka dotted sparks
and pleasure that was normally reserved for gods and heroine addicts.
Too much, just too damn
much--Kyrie felt the telltale slowing of the thrusts, then the complete
loss of control. Had she been able to have timed it, she could not
have done any better; but as it was, she'd surrendered everything to the
moment. Hearing that purr deep in John's throat, seeing him throw
his head back, feeling his final burst of energy surround her--she was
helpless in the rage of them, bringing about her own release.
Third domino to fall, mere
seconds later, Rodger felt Kyrie's fingernails in his flesh and the sudden
release of both of the energies atop him, washing over his own body and
taking control. He was so lost in their finales that his own felt
like it lasted at least twice as long as any other time in his life, and
he practically blacked out right there.
Had John been conscious
enough, he'd have made certain he was not crushing either body underneath
his by politely moving aside. Under the circumstances, however, he
just sort of... fell over, instead. The three of them rolled like
limp things (albeit very pleased limp things), sprawled out together
in barely aware bliss. There was a long, comfortable silence as the
warmth continued to rush through like alcohol in the blood.
"Holy, fucking, Hyne."
Kyrie panted quietly in the near darkness, still not fully recovered.
John started to full awareness.
For a moment there he had nodded off, contented and tired. But now...
"I... I really ought to go..."
The other two made the briefest
of eye contact before Kyrie invited, softly, "You can stay if you want."
Want? Well,
that wasn't exactly the issue, here. "But... I..."
"Satin sheets..."
she drawled playfully. Bless her dear auntie Quistis.
He would have to learn these
signals in order to survive here. He felt more like prey in their
combined presence than ever before. Not that he minded at that moment
in one sense, but... survival instinct dictated otherwise. The initial
idea of staying was appealing on a number of levels. And, if no one
minded... "As long as I don't have to sleep in a wet spot."
"Oh, that's what the hair
dryer is for." Rodger dismissed, turning over to find the usual post-sex
necessities.
John couldn't help a pleasant
chuckle, gently pulling away to relax on his back. "You two are the
oddest people."
"You can't be discluded
from us, you know." Kyrie grinned, slowly sitting and taking the
box of tissues that Rodger offered. Sheets first. "Not after
that."
"I don't want to... disrupt
your personal space, though." The silver tressed boy found himself
being utterly sincere, still a bit too weak (or lazy) to do much more than
lay there.
"We'll let you know."
The brunette promised deviously, cleaning himself up with a couple of tissues
before getting off the bed and switching on the hair dryer.
John was actually a little
surprised to find the dryer actually being used. Well, that meant
he'd have to get up. With a grunt he rolled, almost toppled off the
bed, and sprang up. The girl he'd only met that morning, naked, still
breathing heavily and very much looking weak but sated beyond belief, offered
the tissues his way before climbing off herself. On his side, of
course. She hadn't had the chance to check out his ass yet.
Rodger laughed to himself
at the far from subtle backstep she used to get behind the boy, clear in
her intentions. Sheet having already been wiped off, it was just
a matter of seconds before it was dry. They'd wash them in the morning.
And might wind up doing so every night for a few days...
"If you will excuse me..."
Kyrie stepped forward, satisfied with the nice ass she'd just been staring
at. "I have to go 'freshen up'. Right back." She stopped
at her pile of pajamas, making as if to bend over--then kneeled to pick
them up instead. Her final "take that!" to John for the night.
Said boy smirked, tossing
tissues and all into the wastebasket by the door before gathering his pants.
As he saw Rodger pull on his own pajama bottoms, he couldn't help but say
what was on his mind. "This isn't... like... weird, is it?"
He blinked at the blatant stupidity his own question. Yes, it was
weird. To society, anyway. But that wasn't what he was asking.
"It's... different."
Rodger conceded naturally, pulling a t-shirt over his head. It would
be too warm for a pajama top if all three were to sleep in the same bed..
"But... it's weird that it isn't weird. Know what I mean?"
"Actually... yeah."
How fucking... weird.
Looking well beyond pleased,
Kyrie burst back in and straight in the center of the bed. Oh yeah.
"Spoiled." Rodger
accused her, climbing right in.
"Yes." She agreed
eagerly.
Not that John was at all
uneasy about laying on the other side of her, but... he still almost felt
like he should ask permission. It seemed only polite.
"Come 'ere, Hottie Number
Two." She invited.
Well, that was that.
He did so immediately. "Should I ask who Number One is?"
"Oh, she is." Rodger
joked, turning over to face the outside. "I guess you beat me out
by one."
She dismissed, curling up
against him, "Vincent would be Number Three, but he's been such
a bitch lately. You're my sweet Fourth Place."
"Thanks, precious."
He responded sickeningly sweetly.
Taking the initiative, John
allowed himself to move a little closer, just to be included in the mass.
Yes. This would be... very interesting.