A/N: Warning! This chapter has naughty stuff! You have been warned!
"May I touch you?" I asked.
"Where?" he asked. We were on my bed together.
"Everywhere. Within the boundaries, of course.", by which I meant his face. "I want to go exploring the topography—of you."
"I cannot see how that could cause offense." The playfulness was there. I had already decided I wanted to encourage that aspect of him as much as possible. "Front first, or back?"
"Definitely the back. Otherwise, I'm liable to get distracted."
He chuckled. I heard him take off his robe and felt the shift of the mattress as he lay down. The bed was a much more stable and comfortable place to be doing this than that chaise.
"You may proceed." He sounded a little muffled, most probably because he was speaking half into a pillow.
I reached out, found his arm, and moved closer, kneeling to one side of him. I followed his arm with my fingers up to his shoulder, then his neck, and finally ran them through his hair, which was surprisingly soft. I caressed his head, feeling the shape of his skull through his hair, and then I bent and buried my nose in the nape of his neck. I planned to memorize him, this is how the back of his neck smells, that was how many of my hand-spans it was across his shoulders…
He smelled clean. I caught a hint of woodsy-scented soap, and the clean, almost harsh mineral smell of a shampoo I didn't recognize. "What are you doing?" he asked, amused.
"Learning you. Hush…" I moved my hands to his shoulders, and kneaded them lightly, discovering how the muscles flowed, bunched, changed, as I started at the neck and worked my way outward. He was solid, very solid, and his shoulders were broad.
"You must get a lot of exercise." I observed. "I can tell that you work out."
"Every day. A large man in armor is imposing; a fat one, ridiculous."
"And here I am, reaping the benefits." That made him laugh. I tried, but found that my hands together did not go all the way around one of his heavily muscled upper arms, slid down to the forearm, feeling the fine crop of hairs that sprang from the back of it. Again, his hair was soft, almost downy. I reached his hand and pressed my palm flat against his hand. His hand was larger than mine, the fingers longer, the palm wider. "Palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss." I quoted Romeo and Juliet.
"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?" he replied, without missing a beat.
That was one of the things I loved so much about him, I realized. There was someone in the world who could immediately identify what I quoted and come back with the next line. That was why I put up with the massive ego, the vanity, the conviction that he alone knew what was best for the entire world (which was not an exaggeration). Yet neither of us had said the word 'love', and I was not going to say it now, for, noticing that I had fallen still, he asked, "Is something wrong?".
"No," I said, and shelved those thoughts for future study. I leaned over and pressed a kiss into the palm of his hand, and turned my attention to his back. He must be quite a sight when naked, my hands were telling me. I wondered about something…
"Are you ticklish?" I asked.
"No. I would advise you not to test it, as you might not care for the repercussions." He was still using his playful voice.
"Ohh. And what would they be?" I curled my fingers, scratching his waist ever so lightly.
"I can't tell you; it would alarm you too much to go on."
"Now you have me worried…" I said.
Moving lower, I skipped his buttocks, which prompted a lazy "Hmm?" from him.
"In a bit," I said, and began again with his feet and calves. Nice even toes, trimmed nails. More soft hairs on his meaty calf muscles. I was also noticing something I had only read about: the subtle, natural scents of a clean, fresh body. Why should he smell faintly like fresh-cut grass here, or bread baking there?
There was a definite pleasure in touching him; it was quickening my blood and making my loins heavy. I was not going to need much to set me off after this…
Trailing my fingers back up his thighs, I surprised him by suddenly putting both my hands right on the cheeks of his ass. "Oooh, now this is nice." I kneaded them. "I bet I could bounce a coin right off this, it's so taut."
"What?" I could feel his laughter rumble through him.
"You heard me." I squeezed again.
"Are you quite finished?" he inquired, still amused.
"What a dilemma…I could keep to this side a while longer, but if you're feeling impatient...?"
"As it so happens, yes." I sat back on my haunches as he rolled over, and I began at the top again, feeling the hollow at the base of his neck where the collar bones began, the fine hairs that sprouted there also, the curve of his bicep, down his arm to his hand once more. I laced my fingers through his and gave a quick squeeze.
Back to his chest, then. There was plenty to explore there, fascinating planes of muscle, nipples. He had nice smooth skin, too. Ripples of hard muscle made up his abs. I fitted the ball of my thumb into his navel for a moment, skimmed down his flat belly, feeling the fine line of hairs further south…
And then I passed over the most interesting area again, so that I would not neglect his legs. I ran my fingers up the hard line of the shinbone that lay right beneath the skin. His knees, then, and up his thighs, brushing along the inner surfaces…
He really was feeling impatient! I heard his breath quicken as I touched him. If he wasn't fully erect, I couldn't tell how he could get any more so. I cupped him, slid my hand down to—where I encountered something that shifted under my fingers.
"What you are feeling," he informed me with lazy good humor, "is foreskin. Circumcision is not as universal in Europe as it is in America, and in any case, I wasn't born in a hospital. I trust you're enjoying this; I certainly am. "
"I am." I told him, and made a mental note to ask him more about where he was born, but later. I liked this blindness; like the night before, it freed me to act without embarrassment, without inhibitions. I could not see him, so I was forced to examine him by other means. But I was still curious. "May I—May I have a look? I promise I won't turn my head."
"Well—" he considered. "If you wish, I shall allow it. But see that you keep your promise."
I arranged myself so that my view of anything other than his lower half was obscured, and slipped the mask up. Of course I had seen pictures, but never in that state.
"Keeping in mind that I have no way of making a comparison, I'm very, very impressed." I also noticed that on his belly and legs, he was several shades darker of skin than I, despite the fact that his skin could not have seen the touch of the sun for years, but no doubt that was due to his gypsy mother's heritage, the Romany blood.
"Thank you," he commented, as I readjusted the mask, making sure I was as conspicuous in my movements as possible.
I leaned down over his midsection…and began tickling him.
His reaction was immediate. It seemed as if there was a sudden explosion of bedding, and then he grabbed me around the waist, pinned me down, and started tickling me back. He was tremendously strong. I writhed, kicked, and wiggled, trying to get away, or at least to shield my most ticklish spots from his onslaught, all the while shrieking with laughter. But he was inexorable, sending his fingers up and down my ribs, while I gasped for breath and pleaded for mercy.
Finally I twisted underneath him and crawled away on my knees. He grabbed me by the ankle and reeled me back in as if I weighed no more than a kitten. He crushed me against him with one arm, doubling me over. The other hand went directly between my legs.
"You teasing minx! Raising expectations, and then not fulfilling them… Do you exist in a permanent state of lubricity?"
"Almost…"I managed to say. Doom was doing some amazing things with that hand. He was working everything he needed to, as far as I was concerned.
"Well, now you're going to take what's coming to you!" The next thing I knew, he'd spread my knees apart, my head was pressed into a pillow, and he was in me.
It was only half as uncomfortable as it was the first time, which meant it was that much more fun. I supported myself on my arms as he found a hard driving rhythm. "You're…going…to….have to….take…all…of…it." He punctuated his words with his movements and he had, very gentlemanly, managed to keep his hand where it was rubbing and coaxing me along.
"I'm not—complaining!" I gasped. "I'm not sorry—either. Up a little—to the left. "
Doom listened, and commented. " Recalcitrant…wanton….This…is…a lovely view."
He was pushing me further into the mattress with every thrust. Despite the fact that doing it in this position made kissing impossible, I was enjoying it immensely. Then the divine spasms began, and I came with an overwhelming intensity. The world was suspended for a long moment, while the pleasure surged and crested. I was surprised I didn't pass out from it. In the meantime, he pounded into me feverishly as he reached his own conclusion. The sounds he made were very like a roar.
He collapsed on me, and rolled to one side, taking me with him, and held me, one arm over my waist. Afterglow is a glorious, joyous thing. I chuckled.
"What are you thinking of?" he asked.
"Two things. For one, I never imagined that sex would be half this much fun. Beyond the pleasure, I mean. I never thought I'd laugh this much."
"I never thought I'd laugh at all." he said, under his breath. "And the other?"
"I was wondering what the punishment for touching myself would be, if this is what I get for ticking you…NO! Stop!" He started tickling me again…
A short while later, after the things one must do after sex, involving tissues and a splash of water, we were back in that position. He did like touching, and being touched; of course he would, it's a human instinct, and spooning with him was very, very nice.
I thought of what he has said earlier, and asked, "Where were you born? You said it wasn't in a hospital."
"Mm? No, it was in a Romany camp, outside of Doomstadt—Haasenstadt, as it was then. Near the river." The Haasens were the family who ruled in between the Doom dynasties, although the Soviets had a turn for a while as well.
"Near the river—Of course, Cynthia's Gardens." Cynthia was Doom's mother. She was a Gypsy sorceress, and very beautiful. Her son took after her, with his father's brow and jaw line to give his face masculinity. I had seen photographs of the entire family, so I could see where he had gotten which trait.
"Yes. It is my memorial to her; I do not know for certain where she might be buried."
Cynthia's Gardens was a beautiful park, designed to delight its visitors. It was a welcoming place for children, with scaled-down mazes, bright colors, fountains to play in. At the center was a contemporary sculpture in bronze of a mother and child—not, I now knew, Mary and the Holy Child, but Cynthia and her son.
"The most important things about her still exist." I said.
"Yes," he said. "And her soul is at peace. And, at the moment—so is mine." He sounded surprised.
A/N: If you are concerned that this fic is going to degenerate into pure fluff, don't worry. The next chapter will begin some very un-fluffy action and suspense.