.
.
They're not gods.
But, even so, Druig prays to no God or gods if such existence reveals themselves. They will attain no worship off of his lips.
If there is salvation, to give and be given, it is to be sought out in himself.
So far, there's no other Eternals to contact about the truth. No signals. No intuitive map placement or energy reading. Thena searches by foot on Deneb-7, as requested by Starfox during his last visit on the Domo. She vanishes for over a week. It's nothing new.
Druig wanders the halls of their spaceship, his hands clasping together at his front, taking in the quiet.
He ends up on the bridge, or what should be the bridge buried underneath Makkari's immense collection of human artifacts. Ancient stone swords. Gilded coffers. Famously missing paintings done by Vincent van Gogh and Fernand Léger and Frans van Mieris the Elder which every museum lamented. The original crown jewels of England and Llywelyn's coronet. Ganj-e Badavard. Patiala Necklace (with the exception of a few diamonds).
She's settled herself on the floor, lying a little on her back and propped up by a roll of Turkish carpets. Reclining like a Queen-Out-Of-Time among her treasures. As soon as Druig's eyes land on her, his stern-looking mouth loosens. Quickness draws out his breath.
Without a word, Druig knows she's sensed him.
Makkari doesn't look up from speed-reading a tome, crooking open her legs to allow Druig to crawl over her, settling himself on top of her. "My Makkari," he acknowledges, lying down, resting on her belly with his weight, pressing his elbows into the floor.
For the briefest of moments, Druig thinks Makkari's eyes curiously flick to him. She slouches.
His mouth quirks.
Eventually, there's little use in ignoring his persistent heat and Druig wiggling himself on top of her for the attention.
She lowers the gilded, hand-sewn tome.
Druig signs to her with his arms awkwardly apart on either side of Makkari's hips and whispers along.
What are you thinking about?
He's not quite expecting the salacious look. How it flames deep in Makkari's eyes, as she slowly slides a hand down her body, making eye contact with him. Druig leans up, steadying a hand to her knee. His eyebrows go up when her hand flattens noticeably over her jean's crotch.
Makkari's hand remains there, as her forefinger points up to him—You, You, You—and Druig can only stare.
And then, she turns her hand, repeatedly curling in the same finger.
Come.
The first grip of arousal starts in his balls, and Druig groans lightly through it, smirking.
"Funny," he drawls, not suppressing the smugness, "I was hoping for the same."
Druig pulls off his black leather jacket, army by arm, careful to not further smush the Twinkies in his pockets. He does wanna eat them later.
He cherishes Makkari's beaming smile in the lamplight.
When she's unbuttoning her jeans, Druig takes hold of Makkari's wrists, gently pinning her to the floor.
"Ah, ah. Makkari."
This is a mock-scolding, poorly veiled by the glee alight in Druig's blue eyes and in his voice.
She struggles for half a second, with only a fraction of her strength. Druig clucks his tongue softly while situating comfortably over her.
"Don't touch."
Makkari juts out her chin, lidding her eyes and tilting her head in defiance.
Sensing the playfulness in this, Druig mirrors her head-tilt, grinning down. He lets her go, now shucking off his worn, black tee with one hand. Druig reaches for Makkari's jeans, waiting for her nod before finishing, hooking his thumbs in and working everything down to her thighs.
They rarely…
Amusement crinkles the corners of Makkari's eyes when Druig grumbles a Peruvian curse under his breath, unable to free her of one of the jean-legs and complete his task. As soon as it's done, he huffs, acting as if the scramble never occurred at all.
Well… it's not often they get a minute, let alone an entire eon, to themselves…
Druig catches Makkari unclasping what must be her bra, slipping it off, leaving on her red, long-sleeve shirt. The hem rides up as she scoots further down under him, exposing her muscular abdomen. He takes his opportunity, completely leaning over, exhaling a hum to her navel.
To his utter delight, she shivers.
He knows Makkari is best at identifying vibrations and controlling the sensory output. It would take more than this to make her come apart. Druig would like to see it though. He would. He would like to gauge how much Makkari can endure with his heat and friction.
Druig's mouth widens open, puffing a breath up against her skin.
The faintest gasping noise, and the sensation of Makkari arching herself into him… it sends more throbbing arousal into him.
She thrusts both of her hands under her own shirt, groping near her throat and her breasts.
Makkari's lips glisten wet as her tongue unconsciously swipes them.
"So, so beautiful…" Druig murmurs. He grins, crawling himself back between Makkari's naked legs.
His lips and fingertips drag into the crest of her pubic hair, eliciting another long, pleasurable shiver out of Makkari. His beautiful Makkari. Druig's tongue edges downwards, feeling for the ridge of her clitoris, licking in short, small laps. Makkari tastes… fuck, she tastes incredible…
Makkari…
His other hand aims for his cock, gripping it underneath his pants, squeezing firmly.
He lets out a confused chuckle, snapping his head up when Makkari's knees thump against the sides of his head. Druig watches as she absentmindedly touches his jaw, and then signing. Her hands echo the warmth of her bare breasts. Druig craves it. He craves all of her.
Don't touch.
"Of course I won't," Druig insists, signing back, flashing a leer as she wryly mouths his name and nosing her hip-bone.
Makkari goes upright, crooking her legs again. She presses tiny, revering kisses into Druig's hair, over and over, embracing what she can of him.
A softly smiling Druig returns to the open-mouthed worship of her cunt. By the time he's inside her, Druig knows it will be heaven, plunging over the edge with his release and Makkari clenching so sweetly around him. Maybe it's where he belongs.
Instead of God or gods, he calls out for Makkari.
.
.