****SMUT WARNING: FOLLOWING CHAPTER CONTAINS 'M' RATED THEMES****
(^^^^don't blame me, its there in bold, red letters, or it was^^^^)
A/N: Just a reminder that this fiction is AU, and canon predictability is not observed, as relates characters actions, or certain events. There is smut, so if either circumstance is not in keeping with your sensibilities, I would only encourage you to turn back now. Otherwise, feel free to comment by way of review, or PM, your thoughts and opinions, as smut is reaching fairly deeply into the darkened, and largely ignored, recesses of my writing wheelhouse. I do hope you enjoy, and let me know in a manner comfortable to each, regardless. I must insist, weather patterns, and their movements, also reside in a darkened corner of my wheelhouse, next to any understanding of why I should need a picture of what you've eaten 3000 miles away, the entire Bush family, anyone's obsession with Caitin Jenner, and that process by which atoms are split. Enjoy the freedom of disbelief's suspension.
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"I used the state of the art
Tech-nology
Supposed to make for better living
Are we better human beings?
We've got out wires all crossed
Our tubes are all tied
And I'm straining to remember
Just what it means to be alive
A life worth living
Now you can feel it in your chest
Buildin like little bullets
Just building up the nest
And you build it up strong
And you fill it up with love
And you pray for good rain
All from the lord above"
-State of the Art, Jim James
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"Tell me….about the first girl you kissed"
"The...I think we already...Didn't I...After Clive, I thought I-"
"No, not that I recall. Nope, still a mystery waiting to be revealed, it seems."
"Ah. I could have sworn...Well, never mind. First girl, huh? Well, her name was Rebecca. I think I did mention Vivian Leigh, Yes?"
Nodding affirmatively, she held him in her gaze, and he allowed the memory to take flight, his mouth forming the words as she sat patiently waiting.
"She, that is, Rebecca, to me, bore a striking resemblance, and my heart was immediately lost. Well, as much as can happen with boys barely eleven, which is to say she figured prominently within my, ah, burgeoning adolescent period of puberty. Why are you laughing?"
"My burgeoning adolescent period of puberty? Really, Harry, just relax, won't you? Its just us. You've no need to measure every word for my sake."
"Fine. I experienced a hard on just thinking about her, and found myself regularly jacking myself off to visions of her. Better?"
"Well, more accurate, certainly. I do appreciate the effort towards unvarnished truth, if it helps."
"I'll make another note of it. So, first kiss is it? Well, what I remember of it...Funny, you'd think that something so, I don't know, monumental would be easier to recall. I feel a bit on the back foot, now that I'm, well...Okay, I remember there was a dance, and I wanted to ask her. I'd rehearsed in the bathroom mirror, and was mortified when Ben, my younger brother, have I ever mentioned him? No? Humm. Another question for later, maybe?"
"Well, he caught me, Ben, and was predictably merciless teasing me for about a week. The end result being, I couldn't muster the courage. Hardly the ladies man sat before you presently, I should say. My best friend ended up escorting her, much to my chagrin, and considerable frustration, compounded by having to watch them slow dance to every single bloody song. Well, he, Daniel was his name, had stepped away for some reason, the loo, who knows, but I watched her leave out the side entrance, and I just...I just found myself following her. She was alone, outside, and I knew there would never be another opportunity. I had convinced myself, in the time it took me to cross the room and appear by her side, that everything had been designed that way. It was, of course, ludicrous to think, but I was young, she was my adolescent fantasy, she was alone, and I just, God this is terribly uncomfortable, this game-"
"You're doing fine, Harry. I rather like hearing about you when you were still soft and pliable. You've always been a romantic. Its a wonderfully attractive quality in a man, just so you know. Tell me what it felt like, Harry. The kiss, what...How...Tell me what you felt."
"Soft and pliable? That's...Yes, I guess I was. Then. It felt, how to describe it? It felt like my entire body exploded. That's the most accurate description I can provide, but it really only scratches the surface. Her lips were soft and tasted of flavored lip gloss...something cherry, and I could count the freckles that lay across the bridge of her nose, and I could smell her hair, feel her against me as I shifted closer. Her hair was so soft, and my hands wound their way into it, holding her head, imitating everything I had learned from the cinema. A woman's hair, Ruth, I learned quickly my innate affinity that night, but I made a hash of it, to be honest. Pressed my luck, tried to explore her mouth with my tongue, too soon, rushing, you know, no finesse, and I lost her."
"She ended up marrying Daniel years later, as it happens. I was Best Man at their wedding. She tried to fix me up with her Maid of Honor, if I'm remembering correctly. I can't remember her name, but I do remember she mentioned something about Rebecca's fondness for a kiss at a dance years earlier. So, I guess I managed something along the lines of memorable performance."
"Did you sleep with her? No, the Maid of Honor."
"Well, I had gotten a bit better in my approach by that time, and she was keen to the idea. So, yes, I did. And that makes, what, about four answers to questions you owe me, Ruth?"
"Three. I'll admit to three."
"Agreed. Tell me...I'll start with an easy one. Tell me about your first kiss. And the boy, of course. Tell me about the boy. That leaves me one question remaining."
"Ummm, okay. Well, his name was Jean Paul, and he was two years older than me. I must have been eleven, maybe twelve? It was while in Paris at boarding school, after my father had died. Mother felt the change of environment would be beneficial, help me navigate my grief. I never understood the reasoning, regardless the number of times she explained her thinking. Really, I think I knew that having a precocious child underfoot would be an impediment to her own process of mourning. That, and it would have made subsequent dating difficult, so, maybe a bit about my emotional state, but more likely about removing the breathing reminder of what she had lost. It was always that way, like she had lost something, and I had just misplaced it, you know? The level of pain could never be equal. Parents just tell themselves what they need to in the end, so I didn't rebel, or act out. Well, initially I did, but it sort of diffused itself quickly."
"I felt like a part of me was dead. Literally, I could visualize a part of me, inside, browning and curling in on itself, a part of me, but deteriorating just the same. Harry, I was so desperately lonely, I can't describe it in words. I was numb is the best I can come up with. All over. Just insulated beyond reach. My father had been my best friend. My very best friend and he'd left me alone. For the first few months I really just went through the motions, living, but not breathing, not in time with anything or anyone. I spent most of my time in the library. Hours and hours. They would find me curled up somewhere and ask me to leave as they were closing. After while I became such a fixture that they allowed me to stay until everyone left together. The silence during those times, I mean Libraries are customarily silent, but after closing, it became a tomb, one vaulted sarcophagus with me curled up in the middle. It felt right to me, the tomblike quality. I felt his presence with me in those moments, and I eventually grew accustomed enough to stop sobbing as they slowly extinguished the lights, and locked the doors. The people, they were very kind to me. I'll always remember that."
His eyes took her in, as she spoke, staring across the surface of the water, her fingers absently playing with her necklace. Years later he would pinpoint this as the moment he'd determined to take her on the water with him, if only to see the moonlight dance in her eyes, the sailboat gently rocking, the comforting pinging of the sail's pulley the only sound for miles, and they the only two people in the world.
"Anyway, Libraries had always been treated with reverence, like cathedrals, by my father, and his love for them passed easily to me. I felt closest to him when I could smell the pages, escape into the words. I would sit in between the stacks of the oldest volumes. They had the most fragrantly aged scent, which to this day, I still find strangely calming. I would imagine him sat there with me, reading, pausing to share something with me, a phrase or illustration. I was quite lost, Harry. I was utterly lost and dying a little more every day."
"I've often thought my father sent Jean Paul to me. I know that sounds so...I don't know. We tell ourselves things, don't we? Just a little something sweet to even the bitter, as my grandmother would say. Well, I was lain out in between two stacks, and I had made a pile to rest my head against. It was Shakespeare, I think. They had a volume that had these wonderfully intricate wood carved illustrations, and just the poetry, the illustrations, the combination was like an aphrodisiac. I loved that book. I think I fell in love with it, to some extent. Or, maybe, just the way it made me feel...that it...made me feel. I had fabricated a number of schemes to liberate that book, but I couldn't do it, in the end. Concluded it cruel somehow, denying it to another, I guess. I've often wondered if its still there, waiting for me to return. I sometimes feel guilty about that, leaving it, though I'd feel worse were I to have stolen it. Comme ci, comme ca."
"He, Jean Paul, literally tripped over me. No, really, Harry. He really tripped over me, catching his foot on my side, and sprawling full on top of me. It was funny because we both reacted the same way, immediately checking to see if the books were damaged. Well, I know, but they were really old and fragile. He kept scooting around on me while trying not to hurt me, or the book he refused to let go of, and I guess my grandmother would have called it a 'meet cute,' like the cinema? And it was. We managed to sort ourselves, and, oh, I don't know, something about him holding an ancient copy of Tess of the d'Urbervilles and readjusting his glasses properly, I just...I felt like I hadn't breathed, really taken a breath, before then in the whole of my life."
"Big fan of Hardy were you?"
"Is that your third question?"
"No. Just curious."
"The game is rather based on curiosity, Harry."
"It's not my third question. I'm saving it, if you must know."
"I see. Well,...that particular book was a favorite of my father's. And you have to admit that particular piece is vaguely sexy to an extent. So, you can see where I would be easily inclined-"
"To see your father in your 'meet cute?' Yes, I can. You appear a bit of a romantic yourself, Ruth. Those long passages filled with longing are vaguely sexy, but you knew it wouldn't end well. That bit when Angel carried her across the water? Scorching bit of literary lust there, I'll admit that."
"Maybe, yes. A bit, anyway. Who wouldn't want to be carried across water? Oh, Angel, he was just...well, that's another answer for a future question, maybe? So that's how we met. His parents had divorced and in their haste to pull themselves back together, he rather fell by the wayside. Old story, same theme. So we were rather alined already by solitude, a nomadic existence within so many flush with activity and companionship. We told each other everything but I think we were too young at the time to really understand the preciousness of what we had created. I mean to say, we spent every spare moment together, and it was never awkward or difficult, it just was...right. Like you following Rebecca outside? Felt exactly as it should have, and maybe we had fallen in love in a sense. Its just that, at that age, isn't everything more potent, deliciously intense and genuine, and you just have no idea at the time how much you should treasure it, would come to treasure it, the experience, when your older, and know better?"
"Richer. Everything is richer, vibrant, painfully new and immediate. Yes, I understand, Ruth. It's the beauty and pain of childhood."
"Exactly, yes! It was vibrant. So, well, two years go by, and things are mostly as they were. Except I had become thirteen, fourteen, and he had made fifteen or sixteen, and things began taking on a different...tone. Our interactions went from innocent to something gradually more, um...suggestive. It was like every spoken word had double meaning, flush with innuendo and yearning. And physical. There was that, the painfully cautious and yet absolutely wonderful process of discovering what all these parts of you were meant for? And the dreams. Oh, God, Harry, I would have these dreams about him, and wake up just, I'm embarrassed to admit, it was lust, and love, and want. I just wanted to climb inside him. Which, as could be expected, was a feeling he reciprocated and we became, in very short time, both anxious and uncomfortable within each other's company. The physical proximity was the most delicious torture, I can still taste it."
My God, this woman.
"The first kiss was, well, if I'm honest, complete rubbish. We kept bumping noses, and couldn't decide which way the other would be leaning, where to put our hands, where not to put our hands, it was...I guess it was beautiful in its way, too. With a little practice, we got the hang of it. So, it was the third kiss that I remember most. Do you want-"
"Yes. Absolutely."
"Well, I guess I realized that sitting side by side wasn't really...conducive, so I...I just climbed into his lap. We were in the park, and it was Paris, spring, of course. Had to be, right? I remember looking down into his face and feeling this...sense of power over him. Like we were the only two people in the world and I could make him do anything in that moment. Do you know what I mean?"
"As it happens, Ruth, I'm keenly familiar, yes. I'm quite certain you could have."
"I understand the hair fixation you mentioned. I do, because I couldn't stop my hands from running through his, and it just...fell together...we suddenly knew where to place our hands, and noses, and lips, and I held his face as I kissed him. I remember his hands moving to the middle of my back, and pulling me into him, pressing up and against, and when our tongues finally met, I thought something had broken inside me. Really, I thought I was coming down with fever, and everything was breathing and wet and I couldn't stop shaking, and he just whispered I love you, I love you, I love you, until I stopped moving. It was rather earth shattering, for me."
"Are you telling me you-"
"Climaxed? Yes. Too much?"
"No. No. No. I just...No, its fine. Its good. I'm good."
"You just spent your third question, you understand-"
"Fine. That's fine."
"Harry? Really, was that too much? You're doing that thing with your face, and I'm getting a bit concer-"
What thing with my face?
"No! Look, you hear about that, its like the Holly Grail of sexual mythology. The ability to...with only...I mean you never think its real, for bloody sake."
She's going to make me say it. The look of complete confusion demanded that he elaborate if only to remove the deepening furrow forming between her raised eyebrows. She'll be the death of me. And what thing with my face?
"As a boy, you hear things. You know, wonder things, can a girl come by fondling her breasts, does she make noise, do they masturbate? And, right now, I'm loaded with a group of images. I just...Jesus, Ruth."
"Images?"
"C'mon Ruth! I am a man, for Christ's sake! Game or not you can't just drop something like that and expect me not to envision descriptive visuals."
"Your visualizing me in the midst of climax? Right now?"
"Okay, I'll admit it, I was joking before, so, yeah, I started it. But right now what I need is for you not to say that word again. Just for...until the visions...just don't say climax again."
"Are you still seeing...me?"
"Ruth, I swear to God I think you did that on purpose. And yes, I am, no thanks to any mercy on your part."
"How's that self denial and control working for you now?"
"I'm at a considerable loss of both, thank you."
If it weren't for his present state of extreme physical discomfort he would have paid closer attention to the tone decorating the question. As it stood, he was quite occupied by conflicting urges, the primary being one which longed to lay back and envision her as she described herself, enjoying the pulsing of his cock in his hand, the other counseling the more immediate need to remember she had been a girl of twelve or thirteen, and the subsequent thought of jacking himself off to that vision left him both disgusted, and a throbbing set of bollocks. Nevertheless, the warning had been there, had he thought to notice, so her following statement should have been expected, if not entirely predictable.
"You were wrong. You believe I think you limited? You think I don't look at you as understanding the emotional side? As being able to be emotional? You couldn't have been more incorrect if you tried, Harry. You are all emotion, you simmer with it, it radiates from you in waves, and I almost can't stand that I know that, and watch as you concentrate so hard to hide it. It breaks my heart, a little more everyday. But today, Harry, today you couldn't stop yourself, not in complete control, and your abilities at effective self denial left you hanging because you wanted more, you needed more, and you let me see it, clear as day. You wanted me to see it, because its...its who you are, Harry. You need me to see you. You know it, and I know it. So if I deliberately provoked you with words, or images, or suggestions, I'll not apologize because you have that effect on me every bloody day. And so now you've just a taste of what its like to be in your presence. Just a taste, Harry."
She will make you bleed.
Holy mother of God. Is this what she feels like? Whatever the equivalent of balls she possessed sucked so far up into her abdomen that the ache for him manifests as painful? Wound so tight that the slightest touch would set off a fireworks of uncontrollable physical urges that rendered her completely incapable of rational thought, reduced to her basest self, rutting under the moon for having required the desire to do so remain deeply restrained inside herself? And in allowing him that taste, that minimal hint of a taste, would he be granted opportunity and lunge his way for more? Did she want to consume him as he wanted to consume every minute inch of her naked, glistening body, her cunt throbbing and running with arousal, his fingers ramming into her as she bucks and begs to ride him, reaching for his cock, reaching for his soul? It's out of his mouth before he could stop it, and like that run away train speeding towards its catastrophic end, he gave himself up to her words, and her belief that he was not limited, stunted, emotionally inept, but radiating with need, and want, and love.
And love.
"I want you. I want you, Ruth. Have done for some time."
"I'm aware, yes."
"You're aware? Don't cock tease me Ruth. I've hardly an understanding of what you're playing at right now, but cock teasing me to teach me some misguided lesson is a very bad idea. I'm not some green boy with no idea what, or where, to place my hands."
"Harry. Just...calm down. Please. I'm not playing at anything. I can assure you anything having to do with your cock is most certainly not about teasing you. I'm trying, very badly it seems, to tell you I...know you're not a boy. I, oh shag, I'm trying to tell you that I, I've wanted to find a way to...bollocks, I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you full on the mouth, and I want you to kiss me back. I want to nibble on your lips, and I want to feel them, know them, learn them. I want to hold your face and straddle your lap and-"
He grabbed her, as she was talking, lifting her up and over him, his back screaming against him in effort, the spikes of pain forgotten the moment her body rested against him, on him, his cock straining against his trousers. She took his face in her hands, gently, reverently, dipping towards him, pulling back, adjusting the tilt of her head. Her eyes locked with his, her bottom lip stuck between her teeth, and he paused a moment to meditate on the vision of her above him, her trembling lip trapped in an effort to control her need, and he moved quickly, capturing her lip, sucking it between his, massaging it with his own, her moan filling his ears.
And then, quite magnificently, his world went blindingly white hot.
She was sucking on his lip, drawing it into her mouth, running her tongue along the surface, and he pulled back, placing his hands on either side of her head, leaning in and capturing hers between his teeth, pulling delicately, testing her threshold, releasing it only to draw it back between his lips, sucking gingerly until he couldn't stand the tension, parting her lips with his tongue, he ran it across her bottom lip, then her top, and then finally, delving into her mouth, the tip burning as it met hers, and the groan which escaped him felt as though it had been held captive within him for the whole of his life, waiting for this moment.
He could have stayed like that, theirs mouths locked and exploring the other, for the rest of their lives and not conceive of anything more desirable. His was on the cusp of telling her, confessing that and so much more out loud when he felt the tremor of her body, subtle, almost excruciatingly quiet, and he watched as she began to let go and roll with the wave rising within her. All he could think was Holy Grail, and he knew he needed to do little more than continue kissing her to bring her home. Settling himself beneath her, he smiled as she opened her eyes, body shaking, her mouth set in an 'O' shape he wanted nothing more than to nibble, mesmerized as she began to move, and his hands guided her from behind, leaning forward to capture her mouth again, drawing from her the panted breaths she expelled, tasting the wine, feeling her mouth the word 'Harry,' her face flushed and yet pale against the sky above her, rocking now, her softly whispered, I've wanted this, I've wanted this, you, you, mirroring the internal mantra playing within his own head.
He had leaned into her ear with the intention of nibbling her ear lobe, but was halted as she bucked suddenly, and was left to whisper, I want to watch you, Ruth, before leaning back to do exactly that. What she did then, as he watched, yearning and taunt with his own need, would live with him until his last moment of consciousness. She drew her hand from his head, reaching down between them, drawing her skirt up to expose a startlingly pale, smooth thigh, drawing a single finger beneath her panties, black, eclipsing the light of her skin briefly, drawing it back, and he saw it glistening, catching the light the way the moon was caught in the water's surface. She placed her fingertip against his bottom lip, and the scent it carried nearly drove him mad with need, coating it with her juices, his nostrils flaring in response, and she smiled as she slid her finger into his mouth. Rendered powerless, he became primally Pavlovian, sucking her finger, his tongue running the length, circling the tip, all but grunting his command for more, and as she made to draw her finger back, he bit down, using his own hand to draw her panties aside, his fingers each yearning to be covered in her juice, the marrow of her he had long yearned to consume.
He could have manipulated her climax then, with his fingers, adeptly massaging her wet, swollen pussy, but his need to taste and smell her as she watched him proved too seductive an option to decline, and he trailed her moisture along her exposed thigh as he locked eyes with her and began to suck his fingers, one by one, and she began to lick and nibble his lips simultaneously, and the thought that she was tasting herself as she tasted him became more erotically satisfying to him than if he had been sunk deep inside her.
She bucked again, and then again, and he thought he was on the verge of witnessing what was only whispered about when he were a boy, and never experienced as a man. It was cruel, he knew, but he chose that moment to whisper in her ear, Tell me...Can you climax with only a kiss, Ruth? She laughed, drawing in a breath suddenly, her head thrust skyward and her eyes closed, body glowing, her reply coming in bursts, her body bucking and rolling against him, If...he knows...what...he's doing...Harry. Reaching up, he drew her face to his, and as if she had issued a challenge, he began methodically ravaging her mouth wanting nothing more in that moment but to watch as she came.
Her movements became frenzied, and she wrapped one hand around his shoulder, the other placed against his chest, pulling her mouth from his, looking down, panting, watching herself as she ground against him, gasping as she gained speed, inhaling his mouth once again, whimpering against his lips, and he drew her hips towards him as she pushed her hand for better leverage against his chest. She cried out as the force of her climax thundered within her, and her face took on a look he thought indescribably beautiful.
She came apart, hovering above him, and yet encircling him, her scent suffusing the soft spaces around them, and he understood then what he could never have understood as a boy, as the man he had been before her. The complexities of the female form, the beauty of an anguished face while in the midst of ecstasy, the sounds of whimpering released like a chorus, all known to him, and yet almost pristine as he experienced them anew with her, as though he had been asleep the better part of his life.
What rang magically new was the certain knowledge the power of a kiss driven climax could never be matched in his memory, and would never in any circumstance be granted lightly, or faked. It was very like the mythical Holy Grail because it existed as the culminating result of absolute love, absent fondling manipulations, words, friction, invasion. It was, in the simplest terms, the purest expression of souls connecting, a celebration, rare and understandably believed to be extinct.
He was reminded of a John Boorman movie he'd happened to see years ago. Arthurian in theme, the Holly Grail was depicted as that rare vessel which granted a rebirth, cured that sickness of the soul bereft of hope and humanity, generosity, forgiveness, and that uncommon ability to both give and receive love. At the time, the message had little affect him, but as he thought on it presently, he felt it expand in his chest, his unexpected chance to find himself worthy of her within his grasp.
The theme has been recycled numerous times in the period between then and now, and formed the treasure most sought after, and desperately protected in the Dan Brown series he had devoured when last sailing the Mediterranean. The Grail had been, ironically, a person, a descendant of Jesus, holding within her proof of his humanity, his sacrifice. It was light reading, the historical aspects had appealed to him at the time, as did the espinonage-lite plot, but the symmetry to Ruth allowed it clearer emphasis, and he brushed the strands of hair that had fallen across her face to expose her half closed eyes, and soft smile.
"No, please don't move, Harry. I just want to...listen to your heartbeat. I love the feel of it beating against my cheek."
Muffled against his chest, the request was only slightly slurred, owing to wine or orgasm he wouldn't guess, though he suspected likely a consequence of both. He could feel the weight of her head, and the warmth emanating as it rested next to his heart, and the heat of her hand as it delicately stroked his erect cock through the fabric, and he chuckled softly at the realization that he'd little need for anything further than this simple embrace.
"I think you misunderstood me, Ruth. Earlier."
"Humm?" He liked the way her voice felt as it hummed against his chest. The feel of it, the sound, lazy and sated, etched its way into his memory as her face contorted in ecstasy had burned through him. Her fingers applying slight pressure, and his hips churning beneath, cautiously.
"I asked you not to say climax."
"So, you think I decided to have one instead, is that it?"
"Something like that."
"Tell me...How do you feel? The truth."
"I was given to understand the game is based on truth. And curiosity, of course."
"I told you you'd like it. You do, admit it."
"I like this game very much, Ruth. Rather grateful to it, if I'm honest."
"So, tell me...how do you feel?"
"Alive. I feel alive, Ruth."
"I'm...glad. That's good."
"And you? Tell me...how do you feel?"
"Oh, Harry. I feel...I feel like I've been hibernating before now. I feel like I'm safe with you. I feel like every moment of my life has been leading to this, to you. All prelude, before you. I feel like I'm dreaming, any minute I'll wake up, and my ceiling will be above me, and my bed will be half empty, and the loneliness, it will crush me, Harry. I feel like I'm waiting for it all to be taken away from me. And I just want to lay here and listen to your heartbeat because then I'll know, I'll know that you're real, and I'll know that you really did kiss me, and I'll know that you really did watch me as I climaxed and you smiled, and there was so much wonder and care in your eyes, and I'll know that all this...you and me...I'm not imagining it, that I'm not half mad from wanting you, and needing you, and-"
He silenced her with his lips, wanting to quiet the tumult of words, wanting her to understand, without need of words, that he was here with her, would always be with her if she would only allow it, that he felt the same, that he loved that she rested against his heart like it was her home, her safe place similar to what she had offered him so long ago after Clive. She tasted so right to him, as though his tongue had been waiting for her to ripen, every other woman paling and soured in the comparison, his own years of prelude to her.
"I want to stay here, with you, Harry. I wish we could just stay here together. I...I can't believe that came out of my mouth, but it's true, just the same. I just want to be with you. I can't...I can't think straight for wanting it."
Her mouth began a trail of kisses along his neck, back again to his ear, drawing his earlobe between her teeth, licking the tip as she bit down slightly, and he gave himself over to the force of her touch, tilting his head back to allow access, the freedom he felt with her both frightening and exhilarating.
"I've wanted to do this, you've no idea how long."
She parted the collar of his shirt, her fingertips barely glancing across the surface of his skin, exposing the juncture, the 'V' shaped divot marking his collarbone, dipping her finger into her wine, allowing the drops to land cradled in the center, her tongue moving to lap at him, kissing and sucking at his flesh. He could feel her hair brushing his chin, smell the scent that had become tied to her in his mind, the olfactory hallmark announcing her, freesia, some faint hint of gardenia, mixed with the spice intrinsic to her state of seemingly habitual arousal, and he knew he would not stop at being a spectator this time, knew that he had to sink himself into her, claim her, invade and thrust within her.
He moved quickly, laying her down, her eyes sapphire spheres glowing as he lifted her skirt, exposing her trembling thighs, the hair adorning her pussy barely hinted at through the material of her black panties. And there was something about the close, salty air, the water lapping quietly further down, and the smell of moss, strands of seagrass, that combination mixed with her scent, the quiet of their peaceful solitude pierced by her moans lifting upwards and merging with the darkened midnight sky above them which undid him, decimated his self imposed fortress, the boxes of himself lain open, contents spilling all around her, and he was quite beyond able to stop himself, had little desire to do so even if he had thought to try.
"I love you to the sky, and back.
In the oceans we swim,
On the Milky Way we glide.
And the stars we hold.
And if you should fall from me,
Sat side by side our yellow crescent moon,
I will catch your hand,
I will stop your fall,
And never, ever let go."
With every word spoken as prayer to her he felt the bindings within him loosen, could envision them as they came undone, placing gentle kisses along her inner thighs, the realization he had memorized the pledge the moment he'd heard her voice caress the words occurring to him for the first time. Smiling to himself, appropriate, he'd thought, as he drew her panties away, and gazed at her for what he believed was the first time he'd ever truly seen her, the soul of her, as her eyes, her eyes, held him, and he was surprised to find his hands were shaking in a way uncharacteristic of him, the him he had become giving way to the him he had once been, the person his mother had wanted him to become, the man who understood the gift lain before him as he now realized he never had with Jane, or the others, the numerous others comprising his own prelude.
She had become everything. She was all and absolute, and though he had yet to touch and caress every part of her, his certainty that he already knew the physical map of her, could navigate every inch as if retracing what had never before been seen or touched was keen.
As he entered her, his senses overloading as she enveloped him with warmth, his body going entirely numb, an instinctually desperate response to counter the maddeningly feverish explosion within him, his mind emptied of any thought beyond her, sinking deeper, her sigh as she drew her legs around him, pulling him deeper, and he thought he had never in his life been deeper, never in his life been rendered so acutely vulnerable, never in his life felt he understood what it meant to find a home before now.
Moving within her, her swollen pussy, hot, so wet he could hear every thrust and withdrawal as their hips came together slowly, drawing it out, her hands pushing him further on his bum, and hers lifting to meet every thrust, painfully slow, the air catching his cock as he withdrew to the tip, cooling, and he grasped himself to massage her inflamed clit, covering it with the first drops of his seed, wanting their scents to merge, wanting to taste both, the combination they made, wanting to do everything at once, feeling the stumbling adolescent and the grown, broken man simultaneously.
They were still more than three quarters clothed and something about that appealed to his baser urges, the illicit, sudden unexpectedness of finding himself inside her surpassing any fantasy he'd thought to entertain previous, and he watched her eyes dilate as the slow bucking of her body announced her coming climax, sinking all the way into her as he drew her face to his, grinding against her, so deep and yet not deep enough. He almost whimpered with the thought she understood his need, his desire to merge entirely within her, when she pushed him back, leaned up on her elbows as he fell back onto his knees, I want to watch, as she rolled her hips against him, her eyes focused on where they joined, his cock glistening with her juice, and his eyes focused on her face as it contorted, as her jaw began to tremble, as her rhythm increased, and the deliciously wet sound they made was the only thing his ears would hear.
He watched the play of her stomach muscles as they moved against her shirt, as she drew herself up against him, her nipples hard against his chest, and the friction of clothing was very nearly unimaginably painful. She was riding him, her hips bucking rhythmically, her breath carrying quiet bursts of sound, panting, her back arching as she rolled against him, looking down, the audible, Ummmm passing from between her lips halted as her teeth captured the bottom, bitting down, and his hands pulling her violently with every thrust, watching, too, as he disappeared inside her, his nearly guttural fuck me emerging from between gritted teeth, drawing a smile from her, and if he'd thought he had given over earlier, he realized in that moment the belief a certain misapprehension as his body unleashed itself of the restraints he'd only partial understanding were there.
He'd never been, in the past, a customarily vocal lover, but he found himself incapable of controlling the words, the sounds passing his lips and was delighted to find her of similar mind, her pants becoming commands in his ear, their battering against one another verging on violent, each Oh God from her louder than the one before, and his fuck me becoming a simplified, single fuckme in answer, a harsh mantra whispered repeatedly in her ear. He meditated her throat as her head thrust back on her shoulders, her body bucking furiously on his cock, her pussy squeezing against him, milking his release to the breaking point, and he would have stayed like that for as long as she rode the crest but for her whispered Come, Harry, I want to feel you come, and he felt not the slightest bit self conscious as he slammed her down on his pulsing cock, once, twice, and exploded within her, his face held in her hands, and her eyes intent on watching every emotion he exposed from deep within him.
She had collapsed against him, and he could feel the barest hint of spasms in his back, as the adrenaline released began receding to pick at those aged bones in his body which had long since prevented him from engaging sexual congress without the comfort of a bed, and yet he held onto her, and his cock continued to twitch within her, aftershocks, which produced the pleasant circumstance wherein she began to move over him again, slowly, her forehead against his neck, drawing him in, unhurried, gradually, and his cock began to throb so quickly he knew he must have died.
He watched her, intent on seeing what he could bring her to, and she smiled into his eyes as her look took on one closest to agony in description, her hands on his shoulder and the back of his neck. He reached in between them, finding her swollen clit, and pinched it between thumb and forefinger, over and over, stopping only to insert one finger to join his cock, using another to massage her over the edge, amazed that she could remain aroused, that she could effortlessly accommodate his considerable size and more, yet remain so exquisitely tight around him. The force of her climax, her third, not that he was counting, proved more powerful than before, aided, he had little doubt, by her decision to join her hand with his, massaging the portions of his cock as he exposed it, and her own clit, while she stared intently into his face, and he knew from that moment forward he would make love to her every moment of every day from that moment until the Apocalypse, and count himself blissfully happy.
She maneuvered her right leg over his shoulder, and he had the fleeting image of an illustration from the Karma Sutra seen years ago which fled just as quickly as she moaned, So we can both see, I want you to see, and it became mere moments later that he watched as they both came, her sopping, bucking cunt virtually eating his cock as he strained with her to give her everything in him.
It was the most erotic thing he had ever witnessed or experienced. He had the bite mark on his shoulder to remind him, branding him even years later.
"I do," she whispered.
"I do," he replied.
And though he'd little reason to know it for a certainty then, the vow became both the most magnificent and torturous two words he'd ever spoken, or would ever speak, in his lifetime.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
A/N: I offer luxurious amounts of gratitude to NavyLady, Sparky75, Transmissionends64, NatesDate, and, of course, Sherlock1921, for never failing to review, and encourage me to continue. And welcome to that club VitaSeptima, and VelocityGirl. Thank you all! Your tickets entitle you all to this extended ride on the imagination train that is my lunatic brain, should you find yourselves still willing. And before anyone gets the idea that this scene by the silo (yes, that silo) is over, let me assure you, its not by a long shot. Only about 1:00am their time. ;P