Ashes to Ashes Pt. 02

My breasts are still slick and shining by the time he is done. My entire front is wet and the arousal, the licks and the kisses bound into me. I take my bottle and shove him to his back. Not quite the valleys I have, but his collar bone, the lines of muscle, the indents and rivets, there is enough to pool and run like snow melt over him. Enough to give the expanse to run my tongue over his stomach, his chest his neck. And the water, carrying the heat from his body, still holding the chill from the shade, flows into me as I drink from him. I sate my thirst through him. I settle on his stomach, once my bottle has run dry. The lines have captured a lake for me and I drink it all. I taste him and hold him and let my tongue run through and over the burn marks. Stars and moon, constellations of endless night, I devour them all to sate the endless thirst for cool water.

Something I like very much has been poking me in the chest for the past while. For one last moment, I watch him breathe, watch him stare at me through eclipsing eyes. For a moment, I swear I see a spark jump in the dark pit of his pupils.

"Please," he moans and I grin. I grin with all the smugness my soul can muster. I rise, just to my elbows, freeing the tent of fabric to stand tall and proud.

"Please what? There are so many things I want to do. You'll have to be specific," I tease. There are very, very many things I want to do and have done to me. Tease him, that's one and I'm doing it now. Idly, I rest my chin at his peak, looking as innocent as I can manage. A single arc jumps between his tip and my bone. He twitches and huffs.

"Please kiss it," he whines.

And I do just that. It's on the list, maybe not quite at the top, but close enough. He was polite about it, anyway. Through the fabric, I kiss the top, softly, letting the arc jump between us and do most of the work. The tent bounces and twitches and I get a flash of what it feels like to have lightning run down my shaft that I do not have. Shame. There are things I could do if that was the case.

It feels almost like dying, energy racing and setting a panic, straight to the heart, up to the skull, danger and peril at every inch. He stops breathing for a good long moment. I think I did rather well.

"Do it again," he pants, "Take it out."

I put my chin back on its perch and smile as much as my face will allow. It hurts my cheeks a little bit to do so. And I wait, wait for the rapturous panic to subside, for him to come back to his senses and do some simple logic. Ike is sharp. Maybe not in the right headspace for cognition at the moment, but he'll figure out what I want to hear.

"Please," he moans and my core melts into glass slag at the raw need in his voice. The raw need sloughing off of him so dire and desperate. I almost taste it in the water still clinging to his body.

"Please what?"

"Please take it out and do it again."

I hope this is the last time I have to go through the lesson, because that need of his does not compare to mine. And his need is bleeding into me through the gaps behind thoughts. I can't tell where his begins and mind ends. But the line does not matter. The blurred boundary does not exist if we do not let it.

His enthusiasm makes it difficult to free, delightfully so. He stains and aches against the confinements. The energy threatens to tear seam and weave alike for such sweet a freedom. But, under my care, under my ministrations, he is free, tall and proud and pleading with the world for some form of rapture contact. There is a subtle miracle out there for him and him alone. It will make him shoot and burst to garner sweet release.

I just let it rest on my face, obscuring one of my eyes, letting the current do as it pleases. His pressure is more on me. Weight and heave, he is weight and heave. The chill slides in anyway, cutting through the dense wall of weight, walls, blockades, defenses, to race through his body. He sings for me. He sings pleading and needy and desperate. His bass is music of mewling hunger and the relief at the scent of a fest. There is just the idea of satiation, standing so far away.

My own need wins out against the desire of soft current running between us. Ike is here, under me and on me. Our thirsts have been sated. We have a shady rock to crawl under. No better place. No better time.

I press my lips where the shaft again, suggesting the chill takes the path. It agrees and I watch the light throb and twitch in his veins. His breath hitches and stutters and stops before he hisses and grunts. I break and let the heavy silence fill the room. Close he is close and I need to stop.

He eventually starts breathing again and I sigh. I nudge him aside, pressing his length to my cheek. He gets a kiss on his pelvis and I shield him from the worst of it.

"Flattering," I purr, "But something to work on."

"Sorry," he manages to gasp, "But please take it easy with that trick. It's kind of overwhelming."

I kiss his thigh, letting the chill rampage just beyond his line. He hitches and stops again, eyes wide and panicked. There is no control. Not here. Not like this.

"That is something for me to work on then. Not right now, though. Later."

He sighs and groans, deep, deep in his chest. I give him a second, a moment, to collect himself and ease his mind. His pulse throbs through the length, slowing than I thought it would be, but still strong. Rock crushing strong, forge hammer strong, sky collapsing thunder strong.

He calms down, just a bit, just enough for him to try again. I choose the same spot to kiss. He does well. The contact sends a shiver through him and blanks the thoughts, but it passes. I do it again for the same response. He does need tutoring, but only once. The sensation is mapped forever and always and he knows the proper response.

The spark cold burn dances on my tongue, dancing up the vein and line. I summit to the tip at the end of the pleasantly, excitingly long path. Eager, the hollow in my stomach is eager for him again. I am eager for him again. I take one more kiss and I get a bead of bitter salt, warm and heavy over my tongue and a tectonic shift under my lips.

I pull away again and give him a moment, smiling sweetly as his eyes find mind.

Curses, damnations, praise and worship, love and hate mixed together. Love that I can do this. Hate that I did not do more. I saved his life and brought him home. I will take more than the music he makes and a handful of moments. He lays his head back and tries to find salvation in the rock ceiling. There is none. I am here and I bring disaster in my wake. I kiss again, just to watch him writhe.

"You are a monster," he hisses.

"I am," I hum.

"Nothing else to say about that?"

"Not really. I am a monster. The worst thing to crawl through this world. I should be dead so the world could be a better place. And I'm about to suck your dick. Do you have a problem with that?"

"I'm honestly a little scared."

"That's the right decision. But you weren't scared in the cave."

"I absolutely was, but I also thought that I was going to die. Now I know it."

That does pull a chuckle from me. I won't kill him. Not yet at least. He needs to give me what I deserve before he dies, so right now, there is an invested interest to keep him alive and hard.

Poor thing really. Twitching and bouncing and spitting and whing desire. It knows, it has to know that the current I'm letting into it is torture. Never quite enough. Never quite the right spot to go over and that's all it wants. Something tight and hot and with, squeezing and wriggling and twitching with in. It only gets kisses and licks and thunder bolt tickles.

And I give it. In my mouth, open lips and wriggling, writhing tongue and a maelstrom of the current. His veins light up with the current, artery and nerve alight with white-blue heat, taking the sense and scouring them clean. Salt and sweat and skin, good taste because it is him. It is Ike on my tongue. The way the heated flesh dances on my tongue is him and the current draws another pearly bead of bitter salt for me.

Everything about him is tense, the legs, the arm, the chest. The gentle pressure thrums through warm veiny rock. All joints lock. All flesh flexes. Everything poured and full, shaking with overwhelmed intensity. The chill enters him and carves, whittles, nicks and chips away at the monument. I leave myself hollow, slowly, filling myself with the beading weight of Ike's taste and scent.

More, I take more and more and more of him, tracing vein and ridge with my tongue, snaking and licking, sizable and rigid, strong and filling, stretching my lips just bit, just enough to feel the slight burn of skin cracking around my lips. My pain and my current take him through the pain, through the stretch. And still I take more.

Empty raw hunger and need. Empty ravenous starvation in my core, my soul, wilderness barren wasteland and Ike brings warmth and feast. A behemoth promising sluggish satiation with its immensity. I answer and taunt and goad. I am unconquerable. The claim of my better is paper thin. But it still claims, still sings of weight enough to crush and pulverize.

I hum a song of cold needle pain as my hands go to his stomach, watching the lines connect. Lightning bolts frozen in the flesh and blood, pulsing light that makes the beast cry out in dreadful euphoria. The burn scars connect with the light. He is the night sky constellation gallery and he is in my mouth and moaning my name. I reach the base and bury my nose in his pelvis, damp with water and sweat.

I hold there for the storm clouds to gather and grow. Ike's no longer in complete control. His hips quake and thrust and buck. There is more there, more vacant expanse to fill. But I hold him down. He struggles in the wounded animal way. Fear, delicious fear rolls off him, fear of beast he provoked into ecstasy.

The lack of control still succumbs to a steady soul. There is a pattern and I watch. Shallow and deep, still and breakneck, breathing in his scent, his taste, smoothing all wayward thoughts other than the task and the play. The chill plays in him, rampaging rock parade of sweets and loud music. All the lights bless us with battle cry. He holds onto the back of me heard, but he is not strong enough to take the reins.

His fingers dig into my scalp, part the white hair, push through the nipping chill from within and out. And I keep the pace I set. The grips and the pulls send a delightful spark of pain shoots through my skull. The chill bites back and he holds. Barely, but he holds.

It rises in him, the final moment of his action. I am ready. The frantic motions become regular and smooth. The patterns soothe too easy. He's given up on the reins, despite their presence. And I just calmly wait.

He goes still as the first of his release hits the back of my throat. I swallow and the warmth makes good on its word. That hollow in me grows less frigid with his seed. Down to my stomach, it radiates that warming glow. They hum the same song, softer, less bite in the notes.

More bucks and thrusts, more shots from him sitting heavy in my core. I like the bitter salt he gives, the taste of it intoxicating and heavy until I simply stop thinking of anything at all. It is Ike's taste and that's all it needs to be. The song and dance he puts on as I milk him is exquisite, that trapped struggle between my lips. He pleads for freedom and entrapment in equal measure. Both, he wants both so much.

I don't count, but I observe his strength, his energy. It lasts a very long time. A deluge to be sure, and it is with no small amount of pride that I marvel at my ability to take and steal. The glow warmth flushes my cheeks. I robbed him for this. That smile over his softening length is earned through monstrosity and destruction. His chest shines with swath. I watch the light fade as I finally let go.

He finds some strength in his hands, enough to prompt me north until I lay my head beneath his chin. He encircles me in his arms tight, taking more of the current, submerging himself in the electricity. He kisses the top of my head and I listen to his heart fade to calm and slow. He pants and huffs, soothed and relaxed. Again, something to work on. But nobody's perfect. My own wasteland hunger gnaws at the heels of the glowing warm, feeding the scouring cold. Good start, certainly worth the effort and it shows promise. Might take a while to get to where I need him to be, but I have time.

"We're going again," he whispers in my ear, with just the right level of rage.

I smile and can't stop myself from biting my lip. There is something dark and vicious in the words, in the eyes that devour me. I look back to him with sharp eyes, taunting those three words hanging between us.

"That is the dumbest thing you could possibly say," I tease.

"I don't care. We're going again. We went for it in the cave and we're going for it here," he says. Quiet, it is a quite will of drive and anger, act desired but denied.

"I was spent from a slyther massacre and you were holed up as emergency rations. That's not an accurate baseline."

"We're going again." And that's that.

A dark force ripples from those words, intent made fact through will. It is true. We are going again. It's the implications in some words that I find worrisome. Screaming and satisfied, cooing and adulation for Ike, the man who may finally give me enough. But I will be the one who says stop and go. That is the grand falsehood in his speech.

He fully sheds the cocoon of cloth and dark sink expands like the night sky. I do the same. Both of us are bare and open. Ike is taller than me, but I am certainly sturdier, certainly stockier. Thin, he is so thin and hard, everything compressed like coal to diamond. Black diamonds shine in his skin as the sweat and the water run down his body. The lingering current sparks and snaps through the drops.

He is not bothered by his lingering taste as he kisses me again, full and deep, pressing weight glorious monumental weight into me. And he means those three words. His body reacts as it should, prodding for its inevitable invasion from the outside. Warm, so incredibly warm and pulsing, surveying the wasteland once again. His hands go to my chest with a daring twist and punch. He brings sharp motions to sharp pain. He does not know what he is messing with. The pain brings the chill, scouring it, exciting it, making it pant and salivate sweet weeping nectar.

He's still not strong enough to move me, but I follow the pressure he gives. He turns me around and bends me over and I let him, almost flabbergasted at the audacity. My pulse quickens and a bolt crawls up my spine with gleeful anticipation. The back arches, rippling the muscle down the frame. I feel his lips between my shoulder blades.

He fumbles with the alignment and slot. In his defense, I have decided to not make it easy, moving my hips just to entice him further. I am excited, squirming and writhing and rocking my hips in a bid to make him do it faster and faster. Third try, and he brings that wonderful pierce to my core.

Full. I am full. Warmth is spreading through, rising sun dawn inside the bleak wasteland. Slow, so slowly every minute detail spreading me open and full. Veins and lines traced in me, I take his shape slow. The slow pressure moves me aside for him and his presence. The tip brushes past a bundle of nerves I didn't know was there and I shiver. His chest swells with misbegotten pride. I can feel it.

For a serene moment, the chill does not seek him out. It stays where it rests and I am alone with the raw feeling of Ike opening me. Calming in an odd way. My heart hammers. My breath hitches and stops and catches. My mind flutters blank and black every over moment. But I am calm. I am relaxed and willing and open, taken and given, taking and receiving. I am so incredibly warm. Ike's hands line my hips and trace my chest. He leans over me and goes to the shoulders again. I sigh and settle to my forearms on the couch.

The chain snaps and the chill spikes.

It stops him cold about halfway in. Everything in him grows rigid and still, hovering just where he broke from my skin. It jumps in me, and sends rolling thunder over my stomach, my back, my arms. The thunder collects in me and waves down his length. I take a deep, deep breath, hissing out cold water wind stained with electric current.

Seeing that the motion has stopped, I take it upon myself to continue the good work. I sway a little, hops rocking, better fitting Ike in me. A little more than half, it seems. My first guess was wrong. I go a bit faster than he did, eager to meet and join. And I don't think he can quite take something so agonizingly slow. I savor as much as I can, and with a small of delightful realization, I go past the thickest part.

Bone to bone, we meet with a sky parting thunderclap and a flask of stark light. Deep, wonderfully deep in the wastes inside. Thunderclouds, black as death and looming on the horizon, spit forks of force to crack the earth and shatter the horizons. He is deep and I am vast. Deeper than he was in the cave, slipped past to the center of the desert, pressing that immense weight up into the base of my skull. I laugh, low chuckles that rumble with the black storm clouds. Ike remains still and silent. I have to do this bit myself and I am glad for the opportunity.

As I move back up, the spike jagged chill takes his place. It dances and plays in the wastelands whittling down the beast gone still. The heel nips spread the paralyzing venom. I move back down, goading the behemoth to move. I kick spurs into the flanks and all it does is sit there in dead stillness.

Not that Ike doesn't try. Twitches and jerks and jumps, attempts come to ride back. To buck and thrust and piece and saw, he wants to join the play of body on body again. There is a game of give and take and he is losing. The chill darts around him, sliding and cutting, raking nails through soft tender flesh in terrible joy.

Ike gives a strangled noise, deep in his chest. I like the way it echoes across the stone. I keep the pace I set, his hands still sinking into my hips. There is a hope that he will have a second wind at some point. He will not. Futility, there is nothing but futile hope of a world that is not what he wants it to be. I make him prod that one spot of his grand entrance, the one towards my stomach. I hiss again and my sense tingle and go blank for a long dead moment.

All of my portents seem to have failed me as the hands leave and strike my flesh. In the brief moment of surprise, the hands dart forward. One goes up my spine, my neck, to the back of my head and to the root of my hair. It tingles, his touch as it intertwines the locks and stands. My stomach clenches and twists as I sway. The taunt has been answered and I hope he escalates.

He pulls and I scream into the silent stone walls. He is deep, so deep and it is almost enough.

I go still as well, letting the white scouring light take everything from us. My mind, my thoughts fade until everything is clean and barren. Through the white clean light, there is warmth. His end comes in steady bursts. I am warmth with his pulse and weight of radiant glow. Again and again, the pulse synchs with the chill, just as much for my mouth. Ike keeps moving his hands. My hair, my neck, my back, hips, scrambling, they are all scrambling for something that might give the world a sense of rationality. His hands keep going harder and harder. He gives me smarting pain to draw the pulsing light away from the weight. The last of his warmth fades and I am still left clean and blank.

Slowly, the light fades and falls, scattering stardust in its wake and I am left once again with the cold hollow consuming the warmth of another. Cold, euphoric cold, sharp and cutting and abandoned.