For a Song Pt. 04

We push each other to a row of crates. The rough wood welcomes us and our bodies as we continue to undress. I slowly undo her chest bindings. Not quite mountains orbs of earthly delight but is a part of her suited to her work. The been scaled down, taken down by the water, carved away into the rest of her. It all flows in its parts like the current. There are places of calm, places of rapids, but it never stops moving. She never stops moving. My undershirt is discarded, and my wounds refuse to break back open. There is the hum un my chest that will see me through the harshest of her flow. The river that took me was calmer than her body. It is entrapment, plain and simple. I am swept away in another endless tumble.

I'm on my back and I'm not quite sure how I ended up there. I put it together as Maya climbs on top of me, shedding the last of her bindings. She works her trousers down and those too are gone. Her legs carry the rest of her strength chiseled down. Her shoulders work and lay into her. Her stomach presses into mine, each ounce laid into beautiful purpose. She slides up me like a waterfall. I am the bedrock to her motion, static and uncompromising. She plays against me, all the little machinations of her body meeting stone rigidness and still calm.

Said rigidness is also climbing between her thighs, each motion bringing another painful ache at my bindings. I break my vow and move as well. Working my waistline down until our bare skin meets, head to toes. She says nothing at the length, the size, the endless girth I wield. I'm somewhat worried. That's the pattern and I don't see a reason it should be broken. Her legs are kind of spread wide, so she may not feel it. I take a gander and I am arcing up over her back. There needs to be a remark.

Maya snorts again and leans in close.

"You're not getting your ego stroked that easily," she murmurs, "You have to prove you know how to use that damn thing."

"Just say its big," I sigh, "That's all I need."

She shuts me up by biting my lip and suddenly I don't care. It is big and massive and enormous, huge in brief, and I know that. She knows that. The world knows that, even if it remains unsaid.

"I can bring your friend in here if you need it that bad," she hums, "I heard you two had some fun."

"I'm allowed to have fun with the people I work with. Are you telling me you don't?" I ask. She's back to my neck, thighs closed around me, working up and down. Soft muscle and tight skin, strength in the moment, strength in the next, all of it works together in an infinite motion. I cannot be still. She cannot be still. I work my hands to her chest, and she likes that. She does something similar to me and I like that. The endless whirl of rapids and churning white water, her hands find my hair and twirl it in her fingers.

"You hellions always have the oddest colors," she murmurs.

"I think everyone else is just boring. Sylvi have their pointy ears, Kurhks have the teeth. At least gargans have fun little swirls to trace," I sigh.

"I was giving you a compliment. I like your blue. I like the horn as well. Do you shave it down?"

"Usually. Haven't had a good mirror in a while so it's probably kind of dull. I usually keep it pretty sharp."

"Even more reason to chuck you back in the water. Bait fishing and spear fishing at the same time."

It is not the worst idea I've heard. It's also not the worst idea I've ever been a part of. Her arousal is weeping from her thighs in thick rivers. Something catches in her chest and there is that ugly noise again, unlashed and unconcerned. She rides on my, finding spots she likes and motions for me. She is good with her hips, dancing and circling. I want her in a ball gown and slippers moving in time with strings and horns. Even now, with the drunken filtering of fishermen and creaking boards from the low-down rabble, she moves as gracefully as any noble I've ever met. She moves her hips and stops at the summit. A cool breeze comes between us before she drops back down. She sees my clenched teeth and smiles. I am still so easily manipulated, like every other man. Seek pleasure and avoid pain. It can be so simple. She pulls away again and goes to my ear lobes, slight bits of gnashing teeth and working lips. I work on her back, tracing the muscles as the work her whole body, working my nails in to her hardened skin. Her spine arches and curls under my touch. I work lower, grabbing her ass and working that the same way. She likes that. And just the same, I have my own smug grin to combat her shocked ecstasy.

The grin comes back, and we dive again. Another body to play with and there is nothing more important than that. Her body responds to mine and my body responds to her. She shivers and I shudder. I move to her thighs and then I go back up. Simple motions, we are both lost in the simple motions of each other. I touch her shoulders and she keeps me between her legs. My breathing deepens and then stills. She stops and smirks and hums at my apparent edge. I let her believe whatever she wants, and the truth is lost between us as she starts to move again. I match her motions and find something that will make her freeze. We are both terrible people hellbent on teasing and playing without ever actually doing anything. It's wonderful.

"So," she sighs, "I guess you've been around, yeah?"

"You can say that. Gods forbid I take my comfort where I can. The road is long and lonely. I can't- "

"Shut up. I'm trying to ask if you've done it up the ass."

"Oh. Well then. Short answer yes, but not in the way you're thinking. Had myself a bit of fun with a sylvo when I was around Shoar. Kept me very, very warm."

She shuts me up with another bite. I mewl a bit. Maya can be very aggressive when the mood strikes her. And she keeps working me, letting her arousal coat me. Her tongue lavishes me. Her teeth condemn me. I am lost in the whirlpool of her being. She decides that we are both ready. My pressed spilling from my tip must have been enough. She finally lets out an ugly little giggle and pulls away from me.

The scant light in the storeroom gives me one last hidden gaze over the rest of her body. Lithe and strong, flexible and supple. There is so much of her that has been eroded away, so much extraneous and cast aside. It has left her as she is, looking down at me with deviousness and mischief. Her legs move aside, and she is straddling me, laying my length up her back of a moment. A moment later we are aligned. I am honestly a bit nervous, if only for her sake. I tend not to do this, as I am aware of my anatomy.

I should not be though. That smile will prove me wrong once again as she relaxes and slips over me. Our preparations have done her well. Her grip is tight, and her face is relaxed. Her grip flows over me easily. My hands go to her hips and pull her a bit faster. And it works to her grand design. Her hips keep dancing, and my fingers find the tempo. Tense and release, tense and release, it is all the same act carried out from within. Her strength carries through her entirely wringing me and gripping and clenching I feel her stomach move, all the muscles she's carried, all the work she's put in, all of it. Her hands brace against the edge of the crate, and she moves in earnest. Rise and fall, slowly getting more and more and more of me in. I use my nails and dig into her more. Her thighs spring back just the same and it is all so simple. She has that same laugh run through her.

"Gods, I needed this," she sighs. She's a little more than halfway, resting a bit and letting her get accustomed to it all. There is still so much to go, and I have my own senses to regain. Just enough to realize that there is more I can be doing.

I move to her weeping slit and play with her for a moment. All that soft acceptance is gone and now she is back in the throes of passion. There is so much more we can do together and waiting it out can only get so much down. She grunts deep in her chest as she falls onto me. Heavy and grounding and reminding me that there are other people out there worthy of their existence. I tease around her lips, waiting for the spasms. I follow them and she starts laughing.

"I guess you actually have been around," she chuckles, "Most men I know would have just laid back and let me do all the work."

"Where's the fun in that?" I say, "If I just wanted myself to feel good, I would have just played a few hands of five knuckle shuffle."

"A few hands?"

"What can I say? I have a big appetite. Are you enough?"

"Oh, you are going to have to try better than that to rile me up."

"I think you're riled up enough already."

Just to drive in the point, I trace the circle again and she shudders, more arousal dripping from her. I am right, just like always. Maya doesn't seem to mind, however. I wouldn't either, if someone was paying this much attention to me. She leans forward, batting her eyes, brings her lips down to my chest. She finds a nipple and gives it a bite. I hiss and jump a bit and I am all the way in.

"Alright fine," she moans, "You are big. Happy?"

I can't really say much of anything. Too focused on her grip, her body, the soft shakes that come with the endless motion in her core. She rolls again, stops talking and keeps the pressure through me. Her teeth are wonders, working in just the right level of pain to offset the numbing rapture. I can't think straight. I can only form half rambling thoughts as to what I would like to do in the moment.

I move. She moves with me, our hips in a trance of half formed motions, constantly bleeding into the next. There is no grand step, no cordial waltz, hypnotic motions for motion's sake. She's gone quiet, bottling up the heavy pressure deep in her chest. I'm a bit louder, grunting and panting through the thin layer of sweat on my brow. Beads form on her neck and run through her cleavage. Such a wonderful heat, chasing away the terror of the river. Al my cuts, all my bites, all my wounds slowly fall. I am in the act, and nothing is more important. Something gives in me. It hurts and then it is gone. I have more important things to deal with.

Maya bites a bit harder and it only adds more texture to the sensation. It's all muddling together in the back of nothing at all. I am motion into her, and her response is just as enthusiastic. Her work is crashing into me, and I am piercing into her. My hands play her, and she works to find the spots. I slip inside and feel myself through her. She moans and it is ugly, just as the rest of her noises are. It's beautiful, the rattle and growl, the bestial call to the world that this is what she is. I Keep my noise even. I am in the work of the moment, keeping the act going for as long as she needs, still exploring her and finding what will bring her to the end with me. I find a spot and keep there, pulling more twitches from her for me.

She throws her head back to the point of almost snapping her neck and lets out a whole. The sack of potatoes do not judge. I laugh and chuckle and let it delve into mine. She is pulling it from me. She is pulling all the sensations she can with complete disregard for my wellbeing. I am diving into the abyss of warmed light and there is nothing for me on the other side. My mind sparks and the rest of me shudders. My core pulls and I let the moan die out.

"I'm close," I grunt. I feel the smirk form in her noises.

"Me too," She sighs. More noise, more sounds of bodies meeting bodies, endless calls to the wild about the sheer joy of it. I am in her, morphing her slit around my fingers, pressing sports and stroking lines through her arousal. She is close. I can pull the endless sunshine pink from her in the one spot of my reason. She is close and I made her that way. The joy ricochets through us both, feedback loop on feedback loop on feedback loop.

She leans down again, head nestled on my collar bone. And she bites one last time, teeth into shin and I'm afraid she'll break through and make me bleed. I also don't care.

It comes in me, and I can't hold it anymore. Just as she digs into me, I dig into her, nails and fingers finding rakes and sports to turn gloriously raised and red. Her tan will hide the worst of it, but my marks will not be denied. Swirls and marks on the blank canvas of her being, paint in her core, bites on my shoulder and the ringing in my ears, it is all marked down into the past as what we are. Nothing so high and might as the world would let us believe. My warmth detonates in her and I feel her release hit my stomach I withdraw my fingers and let her ride it out as she pleases. I have my own care to administrate. She is still moving, up and down, eager to get me dry and hollow. I have more to give her and more to take and I am full lost to the moment.

More pulses and waves, filling her in endless warmth. She bites harder and nay concerns that she has broken the skin and forgotten. She has. My other wounds don't have the same problem. Those are whole and sound from the tears. I don't care. I don't care at all. I am in the midst of my climax and there could be a knife in my ribs. I hope there is, in a way. I bet I would like it.

My climax peters and dims, brings me back to the moment where I'm lying on a crate in the back room of a tavern. There's probably a whole host of splinters in my ass. Maya's comes to an end shortly after mine, bringing her teeth out of my flesh and a soft chuckle to her lips.

"So," she hums, "I may have been putting on a brave face for most of that."

"Really," I say, "I had no clue. The biting wasn't hiding any screams, was it?"

"No, no, no. That was me choking back some very ugly things I wanted to call you."

She nuzzles a bit into me, as I grow a bit softer. She moves and I am out. I feel my seed leak from her, still carrying my warmth. She chokes out some sad noise and I kiss the top of her head. I scratch her back and let her slowly drift in the afterglow. I hold onto her as my own fuzzy mind takes me there too. I am adrift in an endless sea of calm waters and warm sun. The waves are lapping at my body and carrying me home. I keep my hands on her, gently stroking and massaging the tension away. She's tracing a circle on my chest with an errant finger.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"I should be thanking you," I murmur, "I have no clue where you learned all those hip things."

"Not for that. Well, not just for that. You're definitely going in my dreams, you jackass. But thank you for the river. Thank you for actually doing something."

"Does Gawain get a thank you?'

"A thank you. Not your thank you. He's not paying for anything he drinks. I made sure the barkeep is putting it on the big guy's tab."

That does get a chuckle out of me. A little mean, but he has the money for it. I hope he does, otherwise there's going to be tar and feathers and maybe even a rail involved.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this," I hum, "This whole thing should have been solved in an instant."

"It's fine. Not really. It got done. A lot of people got really angry, but it got done. That's enough. Keep your hands there. It feels good."

I gathered as much from the way her spine moves. The words are good though. Gets rid of the assumption.

"And that's not all I wanted to give you," says Maya.

I'm excited, incredibly so. But then it all fades away as she slowly gets up and leaves me to the cold air. She then bends over and rummages through the discarded cloth. I eye my work and let that carry me back to full. I hope we go again, although the wobble in her step is kind of worrying. She says nothing. I say nothing. But I do come to my elbows. If she falls that would be a tragedy. Really, really funny, but still a tragedy.

"Here," she says, as I eye her body. That deserves another round or ten. Maybe a whole fortnight to dive into everything we can do together. Her eyes go to my hardness and there is a bit of apprehension right there.

She's holding a simple square of cloth, river rock gray swirling with calm cloud white.

"It's one of ours," Maya says, "Given for an angler's fist catch that makes it to the table. I think you've done something close enough to earn it."

All of the wry comments I had, all the tease and play are gone. There is only simple gratitude. I take it in my hands and hold it gently. It is soft. She points to my head, and I think I figure it out. The horn takes a bit of adjustment, but it's taken care of.

"Thank you," I say, "Thank you."

"You only needed to say it once. But I think we're even Dumile," she says. I get tone lingering peck on the cheek and a tight embrace over my shoulders. WE have a second to remind ourselves that we were together. And we slowly start the drift apart.

"Your wounds look better," she says.

"The ones you gave me, or the ones the fishies did?"

"Both. I'm sorry, by the way. Got a little too into it. But I didn't leave a mark. So, its fine."

I chuckle again as I put on my clothes and she puts on hers, wiping down our shared mess and letting everything come back to presentable. It's true, all right as rain now. A good round of slap and tickle is the best cure all I know. That and liquor, although that just kind of soothes the pain into numb apathy. I redo her shirt and she fixes my hair. I have a spring in my step and one more thing turning my grin all kinds of smug as we both walk back into the party. We may be even, but I think Gerardine and her crew still owe me something.

---

"That's not the deal," I say, an edge in voice, "I was in the crew. I get paid. The problem's been solved. That means, fuck you, pay me."

"You went against Weaver orders and endangered several civilians," says Blake, letting that same edge cut into his, "That's a breach of the contract."

"Speaking of," sobs Gerardine, "Yours never took. So, we were never in any formal agreement. We have no obligation to pay you for your services."

I want to hit my head against the table. I don't know why. It won't convince them of anything. It won't endear me to anyone. IT won't even make me feel any better. IF anything, all it will do is give me a head and damage my precious horn.

The party is still going on. The night is still young, but I'm not sure it's the same night. The previous might have died and this one is still in the midst of its youth. Gawain yawns and I don't know if that's a good indication. At this point, I think it's just people happy to be able to cross the river again, see friends and family and loved ones and maybe even go home.

"Do not pull that card," Gawain says, "Just don't. You pay a man for his work. That's just what you do. He earned that money. Just give it to him and we'll be on our way."

"You don't get a vote in this, Gawain," growls Blake, "Not after the stunts you pulled. Not even two days with an outsider and he's already gotten to you."

"No, he fucking hasn't. You've gotten to me. I'm tired of this. If you're that miserly, take it out of my cut, you bastard. And Gerardine, you need to stop the rain. This place is going all the way to the sea if you keep it up."

"It is as Soddal wishes. I have my sorrow and that must be imprinted. It is not my will by which the world weeps."

Gawain sighs and I think he wants to throw something. It would have the same impact as my head injury, but it just feels right.

"Will giving you my name get me my money," I sigh. I didn't want to do this. So many actual headaches that come with that. And the knives all come out. The Weaver's will know and that's its own problem, but going off Treblex's simple warning, they might already know.

"No," says Blake, "you've disregarded- "

"Blake, my dear," Gerardine interjects, "Gawain does have a point. Despite the liberties taken with his duties, Dumile did 'solve the problem.' That has earned him his compensation. But you're right, Dumile. We will need your full name for the contract to be binding. On our end as well as yours."