For a Song Pt. 05

Eventually, the noises come back as heavy pants. Then a low growl, and then a soft moan. And then I am in the air, flipped around and laying on her chest. My head is still between her thighs and that's simply wonderful.

"Again," she growls, and I obey.

The angle is different, but the act is the same. She is a little more sensitive to my attention, but the way her legs clamp on me don't allow for any less. I am lost in her once again, feeling her heat, her heartbeat, every part of her being slam through me. She takes a hand and spreads my legs wide.

"I missed this thing too," she coos, "Its heavier than I remember. Are you sure you had enough without me?"

"I never have enough," I say, taking my mouth off of her.

"Please, I've tuckered you out. I know I have. That poor boy can't really compare, can he?"

"There is no comparison. Although, there were at least two others that gave you a good run for your money."

"Bastard. Taking this from me. This is mine, you know."

"So, you say. But can you take it? I'm genuinely curious."

She scoffs and just goes for a simple lick. I don't say anything. It's intimidating. I'm intimidating, even when the absolute wall of muscle dwarfs me in my entirety. There is still that wonderful bit of caution that comes with me. I move a bit and raise my hips. She has more room to work me. She needs more room to work me, even if she'll never ask for it. That's the game. Never ask, but always told, I give her what I think she wants and that's always what she needs. She kisses my tip again and I missed this. Again and again and again, that thought slips in with every motion we take.

And she knows what I want. I am in her mouth, that wonderfully wide tongue of hers playing against my shaft. She is devouring me, coiling around me like a snake, enveloping me as I play with her. I turn my tongue on her as well and that sends a delightful hum up my spine.

We are a never-ending circle together, giving and taking and taking and giving. No grand scale to worry about, no end of contract to hang over my head, no realization that tomorrow will come. She takes me a bit deeper and works her lips up and down, snug and tight. She hums some sad song I'm not in the mindset to name. There is a hand on my thigh pulling me deeper, giving me a pattern to follow and match. I do. I follow and lead and lose myself in the circle.

The humming stops and Eliza freezes again. Her breath chokes and holds and I am left in a vice down her throat. She climaxes again, so soon, and I let this one flow as she wants it to. Nothing from me, just my body on hers, trying to find some satiation at the other end of the tunnel. This one is a bit louder from her, moaning over my length as some small bit in her mind causes a shiver from me. I raise my hips and pull away, fully hard and eager and ravenous.

She protests at my absence. She protests even more as I take my lips aware from her doused entrance. She stops protesting when we come face to face, her eyes just a bit wide and wild as the lightning glow fades back into violet darkness. She approves when I plant my lips on hers and kiss deeply, moving our tongues together, devouring the other's taste, losing our minds together. Together.

I pull away and watch the line connecting us snap. Her eyes are still gone, but the smile is there again, harsh and savage. She is grinning like a rabid wolf.

"You really did miss me," she moans as I palm her breast again. I move my thumb up and down over her hard nipple, letting her weight play against my grip.

"More than I ever thought I could," I whisper. I bite her ear and let her come back down to me in the moment. The glow is fading, and it has left us both barren and ravenous. Her nails rack my back and I hope they leave marks. I hope they carve her name into my spine for the world to see. I will paint me on her in glowing letters from the stars. I will hammer my name into her mind until it is all she can think about. She slaps my ass and that gets a fun little needy noise from me that she seems to like.

Our eyes meet and then it is so simple. It is all so simple. She moves her legs a bit and lifts her back a little. It comes aligned with me, but I have a moment to myself, to show how far I can go into her. Past her veil, but not quite up to her chest. Not quite as intimidating as on poor Gawain, but there is still that wonderful awe that passes through her when her body reacts. It happened before. It's happening again. She will survive. She will thrive in the challenge while the world fades away.

"Did you ever end up going to the stables," I ask, smug little smile on my face.

"No, you jackass. I was just trying to stroke your ego," she says. She rolls her eyes, and she is smiling. That means she likes me and likes what I said.

"Really? Cause from what I gather, you didn't try to replace me. I guess, because you knew I was as good as you can get."

"Y'know, I don't remember you being this cheeky. I remember you shivering and scrunched and pleading with me for mercy."

"Hmm. I think you might be wrong there. I think that was you."

She shuts me up with a thrust of her hips and a desperate attempt to get me in her. I don't think it's quite there. It's close, though, enough for me to feel that heat again, before it slips down into her normal stone skin. Warm and cool, the mount avalanche and the safety of the cave and its fire. I am lost in it all, lost in her eyes that goad me further.

We have a simple moment together one last time. One last chaste kiss that further cements that little black hole in me. It's still there. It's still saying that she could be slipped away at any moment. This is all temporary. This is all effluvial. This is all just a moment that I can't hold, like water through a net. I grip her breast hard enough to leave a red imprint of my hand on her skin. She growls at me and bucks one last time. I move back and align us, feeling her weeping arousal mix with my heavy preseed. I paint her thighs with my essence, and she coos again like a mourning dove when it mixes and churns against her skin. She is eager.

I move inside, parting her around me. She shivers and twitches a moment before it all slips into the heavy motion. I feel her try to push me out. Too big, too much, too fast and too terribly immense. It hurts. It's bliss. It is heaven and hell rapped into one single moment. She moans for me in the dirge of her ecstasy. She moans for me, and I almost cry again. It's all the same just as it was.

I open her and keep her spread while I move. It's slow. I take it slow. I want this to be forever and ever. I move slow in an attempt to try and make that happen. I move and let it happen. I let her consume me with ravenous glee. I am buried in her neck, feeling her strength move as I nip at her collar bone. That might be a bad habit to learn, but we'll find out. She laughs at the slight tempting pain and it's now a good habit. She clenches and twists and rolls her hops to meet mine. There is still so much of me left out.

"You've gone soft," she whispers, "I want it hard."

"Are you sure?" I say through my working teeth, "You might not remember what that was like."

"Shut up and fuck me you beautiful bastard."

And that's what I needed. It feels good to have those words tickle my mind, to have them spur on movement and pace that would be lost to the world. I still savor the moment where I am entering, giving us both one last chance to back out and take a calm night from the world. We are afforded such luxury. We have the night of open skies and cold winds, of primal need shared between us. Eliza just killed a man a handful of hours ago and brought a man back from a beating of a lifetime even less. All the pleasantries and rose-colored glasses cannot scourge the fact that I knitted Gawain's bones back together with a drinking song. Eliza took off a man's head like it was made of paper. I felt the color of him fade and die as I was weaving it into the world.

Her hand comes to my back and pushes me in. Our hips meet and I feel the back of her core kiss my tip. She arches and moans and has her own little moment of white out bliss from the act. I keep nibbling at her, working my teeth along the painted lines, leaving red marks and imprints and terrible claim. If I am hers, she is mine.

I don't give her a chance to speak. I don't want her to. I want her gasping and desperate and I am getting close to that. Her breathing grows ragged and short, finding the pattern and giving her solace. I feel my shape bulge her stomach beneath me. I feel the path I trace and the effect I have win the world. It is rose colored and all consuming. That endless black of her bitter soul rages a in defiance before I smooth away all the harsh barbs growing in the sodden mud. She fights and struggles. But I do not relent. I am not made to relent. I find her hand and intertwine our fingers. She grips tight, trying to break my bones, before relenting and squeezing and goading me on.

I move back out and begin in earnest, keeping a steady pace mostly for me. She keeps me deep with her legs, her hands on my shoulders doing the same. I fight it I give her something fight against. She likes the work. She likes the challenge. It wouldn't be the same if I was just a still doll. I need the fight in me for her. I grit my teeth.

I am hard for her. I go hard for her. I put every bit of my strength into her desolation. She takes it well, so well for me. Eliza gives me such a sweet song to weave. I take it from her and add it to my won, the growls and pants and huffed breaths that instill my song into her. I find her lips and that drips the volume. She is moaning into me as our tongues entwine, filling each other with our separate taste. I gaze into her eyes, half lidded and lost, much like my own. A spasm rocks through her and makes my knees go weak. I keep the slaughter up. It's what she asked for.

I have to pull away, just a bit to get a better angle. I spear into her, scraping her walls with every intent to destroy. She was gone and now she's here. I have to break her so she'll never leave again. She has to break me for the same reason. Her hips are crashing into mine, trying to turn my pelvis into dust while I do the same to her. She lets out a low moan and something gives in her body. One more spasm and I think I pulled another climax for her.

I am not close. The temptation is there, to let the walls collapse, but I am still not quite there. I go harder, fighting more, pulling away to get more of my body into the motion. Her hands are braced on the wall, trying to fight me as I fight with her. Agony, the sweetest agony we can create together, the most beautiful disaster. I keep hammering away at her with bestial lust. I throw my head back and roar for her. She does the same and one more climax hits me.

It finally comes for me as well, all the muscles clenched and tight and hard. It crawls through me with venomous claws, tearing my flesh and leaving me weak and scattered. I lean back down and find her lips again. They are solace, the cool rest of an untended grave, the one bit of grounded reality I have in the moment. I fill her with everything I have, in titanic waves. I fill her and give her the warmth of my seed. I fill her in long, long pulses that stretch on for ages. I fill her with the seas of my being, and it is not enough. For her or for me.

I slowly pull out, still pulsing heavy, thick seed from me. I lay it on her round stomach, still flowing from me, covering her breasts, tracing up to her chin. She coos and swarms under my warmth, massaging it into her skin. Her tongue darts out and picks up a small pool under her lips. She sighs and moans. I pull and stroke and keep more out of me. Rivers and lakes and streams of my seed over her, swirling with her scars, her lines, her form. She languishes in her pool and throws her head back.

"I missed this too," she sighs, pulling hand up and watching the strands flow and fall.

I don't pretend to hear her. I am still hard. I still need more.

So, I line us up again and she shivers through her entire body at the thought. The thought of more, the thought that this is endless, the thought that this cannot be stopped. I cannot be stopped. There is more to her joy that I will collapse into with utter abandon. Her legs go around my hips again, although I think she's losing steam. I won't say anything. I am too busy.

She is still tight and warm and slick over me. I go fast, not quite as deep. It is still enough to pull the noises from her, she pulls me down and licks me in once more. I taste my seed on her tongue and I don't care. It melds with her, wilt me with the moment we share. I keep hammering in her, as her legs shake and pulverize my spine. I lay on her, feeling my warmth slip between us. WE are sliding together, licked and held and bound in the warmth. Her strength is giving out as I thrust. The weakness surprises her, but she is still in no place to act on it. It's a novelty, a curiosity, a new sensation that will be filtered down into a pleasant memory given enough time. It will be a roulette as to when I can do this again, slipped into the knowledge of what I can do. The memory we share grows with every inch of movement.

I am more sensitive, almost to the point of pain. She is still strong, despite her fatigue and the crush she gives me is not paltry. She will never be such a forgotten thing as that. There are still the weak quivers and shakes she gives me and that is still enough to rattle the bed frame. The poor thing is creaking and protesting, never designed for something so brutal. It is for soft dreams and calm nights, not the clash of power that ends me into madness. I taste raw sex in everything we do together. I feel it seep into my bones and corrupt my marrow. There is only the endless dancing act we share. There is only this moment and the thought of the next. It hurts in the most wonderful way imaginable.

My second comes quickly and I don't mind. Eliza has gone to the land of ghosts, half conscious things with little regard to the physical. She is still writhing through me, milking and twisting and pulling at me. I hit and it comes, just as intense as the first, just as maddening. The bed creaks again and goes still. It breaks and we collapse with it.

It doesn't even register for a long, long moment. It doesn't matter that the bed broke. It doesn't' matter that the floor is creaking and threatening to do the same. It doesn't matter the shocked silence running rampant through the tavern. All of that doesn't matter. I am pouring my viscous seed into Eliza, and nothing could ever be better than that.

It ends and I might have a few more in me. Eliza simply doesn't. Her eyes are unfocused, jaw slack, slowly fading into a true deep sleep. That does sound good too. Not quite as good as another session, but I'll take it. I'll take a pleasantly cool mattress to collapse on and a terrible ordeal to put up with in the morning.

---

All in all, I feel good. Better than good. Simply fantastic. Every part of me is a bit sore, but only in so far as I have yet to break the gummed-up fibers into loose and free. That's going to be an hour or so down the line, but I'll get there before I know.

The broken bed and the trashed room were a bit more of a sticking spot, but Eliza pulled some shiny, shiny coins from somewhere and handed them over. No one really got too mad after that, although there was a bit of tension in the air. Fathers worried about their daughters, wives, sisters, mothers worried for their sons, husbands, brothers. Everyone worried about everyone really. Word travels fast in a small town and the sound of a broken bed travels faster, apparently.

I'm looking at the sky from a warm rock on the outskirts of town. Eliza is leaning up against a tree, looking at herself in the reflection of her steel. She wobbled a bit on the way out, but I didn't see anything, and I certainly won't say anything else. She is tall and strong and still beaming that smile at me when she thinks I'm not looking.

"I think he chickened out," she says. She picks at something in her teeth. There's nothing there except impatience.

"He said he would be here," I say, "And we can wait if we need to. You might need some more bed rest. Just saying."

"Oh please. Last night was good, sure, but not that good. Put me on the front lines and I'd still break an army or two before lunch."

I don't challenge any of that, but I do look to her legs. They're still shaking under her black gown. I catch her staring at me, and she goes red before steeling her gaze and looking tough. She doesn't have to try very hard. There is enough of her that anything she does carries a tint of a threat. I whistle an aimless tune and let my mind wander.

"Red-Throated Loon," says a voice coming up the path.

"Wasn't making a bird call," I say, "But sure. It's a loon bird. Never seen it, but I believe that it's there."

Gawain stands there with a pack almost as big as he is. He shoulders it well, surprisingly. Better than I could have done. But he's red and out of breath, eager to please and raring to go. A walking journey has to be met with a certain level of apathy. There will be blisters. There will be sweat. There will be leg cramps. Anyone actually eager to see any of that is a little cracked in the head.

"Are you going to be good carrying all that, little man," Eliza asks with a cocked eyebrow over her patch.

"No. But you are," he says with a smile.

"That's your stuff. You lug it around."

"Fine. If you don't think you can handle it, then I can."

She sighs and it carries a cold blight across the land.

"You're playing me. And I know it. But gimme."

Without a lick of protest, Gawain presents his spoils to Eliza, taking it over her shoulder like it was a feather's dream.

"So," Gawain asks as he stands before me, "Where are we going? You said west, but west has a lot of places.

"Frontier," I say, rocking to my feet, "Town called Blood Rock."

Eliza snorts and Gawain is still giving off that enthusiasm. It will fade by nightfall probably. I have my guitar, I have my rapier, and I have my new bandana. I have two idiots with me and that's the most important thing. There's really only one road in front of me, so I can't get lost. It's just a matter of walking.