For a Song Pt. 06

"Old Cout's body sits spinning in his grave.

All from the sins that some say are brave.

But they're from the routes that he newly paved.

We follow all the threads," sings Gawain.

"Greaycrown sits in his little throne of smoke.

With a bunch of gals that all look like blokes.

And his pole of yew, but he says it's oak.

We follow all the threads," Eliza sings.

"Treblex falls and screams that she has been hurt.

Nothing else matters except her thrashing in the dirt.

But there's no help coming, because I'm chasing skirts.

We follow all the threads," I sing.

We each take our turn singing a verse of blasphemy. I liked Gawain's one about Soddal. Very proper uses of the word wet. Eliza had one about Vermil that didn't quite land, but it still had the good taste to cross some lines. All in all, good fun had at someone else's expense. They can probably hear every single word we mock them with, but they all say nothing. Really, a very easy time, punching down against the ones on high. It keeps the steps flying on by, melding morning into afternoon into evening. We stop for the night when all of us have grown hoarse and tired. There are blisters on our feet that hurt. Our bones are tired, and I can't think of anymore lyrics to our game. Gawain tries to force one more out, but Eliza isn't having any of it. She's hungry and I'm sleepy and Gawain's enthusiasm still hasn't faded. It might just be a bit of his disposition. That must be nice.

I also don't understand how he can be considered comfy under that cloak. Heavy wool with a long hood, scratchy and bitey and all sorts of terrible. I'd be sweating like a pig under there, but he only appears to be the normal type of sweaty. A whole day of walking will do that to anyone. He spins the fabric and snaps it down and then it is a bed roll. Must be a handy thing to have at hand. My bed roll is still being unpacked from Eliza's shoulders.

I busy myself with the act of gathering kindling and firewood. Simple work, easy work, but only when I have a pair of friends to handle the other work. Actually starting a fire, actually cooking something, actually clearing the ground and making sure that there is nothing prowling, all of that adds up when it's just little old me by my lonesome. I have enough firewood for a night or so I don't think we'll need a big fire. Eliza likes the cold and Gawain has his cloak blanket mattress thing all to himself. It's mostly just for me.

Gawain strikes his flint stick, and we are in business. It's also nice not having to hum a little ditty to call upon the magecraft in my work. Just a few curses and threats and we have sparks. The sparks grow into a true roar and then we are all good and happy. I don't feel like hunting. None of us do, so we turn to our rations of jerky and hardtack and that works wonders.

It's a simple life, out on the road. I am left to stew and simmer in my thoughts and those tend to work better when I have my guitar under my hands. It's there and it's tuned right and as the sun grows low, I pluck at the strings and let my voice rest. Simple riffs and chords, playing out of time with a simple meandering measure. It is all lost to time. I should write some of these things down at some point, maybe. Put out a book of all my road rhymes for the world and see what people can make of me.

"How did you get so good at that," Gawain asks as he sprawls out on his mat.

"Practice," I shrug, "That's about it. Been playing since I was a little kid. Mutti made sure I knew an instrument and Maman agreed. Dad wanted to start a band, but that got shut down."

"Two moms?" Gawain asks, "Dad was one lucky guy."

"By some definitions, maybe, although I think Maman was the lucky one in all that."

"Which one was Verlaine," Eliza asks, running a finger along her scythe's edge.

"Maman. She didn't carry me or my brother, but I think she had some influence. It got kind of weird towards the end. Lots of rabbits around. Lots of clover and grass growing in the yard."

"Why'd she do it?" Eliza continues. She sucks her fingertip. She absolutely did not split her hand wide open playing with her blade. Nothing like that at all.

I turn and consider the question. I've had it asked of me before. I know the story. It's been told to me. I know what she said and what the people want to believe. Eliza is trying to play it off as nonchalant, but there is still some eager joy in the thought of what has happened. A pitched battle for the heavens, some cunning betrayal, an endless rage against the shackles that bind us. Those are the things need to kill a god. The music slows down a bit, mostly for the dramatic effect. It brings her in close and lets the shadows move across her lips.

"As far as I know, Warren asked her to. That's what she told me and she didn't lie," I say.

Eliza pulls back and Gawain snickers a bit.

"That can't be right," she mutters, "Had to be something else. That much power, it must have been that."

"I really don't think so," I say, "Maman was someone who just did it. If she said she was going to do something, then she'd do it. No copping out at all. It just happened. It might take a while, but it happened."

"I don't buy it either," says Gawain, "Just for the fact that Warren talked to her. The Threads don't talk to anyone. The Weavers say they do, but it's always so vague."

I shrug and turn to the moon. They don't know. They don't need to know. I would appreciate a wingman to pull a run in, but still. It's later and I don't want to deal with one of them tonight. I want a nice calm night, with nice calm dreams, a thick blanket and maybe a morning that I spend a bit too long asleep. I put my guitar away and let the fire die down to glowing coals.

Gawain's an easy sleeper, almost falling down as soon as his head hits the dirt. Eliza is a bit more fitful, but she gets there as well. She might have nightmares, but I'm here for that. I don't know what she sees in there. She should talk about them at some point, but later. We have a long time on the road together and that's bound to solve some things. And cause more things.

I'm somewhere in between, if I am to be believed. Not quite snap, and no real tossing and turning. A little bit, sure, but mostly to get rid of the rocks and twigs that I thought I got rid of. I imprint myself in the dirt and morph the earth to my shape. It feels a bit better. I've gotten too used to soft beds in the cradle of civilization.

I watch the moon and pick out the rabbit in the craters. I've never seen it, but I've been told it's there. I drift off to sleep and hope I have no dreams.

---

"Warm," hums Treblex. I suppress the urge to sigh. I suppress the urge to roll over and pretend that I'm still asleep. In a way, I am. I am asleep and I will have all the benefits. But the principle of the thing is still there.

I roll over and spy my little benefactor nestled atop the pile of coals in a soft little bed. I imagine the whole thing is good for a lizard.

I don't see the moon anymore, just a smear of rainbow-colored ribbons coiling in the sky. The stars are motes of color against the black of night. It is pretty. I still like the normal sky in my normal days with blue and yellow and white. And then there are the colors at the various twilights.

"Warm," Treblex says again, and I am forced to pay attention to my host.

She's a bit bigger this time, not quite able to be man handled and tossed around. Maybe my forearm with a long coiling tail. She blends into the coals with only her hints of rainbow to distinguish. She huddles a bit deeper and sends up a shower of sparks.

"Does it have to be you," I ask, "I like our talks, but I think I need someone a bit more verbose. Walker, maybe? Or Greaycrown. That would make sense since I'm with one of his now."

"Favorite," she hums.

"No really. You got anything else?

"Warm."

"Fair. I wish I was warm."

"Mate?"

"They're not in here with me. Just you and me. And I'm afraid you're not my type."

She huffs and I think she might be offended. I don't know why she would be. I'm not her type either and I know that. So here we are being offended for each other's little preferences. It's nothing.

"Family," she says, opening one eye from the coals. It shifts in the light, through all the colors I know. She hums again and it's a clear bell tone.

"I'm working on it," I sigh, "Had my little run in and now I'm checking on Kay first."

"Mutti?"

"She can take care of herself, and she has you right? And Maman. Kay's out in the wilderness."

Treblex considers my logic and finds it sound. That's not reassuring, really. I don't trust hers. I also figured that Blood Rock was closer than Shoar. Get the easy bit over with first and then we can move on from there. I sit up and cross my legs.

"Hat," Treblex hisses.

"I lost it. Check with Soddal. She might have it."

"Liked."

"I liked it too. And I appreciated it. I kept it in good condition. It served me well. And now I have this slick bandana. Here, you can play with it."

I hold it out and let it dangle in front of her mouth. She snorts a plume of iridescent smoke and eyes me. It is odd to be on the receiving end of such hatred, but I'm used to it. She could do so many things to me, but she's just looking at me. It hurts me that she would hate me so.

Then I make the cloth do a little wiggle and that pulls her attention away. Her tail starts shifting, making a pattern in the ashes. I make it dance more and that just makes it go faster. I'm having fun, so much fun. She's having fun, despite the anger starting to boil. She jumps and I pull it away. The anger rises and that's fair. I do it again and I have a bit of fear put in me with the yellow wire strangling my throat. Her eyes flash red and I let her have it with the next jump.

She takes it and I chuckle. I'm not so far gone into her intentions as to not laugh at her. I can laugh at her anytime, anywhere. She wrestles and rolls, and I want to pull it back. It's going to get all ashy and sooty and stained. But I'm also not putting my delicate fingers anywhere near her teeth. They smart and I need my hands whole to do so many fun things.

She makes a fun little nest in the fire, laying atop my new bandana. It's hers now. I should have never offered to give it to her. But I did. And now we have to live with it. She tussles it and curls and slinks back down into her nest.

"Food?" she asks.

"Not happening. I don't make food in here. You can go get some later," I sigh. I lay back down. She's not being helpful right now. She's just bored, and I happen to be very, very interesting.

"Help," she says. I keep laying down. I feel sleep call me through my dreams, and I think that means it's time to wake up. It all cancels out in the end. Sleep and dreams and half formed thoughts done in one-word snatches. I listen for her next one.

"Rabbit," she says. That is a very interesting one. I don't like it. I don't like it at all.

---

The sun's out and I have a feeling it's going to be a hot one today. My blanket is already stifling in the morning light. Very thick and heavy, it pins me to the earth. It weighs more than a blanket should. It also moves more than a blanket should. I peer down and it's also much lumpier than I prefer my blankets. I sigh and grunt as something glances along my pelvis. Blankets don't really do any of that sort of thing either, but I'm not complaining. The blanket smells like woodsmoke and that's oddly pleasant.

"Morning, Gawain," I say to the tantalizing lumps doing a very interesting dance on my body.

"Morning, Dumile," says the lump that I thought was his very bitable ass, "You sleep talk. Did you know that?"

"I always suspected. Thank you confirming, though."

"Did you dream about me?"

"Sorry, but no. Eliza didn't make it in either, so I'm not playing favorites."

"What do you think I'm doing right now? I'm making you play favorites. I heard you at the tavern. I want some of that. Give me my due."

"Gawain, we have to work up to that. We need a bed at least. Candles and wine, maybe chocolates and evening gazing at the stars before you get me on my best."

"Oh please, I'm ready now."

"I'm talking about me. Can't just turn the switch and off I go. I'm a romantic. But you're on the right track. Doing what I think you're going to do is very romantic."

He giggles and sways his hips under his cloak. I don't understand the call for modesty. Eliza has her back turned to us, still lost to sleep. She doesn't talk in her sleep, most of the time. Every so often, she wakes up with a cold start, but that's about it. I don't think it happened last night, or I would have been waking up with her crushing me. Kind of would have preferred her, in a sense. A little cooler than Gawain's heat.

He makes up for it by shifting my shirt up to my chest. He makes up for it with a trail of soft kisses and a lone finger trailing looping circles. Such a teasing thing he can be, tracing up my sides and playing on my chest. He has such good hands, very tricky, very slippery, always wandering and finding places that are just on the other line of proper. He grips and slips and does wonderful things to me. I just put my hands behind my head and lounge a bit. He's too far away for anything more than a good boy head pat, but he is being very naughty right now. He can get one of those when he becomes a good boy.

The first is undoing my pants. And he does a good job with that. I'm sure he's had plenty of practice on himself. He seems the type. I'm also the type, so I might just be projecting. I get hard easily for him, and it snakes up my stomach, passing my navel and settling in with weight and heat. I move a bit and give him more room. That's officially all I can give before I start laying in twigs and dirt. I don't want a crick in my neck any more than I've already gotten. I take the edge of the blanket up and his hands snatch it back down.

"No peeking," mutters the blanket lumps, "It's more fun if you don't peek."

"I disagree," I sigh, "peeking's half the fun."

"Then settle for half of the best mouth sucking you'll ever get."

He has a very, very inflated sense of what he is capable of, but I hope he can learn. Soft lips and soft cheeks tickle my thighs. Very smooth, he is all very smooth. Not a stray strand of hair on him. The ones on his head brush my skin and, just like the rest of him, soft and gentle and dancing like a curl of smoke. I spread my legs. He needs room to play with me and he shall have room. I am settled in for the best mouth sucking I'll ever get, or at least a very earnest attempt to do so.

He works my sack into his mouth and that is definitely a good start. A simple cradle and rock, working and rolling them heavily along his tongue. It lifts and drops and slips them around. His hands move to my legs and try to fight me more. He'll stretch me and flex me until the joints scream just enough to be considered painful. I'm rather flexible though. He'll try. It's important to give him a chance to learn that. It'll give him something to think about and I wonder what he can come up with.

His hands find my length and work the softness into me. A finger, alone and scared, traces the line on the underside, pressing it into my abs. My heat reverberates within me and sets off little fires in my fingers. They want to grab and stroke and pull and shove. They settle for tying into my hair, twirling and swirling and probably making so many knots for me to comb out. Or Eliza could do that, and I can do Gawain's. Maybe he wants it braided. I'll ask. Later. Not now. I'm much too busy to ask right now. He lets go with a muffle pop and I wish I could see his face, all red and ragged and randy.

He mumbles something. I don't understand it in the slightest. I assume it singing my praises, claiming that I am some sort of god of carnal delights. I am not so far removed, in all actuality. He knows that. He knows that and he is right. It hits my core and fills me with satisfying pride.

"You just twitched," mumbles the blanket lumps, "Why do you twitch so much?'

"I'm eager and ready," I sigh, "That's about it. You're stalling, aren't you? I'm eager now, but that can quickly change into impatient. Do you want me to be impatient?"

"Honestly, it does sound tempting. It could be a good time."

"I remind you, it's a walking day. And Eliza's charity ends at carrying bags."

He whines a bit, but another twitch shuts that down. I find my shape in the thick blanket, one of the closest ones. His hands finally touch my and he is warm. He is stifling and choking me with such tender care. Tight and loose, a glancing sensation to a gripping assault, he moves between the states with such expertise. I shuffle and move and go through all the motions I can to let him know that he has very, very, very good hands.

And then he takes his mouth to my crow in a tender kiss. Barely enough to be considered a glance, but that simple touch is enough to bend my spin and send shocks through my soul. It feels wonderful, the dryness of rasps along me. Almost like a knife edge held to my throat. He carries ruin and desolation, an endless march we all share down into dust and ash. Eliza is waiting for me at that point to wring me out even more. She's still asleep. I don't believe she is, unless she sleeps like the literal dead, and I am making too much noise. I won't say anything. She likes to listen to me make noise, but I don't know if she likes them when they're made with someone else.

Gawain moves to licking with that slender, nimble tongue of his, up and down the length, base to tip in ever the same way. Not quite a knife, but a vial of poison so tantalizingly sweet. It would taste so good to pour it in the wine. His tongue paralyzes me and stops my breathing. That is what poison does and I can think of no better way for him to be.

Eliza is blunt force strength. Gawain is clever tricks. I have no idea what I am other than a vessel for raw pleasure. His tongue is good. Very good, a wriggly little thing that knows how to tease and tantalize and make everything so horribly pleasurable. There is a bit of his teeth in there that move the sensation to a bit more slicing. Knives and poison and back-alley shadows under the cover of darkness. His blanket moves and I keep my hands to myself. They find the dirt and the grass. They pull up loose strands and let them fall in loose piles. My nails dig into the earth. It is starting. A clench in my stomach rolls down and pulls a deep pearly bead of preseed out from me. And then Gawain takes his tongue and it's all gone down with a happy hum and a soft chuckle.

The blanket is still a bit too hot for the morning. It needs to go. I will make it go away. The hands finally have the will. They take the blanket and toss it away, leaving Gawain's pale skin to burn and blister. He squints at me and there is raw hatred in them. They adjust to the light and there is annoyance in there. The rest is teasing affection that plays on his tongue. He laughs a bit more before resting his chin on my tip.

"That was mean," he says, "I was comfy in there."

"How?" I ask.

"It was warm. That's all I need."

Eliza grumbles something in her sleep and shifts. We both freeze and watch. Another pearl is pulled from me, and Gawain lets it travel all the way to the base. He trails the path it took with his tongue before coming to the top once again.

"Y'know for the best mouth sucking I've ever gotten," I murmur, "there's been very little actual sucking."

"That's the big moment, though," Gawain says. His worked move his chin and I feel his jaw work so beautifully against me. So mayn't things that I can do with those lips, those teeth, that tongue. If he would only let me actually do anything with any of him. Seeing him like this is nice though. His eyes take in the light and smother it in dead embers.