For a Song Pt. 06

"You're right," he continues, "It pains me to say, but you're right."

"Get used to it," I say, "I'm always right."

"You're always big. But that doesn't make you right."

I nod and I take it. I take it, because Gawain is right. I am big. I am stretching his neck already, craned just so he could sit at the top and stare me in the eye. It covers over half his face, laying on him and messing his hair. Its already in its most bedhead state. There's not much I can do that would make it worse. One more trail up and ow and he opens up once more.

He dives and he is definitely making a good run at his claim. Not the most complex or complicated but defiantly good. It's all in the simple flourishes, a lick of his tongue, a bit of pressure at the right point and the hum of his heartbeat. He pulls a deep sigh from me, and I think my eyelids flutter. I'm too beys trying to keep the sensation pulled long and not delving into the manic end that we're careening towards. That can come later after we've been in a rut a good long while.

"You are very good at this," I hum. That makes him happy, from the way he wags his hips. His puppy dog eyes gleam with mischief, and he takes me deeper. Maybe halfway, maybe a little less. He is constantly moving, and I am having a hard time gauging exactly where he is. The pressure lingers like an echo, forgotten to the moment. He is on my tip, and I feel him down my length. The reverse is true. Faded images and suggestions of where he'll be. I'm not sure where I am, other than it is warm and it is right to be here. I move my hands to stroke his hair and he looks at me again, smiling over me. I girt my teeth and grunt.

I start to buck up into him. He is too good not to torment. The joy fades into a bit of panic, but he is still happy. A good choice to gag along and sneak inside my blanket. A good choice to lay here under the sun and forget the last few days. There is just this moment together and it will end beautiful. I stroke his hair and it is as soft as silk, catching the light that his eyes don't take. He presses his scalp into me and pushes back harder, scratching along his roots. I half expect him to purr and sink along die me like a kitten. He doesn't quite purr but he finds the pace I set and works with it to take me deeper.

I'm in his throat and he works that too. The bulge I make down his neck goes far. He ignores whatever discomfort I cause. It's all worth it in the end, the shaking legs, the gritted teeth, the pants and moans and verge of pleadings that come from me. He plays me as I use him. I move my hips a bit faster, and he hums a bit deeper. Something makes my legs shake and I need them steady. I move them around his back and lock him. He goes a bit deeper. Gawain is so close to all the way down. The cruelty in me says to just take those last few inches and damn the state I leave him in. The mercy in me says that I am getting so close just from this.

The difference gets split, and I move into a bit more. He pulls away and I chase him down. It is a mistake to not give me what I want. I am close. My body is lost to the scouring lightning bolts leaving me hollow and Gawain is not letting me finally kick over the edge. So, I have to take it.

My grip tightens and holds him down while he keeps running away. I force him to me and to my motion. I buck up into him and that is enough to finally get him all the way down. There are tears in his beautiful eyes, finally letting out that taken light from the world.

My stomach tightens and my thighs squeeze as I reach the end. I am off the edge and tumbling into the white darkness. Face tight and teeth clenched, I pulse into him, my entire body rocking down his throat. Heavy seed flows from me, spills from his lips tires to fill and empty in equal measure. I feel him swallow and it is not good enough. I stain the earth with lakes of my essence. I pour my seed into his hungry mouth. Through the tears, through the onslaught, through it all, I am endless and vast.

Gawain pulls away, finally relenting. I do not. IU paint is face, fall back into my lap, pooling and flowing and sticking us together. He is silent, save for a few coughs to ease his pain. He goes back to my tup and swallows me down, eyes back on me, a bit red and tear stained, but still happy at his reward. His hands go to my sack and start playing, pushing more from me and leaving me dry.

It ends with one last shot to the back of his throat, and I relax. It is over for the moment, although if he keeps his hands on me, then we might have another round on our hands. I look to the sky. The sun's up and about, very close to the afternoon section. I turn to Eliza and find her staring back at me.

"Morning," I say, with me in my heaven and everything right with the world.

"You done," she says, exasperated beyond all measure.

"Depends. Do you want to have a turn," Gawain says as he works on cleaning everything up. He gets another tense and release from me. We are very, very close to having another go regardless of what she says.

"We should get moving," she says. I found out that sleeping naked isn't reserved for her tent. I also assume that she enjoyed listening to our little spot of fun, judging from her nipples and her crotch. They're gone too soon, back into her gown, scythe on her back. I admire her efficiency.

Gawain is much, much more relaxed in his work, showing me things, bending in places, making me watch every move he takes. They are all so enticing. Eliza coughs and that pulls me from one tantalizing fantasy to another. She holds a blackened square of cloth, covered in soot and ash.

"Is this yours," she says. I nod and it is now in my lap.

I turn it over and try to shake some of the stains out. It's not happening. All that ember is now baked into the bandana forevermore, blessed by the queen of noise and light. It feels like scales, almost, dry and smooth. But it still finds my head easily enough. It probably looks good. A thumbs up from Gawain confirms it.

Every place has its thing and everything is in its place. I'm clean and ready for the day. Gawain's hair is all combed and neat. Eliza's dressed to kill. Our fire's out and the day ahead of us is looking bright.

---

Eliza's been silent ever since we stopped for lunch. She was silent before that, but at least then she asked us to pass her a knife. She needed to pop a few blisters and my blade is only good for that. Gawain's is a bit more refined.

I hum something benign and calm while I walk. I take the forming blisters of my own feet and flatten them down. The raw skin is knitted back together into callous. I find Eliza's swirling black, and I do the same to her. Gawain doesn't seem to get them, and I have no clue as to how. Might be a Kurhk thing. Might be a Greaycrown thing. Although blisters seem like more of a Long Walker domain, what with all the walking about him and his crew seem to enjoy. But what do I know? Apparently, Treblex has some control over the ideas that concern bandanas.

There have been a number of advantages that it carries. For one, I am mostly rather cool, pleasantly so. The heat of the day doesn't have the same oppressive smother that it normally does. The sun doesn't seem as bright, and my eyes don't have the same squint and tense to them. My things feel lighter, although that may be the rather relieving morning I've had. All in all, a wonderful gift that I refuse to lose in a river. Something this fine has to be given to a nice lake at least.

"We're losing daylight," Eliza says, "We need to pick up the pace."

I disagree. There's plenty of it all around. And the pace will not gather more of it for us. If anything, it will make it run out faster, leaving us farther in the darkness than we would have been.

"We got time," I say, "It's a long walk no matter how fast we go. Might as well take it easy."

She scoffs and goes back to her silence. Gawain looks at her and then to me. I follow the eyes and they tell me that I should go talk to her. I agree with those, although I was going to wait until we stop for the night. Always better to have these sorts of talks when we can sit down, and stare down one another. But he's right. Now is better than later and later can very easily turn into never. Never is the worst of all. I speed up my steps a bit and leave Gawain with his rather fetching parasol.

"Do you want to talk about that?" I whisper to her.

"No," she says.

"I think it would be good for you."

"I don't."

"Do you remember the last thing you wouldn't talk about with me?"

"Yes."

"And do you remember the way you felt after you talked about it with me?"

"Yes."

"You were very glad you did it. Maybe not happy, but relieved."

"Watching a town burn under your orders is not the same thing as watching the man you love get off with someone else."

"It's not, but it falls under the same category of things you should probably talk about. And it was a dick move on our part. We should have asked if you were okay with all this being that casual. We didn't and I apologize. For both of us."

"That doesn't make it right."

"It doesn't and it won't happen again. We'll keep it calm. No more fooling around together. That's the docket for tonight. We figure out a schedule or a rule or something. I didn't want this to get weird."

"Well, it did.," she says. She moves at the pace she threatened, and I am back with Gawain and lovely parasol. It's all thin and lace, but the shade it casts is the same sort of refreshing. His gait is much more relaxed. He gets it. There is all the time in the world, and we can get to Blood Rock whenever we want. It will still be there. It might be dust and dirt, but the spot itself will still be there.

"That went will," he says, "All the tension's just gone."

"I can hear both of you," Eliza shouts back to us.

"I figured," Gawain replies, "And that apology goes for both of us. I thought it would be fun and it was. That doesn't make it right."

"Just shut up and walk."

And we do. We shut up and walk along the mostly silent path of the trees. The wind shakes the leaves and I hum along with that same song. It's calming. It soothes me and the aches in my feet. It helps Eliza along and keep a pace that some might call blindingly fast. She calls it jaunty. Gawain calls it spritely. In my defense, I am also soothing the world's aches with the latent half of my mind.

I hear the call of nature filter in through my mindless humming. I call a break and Eliza respects it, however begrudgingly. Gawain also has the same thought, disappearing into his own neck of the woods.

My business is quick and clean and mostly for Eliza's benefit. She'll never ask, and We all need a moment to not look at one another. Everything else is mostly a side benefit. I find a nice pawpaw tree and snag a good armful for the shared collective. A bit too sweet for my tastes, but I won't pass them up. Eliza has a sweet tooth and I'm betting Gawain does as well. It would explain some of the roundness he carries well.

I come back to the trail and find a good sitting log nearby. I bite into my fruit and spit out a seed. It is too sweet for me. I take another bite just to confirm. Might be better in a pie or a cake or something, but I don't have the means to make any of them. Gawain is the first back, and he neatly snatches the tossed gift from the air. He brightens when he bites and I am right again, just like always. He also bites into a seed and that seems to startle him. I laugh and he doesn't.

Eliza is taking a while, but I don't mind. We have time. I will keep telling them that until they believe it. Gawain's mostly there.

"She's taking a while," Gawain says, "Think she's, ok?"

"I'm not one to pry into these sorts of private manners," I sigh, "She might be taking some time to calm herself down. It's a beautiful day. Not really an outdoorsy type, but I don't know anyone who would turn up a few more minutes in a nice forest. You want another one?"

He nods and he gets one. That's all he's getting before Eliza comes back. There is a veneer of fairness I must maintain.

"She really is taking a while," I say.

"Are you worried?" Gawain mumbles as he sucks the juice from his fingers. More ideas, but not now. Later. With Eliza watching enthusiastically.

"Little bit. But I'm a very worriable person."

"Oh please. You didn't even bat an eye when Blake started swinging. Took that all from the balcony like a champ."

"Oddly enough, not the worst fall I've had to pull away from. Fourth story window in Axebreak. Met a very nice woman with a very nice set of arms. Her brother's arms, however, were a catapult. I was the rock and the only reason I don't walk with a limp is because I landed in a passing cart carrying the pumpkin harvest."

"I like pumpkins. Gods, I kind of want some pumpkin soup right now."

"I got you pawpaws. That's all you're getting."

He pouts and I stand up. I cannot summon pumpkin soup from nowhere and have it delivered to him. We don't even have bowls. It would spill everywhere, and I am not hungry enough to suck soup from the earth.

"ELIZA," I shout, "ELIZA. HURRY UP."

The wind rustles and a bird takes flight overhead. There is no response. I expected something akin to a swear and a curse of my name. She is a lady and ladies take time. I know nothing and should just let the world carry on as it will. But nothing. Gawain shrugs. He knows even less than I. So, he points down the trail.

"We're not ditching her, Gawain," I sigh.

"I wasn't suggesting that," he says, "Maybe she just went on ahead without us. She's the impatient one."

"Not impossible. But I hollered pretty loud."

"You did. But still. She likes the silent treatment."

I don't disagree on that account. I holler again and nothing comes back save for my own echo bouncing back to me.

And a rabbit, hopping from the underbrush, coat black as night and eye's clouded over.

Gawain tries to stop me. He also tries to slow me down, but that wonderful cloak keeps getting snagged on branches and brambles. It finally shows its flaws. My bandana stays perfectly on my head. If anything, it makes me move faster, letting so few of those thorns catch my skin.

"Dumile," Gawain cries, "Talk to me buddy."

"She's in trouble," I say.

The rabbit, I am chasing the black rabbit and its shadow slipping down through its warrens. I catch it in slight motions. A tail here, an ear over there, a foot over a root every so often. Gawain keeps trundling after me, snapping branches and tripping over himself.

"What kind of trouble?" he huffs.

"Bad kind. Ok. Quick explanation. She's in a cult."

"Aren't we all?"

"Not the good kind. My guess is Warren remnants."

"Oh. That's not so bad, is it? She'll have fun. Warren seemed like a good time."

"Gawain, trust me, it's not. Imagine being black out drunk."

"Not so bad."

"Now imagine that forever. You have this vague sense in the moment of what you're doing, but no idea of control. You come back from it with hazy recollections, only to dive back in and do it all over again."

"And still doesn't seem so bad. We pull her out and tell her and kind of roll on it."

"I'm not worried about her per se. You've seen her fight. Now, one more thought exercise. Imagine that, without control. Forever."

He goes even pale as the thoughts hit him.

"She's the trouble."

"Oh yeah. I don't care if some people want to waste their lives siphoning of a dead god's corpse. But I have a bad feeling about letting Eliza tap into a being of wanton lust when it's interpreted like that. And she has her scythe."

Gawain stills for a moment, and I wait with him, despite the spring in my step telling me to move on and keep running. He takes a moment to pull at his cloak, taking it off and folding it down into a neat little scarf. He then proceeds to run with an agility I didn't know he had, clambering up the trees and swinging from the branches. I stick to my lowly post on the earth.

The rabbit turns and the scent hits me first. Sex, raw unfiltered sex, mixed with fresh grass and newly fallen leaves. And it's all just starting to decay. I pull my rapier and Gawain goes to his knife. The pace slows and we crawl, waiting for the moment to turn. He doesn't get the full effects of the scent. He will. My cheeks are growing hot and tempered while I creep along, more and more deplorable thoughts entering my mind. I step over a pair of foxes so far gone with each other they don't even pretend to hiss at me. I feel the arousal creep into my blood and look up to Gawain. I can see everything from down here, all the ways he could move and spin and thrash against me. I shove it down. There is boiling anger in there as well. That takes precedent over everything else.

The rabbit turns once more and I come to a clearing of huts, all poorly made. I believe that there was a suggestion of a frame at some point. AN abandoned town with a new set of vermin in the cellar. I grip my rapier tighter and huddle through the bushes.

I spy the people lost in their worship of something so far gone. And they are bad at it play and simple. I can tell every single moan is faked. The words they say are forced and unnatural, not even bordering on sense. They clash together, but they do not move together. They act together, but independently. Gawain giggles above me.

"I think we could show them a thing or two, right," he murmurs. The suggestion does hit something in me, waltzing in there with a cocksure stride. They would flock to me and him, drowning us both in beautiful rapture. Lost to the simple rut and heat of our bodies forever more. Someone bites someone else and I see blood spill. The moment is gone. They are gone.

I don't see Eliza in there. I see a few gargans mixed in, their bulk unmistakable. They have the privilege of being beds for others in addition to their little pleasures. It angers my blood, the act so debased and devoid of any passion. Eyes glazed and lost, trying to weave something from nothing. They're drunk. They're drunk and numb to the world, indulging in the basest for of something so basic.

I smell fresh clover and a twinge of smoke hits my mind. I stand. I stand and start my march. The ground is dry and cracked, only weeds and thorns growing here. The bodies I see are the same. No pleasure here except the feigned joining. I take the blade out of its sheath, just a bit. I don't like what I see. Gawain stays at the edge, under my command. He would be useless as well. He's already gone to the aura. I can smell his arousal from here, mixing with all the rest. Clover, clover and smoke. That is my core. I am clover and smoke and whistling tune meant to carry us all away.

The pink I feel woven in the world is wrong, inflamed, diseased. I step over a couple, and they pay me no mind either in their monotonous task. A trio doesn't break as I move past. They all are lost in the blank base desire. I spy two gargans tied together, and that's my target. I see a swirl in the skin and that makes me kind of mad. That is my swirl and my pattern. If she's leaving, I deserve one last little tryst, just as she does. I need one last night together to let that go.

It is Eliza and her eyes are dead to the world. Her partners are as well, and I have to admit there is something to him. Not my type, but I'd be willing to give him a go. Not now. No, I wouldn't. Not at all my type and this is certainly not the time and place. I'm a bit cross with him and my hand pulls the blade free and then we have a bit of a good time brewing.

I poke the man with the pointy end, and he doesn't react. I poke him a bit harder and still nothing at all. I poke him hard enough to draw a lone bead of blood and that's not a problem. He still has the parts needed for the act and as long as those are whole and good, nothing will break the pace.