For a Song Pt. 07

"Real thing," she says, "I'm tired of this. Give me the real thing."

"You had the real thing all day yesterday," Gawain moans.

"That wasn't the real thing. That was a waste of time. This at least got me burning up. Dumile, if you're inside me by the time I count to ten, then someone else is going to get burned up."

I laugh at the empty threat. Such a loose mouth in the heat of the moment. Such ugly words that try to scratch and bite and spur. It's all so empty and hollow, but it still gets me to where she wants me to be. I still align myself with her. So much distance now, so much vast length. I still manage to bridge the gap. I move forward and show her what she will receive in a moment. I always do. She is angry now, playful and eager, but angry. This show is over. We need to real thing. I need the real thing.

I move my tip against her, playing against her lips and coating myself with her arousal. It's hot and sticky and slick and enticing. Her legs twitch and pull me closer.

She gasps as I enter, tense and clenching and tight. She is strong. She is crushing. She is vast and collapsing. Her legs bring me closer and I take myself the rest of the way. The gasp hitches for a moment and there is a rhythm she falls into. I move slowly, mostly for my benefit. I want the real thing now, not the show of dust and dirt and false promises. The false show gave me so much nothing to gorge on. This is real. This is better than anything else we could have ever done together. I want it to be beautiful and terrible and horribly rapturous with one another. I want it to be an eternity spent in the abyss.

"Finally," Gawain sighs, "It took you both forever."

"Gawain," I growl, "Hate to be this guy, but seriously, shut up. Or join."

"No joining," Eliza whines, "Just quiet."

She is not quiet and that's mostly because of me. I am having my fun with her body, watching the shapes I change with my intrusion. I go up to her belly button then move past it. I find the pattern to hit and then she is loud. A flock of birds scatters from the trees with her cry. I don't care. I don't care. They can announce to the whole world that this is happening. I am inside her, lost to the grip and twist.

I feel her heartbeat travel up my length and settle into my core. Mine moves to match it. We have more terrible work to do. We have more wonderful things to make. I have my purpose, our purpose laid out so beautifully.

She tenses and I come back to her. She tenses and holds and goes still, nails into my back. There will be marks and lines and maybe beads of blood trailing from her grip. There will be so much life in the act of her release. She is there, almost accidentally, brough there in the glorious moment. Her eyes snap open and gaze into mine. I freeze. She is going to kill me. I don't know how or why, but she is going to. Her hands go to my throat, tight and strong and pulling me down.

We kiss. We kiss and she is gentle with me. The loving toy, the gentle play, all the terrible hollow things she threatens don't come out. There is softness and quiet and someone else's taste on my tongue. I am not close. I do not want to be. We have all day ahead of us. We have all of tomorrow and the day after and the next week and the next year. It's all endless if we so choose.

We do not have that luxury. Gawain is laughing his tight little ass of on his side of the camp. That does pull me out of the moment. Eliza has a second more as her mind catches up to it all.

"You are going to be quiet," she growls. It doesn't come out as threatening as she wants it to. There's a bit of a needy whine that trails off at the end. That just makes her even angrier. Nothing to be done. Nothing to make it authoritative and hammering.

"No, I don't think I am," he giggles, "And come on, have you seen yourself when you come? Your face gets all scrunched and your bottom lip pops out. It's funny. Dumile's 'o' face is a lot better. It's just a thousand-yard stare that could burn through rock. It cuts through you while yours looks like a lost kitty."

"I'm going to kill him, Dumile. I'm going to kill him and there's nothing you can do that would stop me."

"Please don't," I say, "He does have a good mouth. I like good mouths."

"Is that so? I don't believe you. It just seems to spout bullshit."

She shifts a bit and pulls away from me. I am out of her and that's terrible. The eternity we were promised is over and we just have a surprisingly early morning. I am still hard and throbbing and painful. A slick bead of preseed pulses from me and splashes on Eliza's stomach. I watch the twitch carry through her body. At least I get to see her entire form rise and slot together. It's always amazing just to watch her move.

"Come here," she growls.

"That's against the rules," Gawain sings, "I can't break the rules. You said you would kill me. So, I will just sit here and do nothing while-"

"Get. Over. Here. Now."

I move closer to her, just in case she was talking to me. She wasn't, but the world collapses a bit tighter on her command. Her voice echoes a bit in my soul. I want to be closer, but not too close, just in case she's angry. She's not. Not really. Frustrated and annoyed, sure, but her actual anger is calm and still as the grave. Gawain's smile turns nervous as he scoots past his line in the dust.

Eliza grabs him and rolls him to the ground. He had no chance. He has no chance to protect himself from being stripped bare. All the smoke and mirrors simply shatter when she comes knocking. He's on the bedroll, still giggling. It's nervous and scared and panicked, but he keeps going with it because there is nothing else he can do. Her hands are keeping him to the floor. She straddles his head, and the fear grows stronger. I sympathize. The skull is a surprisingly weak part of the body, prone to smashing and crushing and shattering with the proper stimulation.

"Eat," she commands.

"Yes ma'am," he squeaks. She drops and I can't see him anymore. He's lost to the endless expanse of her strength.

She hisses out a heated breath and I watch the plume of steam drift into the endless sky.

"He is good," she hums.

"Better than me?" I ask. I'm all alone on my end of the world. I watch Gawain tent his trousers and I start thinking of how I can be involved.

"Not even close. Can't even handle a bit of pressure. But he at least knows the general motion."

Gawain taps her thigh, and he gets a bit of air. Just a bit. Not nearly enough before she drops back down. Her pleasure is first and foremost. Her release is so much more important than anything as paltry as survival.

"He's getting better," she sighs.

"And that's why I like him. You can't judge a novice on their first time. Give them a chance to get some experience and then you can make a judgement."

"Now you need to stop talking. I'm busy."

So easily, I am cast aside so easily. But I still have a Gawain to play with. He is hard and squirming and trying to help me with the act of taking off his pants. It's not much, but it is something. I watch as more and more of his soft light skin come into the sunlight. By the end of this, he will be tan and dark and strong all over. He will be, even if I have to force him to march naked through the afternoons. He would look so good with a tan. He looks good naked and hard and serving. He looks good now. I throb and press ourselves together. My hand holds us both together, pressing and rubbing and stroking. More beads from me, to get the motion smoother. His hands tremble in his grip. His legs twitch and fight and try to get some relief from his ecstasy. I am at one end, Eliza at the other. It's both all encompassing, dragging him to every hell he can think of. We are both here, both monsters with a new toy.

He mewls and that pulls some shivering noise from Eliza. I do the same with a deep rumble in my chest. He is fun to rub against. He is fun to rub in general. He is just fun to poke and prod. My off-hand trades his chest and twirls over his nipple. I get a muted whimper and Eliza gets a pattern that she really likes. I lean down between her legs, watching the muscles twitch and clench and threaten to crush. Her lines swirl and dance make a wonderful pattern over her skin. It's all so hypnotic. I catch glimpses of his work and it is good. Not great, but certainly getting more and more used to her.

"You're doing so good," I whisper, "Try humming a song. She likes that."

He nods and tries to make more noise through her. I can't place the tune he's going for. I don't need to. He's ready for the next step, all hard and glistening and ready for me.

I straddle him as well, legs wide. Eliza cracks her gaze to me, rocking her hips over the tongue. They goad me on, they urge me to take and conquer as she does. That's the plan. That's all according to the plan.

I press him against my entrance, and he goes still. Some part of his mind recognizes that we are about to do something incredible. Overwhelming, but incredible. He moans and squirms and once more tries to find some amount of release. Just as he is about to find fresh air again, I drop and take him to the base.

I've had bigger. I've had better. But after that turgid failure of a day I have behind me now, he is the best I could ask for. The shape is filling, pressing right against the best spot I have within me. He is overwhelmed, lost to the insanity without control. He babbles and moans and speaks with languages now dead. Eliza moans with the graveyard keen of crows and ravens. I am in the soft hum of plucked strings echoing past into the mind. There is so much noise that we can weave together. We make something so much greater than the sum of the separate parts. I rise and drop, once more feeling the same hollow and fill I give so readily. It is heaven collected in my body. I am full and then I am empty. Just a suggestion of his shape and I drop again.

"He is getting better," I sigh.

"So, I guess we have a project to work on together," Eliza moans, "Good call with the song thing. That does make it a lot better. Makes it feel more like you."

"That's not the point. He's supposed to feel like him. I'm supposed to feel like me. And you feel like you."

"He can be him when he's good. He's better. There's a difference."

I grin. She likes him now, and all it took was a bit of frustration to go through that little wall. No more killing or threats or anything quite like the still madness of bloodshed. We are in my perfect chaotic mix that can never, ever end. I have a slow pace and that's just to save him from actually madness. I don't want the poor thing to get too overwhelmed right now. We still have a full day of walking ahead of us.

I have an end to meet. I have a summit to reach, and Gawain is going to bring me there. I look down on him and every part of him is contorted and bent and trying to find relief. My hand goes to his stomach and pins him down. No more bucking, no more thrusting, just a wordless, motionless prison of flesh. Eliza's hand finds my own and pins him entirely. That one touch shuts him down. Her other one goes to my chin, pulling me up to her.

We complete the circle at the apex. She is moaning and whining and reaching her own end so beautifully close. All there, we are all there. I feel Gawain start his with the core trying to tear itself a part, Eliza moves to my length and her grip helps me reach mine. I ride Gawain hard, grinding him down and shaking the very earth beneath us all. Together, we are all locked in this annihilation together. All connected and fitted and slotted together until nothing can ever break it apart.

I start curling my hips, helping the grip turn and squeeze and stroke. Eliza matches it. Gawain matches it as best he can. Eliza twirls our tongues together. I think she's miming what our poor shared toy is doing. He does have some natural talent for it, but I also think it's her moving her hips in the same motion. He needs help, but he will be there. He will be there by the time all of this is over. A fun little thing in our shared bed, with bells and whistles and lace and honey. So many things that can always be. He is good in the moment, and he will only get better.

He moans and whines and he is flexing. He is thrusting and desperate and trying to end it all. I move with him, just slow enough to keep it from spilling over. I can feel it though, that wonderful cloying pink spilling up from him. It is all coming down so soon. It's all coming down with us. I feel it Eliza, her body responding and flushing. The pink comes along with her inky swirls. It creeps up to her eyes as they burn into mine. Her tongue is still and calm now, resting against mine. Her hand is still around me and I am getting close, my own colors and tones swirling in our endless rainbow.

Gawain's comes first and I have nothing but endless selfish pride for my hips and their motion. I did this to him. With some help, sure. But it is still my hips and my grip that destroyed him so sweetly. He gives me his warmth, in meandering shots, in filling ropes. It is incredible, that burrowing warmth down into my stomach. It is coming up into my mind. It is intoxicating that endless pulse from him.

Eliza's is next, from the stuttering tongue and rambling lips. She bites her lip and grins savagely. She stares int me and tries to find that jealousy she has within her. There is nothing like that. There is only the rapturous joy of more people in the throes of a whiteout from one another. She hitches and her eyes shut tight. All of her goes tight. She might even break the poor toy's jaw at this rate.

Mine is last, and the most languid. It comes for the shallows of my sea, no hands, no pulling, just a rachet of pleasure from deep within. It's a soft little bullet through my core, coming to my fingertips and down to my toes. It's all the same dull blade drawing over my veins. It's full of lightning and thunder and cold hail.

I paint them both in long ropes, long streaks, pooling over his body, hitting her breasts, flowing down her body and onto Gawain's greedy tongue. He cleans her as best he can with the lazy tongue that has to be tired and sore and numb.

I finish and it is all over. We are all sitting in our aftermath glow. Everything is warm and numb and calming, all done to such great lengths where nothing else matters. I glance at the sun. It's still the morning, to my surprise. I think it's the same morning. I don't remember a time of darkness. So yes, still the same morning, still the same moment. Eliza rolls off of him and lays sprawled in the dirt, spread and open and panting. A moan glances through her throat and disappears in a cold echo.

"That was fun," I sigh, "Do you feel better now, Eliza?"

"You shut up," she groans, "I'm basking."

"Me too, but c'mon. Little bit of pillow talk does a world of good."

"Then talk with him. I need to get up and get moving."

Gawain's out. Poor thing just couldn't handle it. He's shaking and mumbling devil tongues and nothing can ever really bring him out of it. I might be able to slap some sense into him with a few hangover cures, but we're a little short on those. I slip him out and come to stand, stretching out the cramps and tensions. Eliza watches me with raw hunger. And then she rolls up and starts packing.

"You're right," I say, "We really do need to pick up the pace if we're ever going to get anywhere interesting."

"Of course, I'm right," she grumbles, "I'm always right. Now get him up. I'm not carrying him."

---

"Your shoulders are really, really comfortable," Gawain says, "Dumile, you should get up here."

"No, no, I think you have the right of way on her," I say.

"Shut up, or I'm dropping him," Eliza groans.

"Please no," he says, "I like it up here. Might put up a hammock or a chandelier or something."

Eliza shrugs her shoulders and all of him jostles and shakes in response. He also shuts up, so that's nice, really. There is something to be said for a nice bit of quiet time on the road. There is probably enough space up there for a hammock and that is not the worst idea.

But no, we keep moving. Gawain's legs are shot and that's something else that I love about myself. Eliza complained a bit, but she did it when I promised that it would never happen again. Mostly because the next time we did this, I would make sure she was the one who couldn't walk. I am many things, including a man of my word. So that's a promise writ in stone.

Gawain is still so content in his little perch, but Eliza is done by the afternoon. He has a fresh set of feet, and he sets the pace. When evening rolls around, he starts complaining that we're stopping way too early. I tell him to shut up this time and he sticks his tongue out at me. But he shuts up.

No games tonight, but the idea floats through our collective mind. No more wasting time. No more dillying, dallying, shillying, or shallying. I like all those things, but no one else does.

All in all, it was an uneventful day, save for the morning. Been a long time since I've had one of those and I missed it more than I thought I would. We have a couple more of those coming along and I can't wait. Gawain gets his fire going and that's a nice treat. So's the

The moons out again, waning down to a slight sliver. The sun's going down and we will have our shared darkness for a good long while. It will be something to cherish until we do it all over again. I roll over on my bedroll and stare into the forest.

The grasslands first, then the badlands, and almost to the Sepia with scorching sands and burning sun. Not going to be great, but it will be fine.

I glance up to the sky and find the stars. So many of them, so many little lights blinking and turning and flickering like a myriad of eyes collapsing in one long unbroken strobe. Some of them change color and I find some of the shapes that make the ones I walk with. I can't find the rabbit, but that's fine. She's here. I know she is.