Memoir of a Midnight Bloom

Preface: It is the eve before the battle that will end the war. Lord Commander Aria Schezobraska is anxious, and visits the tent of her lover James for a hand. Written from James's point of view. An erotic short story featuring original characters Aria Schezobraska and James Stromiskar.

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The aroma of apricot tea boiling in the kettle did nothing to stave my apprehension. I had my sword, hung by the doorway, sharpened just before dusk. At dawn, I would be forced to use it. And only the gentle scraping of a quill under burning midnight oil—most certainly not sleep—could calm me.

"Lord Commander, are you there?"

Her sudden voice shook me. Gah! And there it went. I had knocked over the ink well and soiled the letter.

Godsdamnit.

"Yes!" I exclaimed, hastily containing the mess. "Is everything alright, Aria?"

Her shadow was cast upon the tent wall. There, she drew the curtains aside and entered, ducking below the ceiling lamp, as tall people do.

Like me, she was dressed in full armor--silver greaves, dark breeches, and a breastplate fitted to her full bosom. A bastard sword was strapped to her back. Though appearing grave, her fair countenance, blemished with a thin scar over her right eye, still shined as though a cracked diamond. Her hair, a shade of uncommon violet, cascaded down her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, James," she said. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, no need to apologize. I didn't mean to shout."

"Is that the letter to Count Avoret?"

"It was." I managed a chuckle. "Want to help me write another one?"

"James, I think you need to sleep. The Empire's forces will be here in seven hours' time." She might have sounded admonishing, but her tone was tinged with concern. I smiled.

"And so should you, Lady Commander Schezobraska," I retorted.

"Well, admittedly, I'm having trouble sleeping too."

"Then that makes two of us."

I tried to force a laugh with her. It didn't happen.

Nonetheless, Aria's quaint lisp put me at ease. Of course, this idle chat was not at all why she was here.

I rose from my chair with a creak. We'd been through this song and dance before. Sometimes I would initiate an encounter, but of late it was she who did so first. Oft she visited to discuss upcoming battle strategies. Other times, she wanted to share food and drink. Or a kiss, which I welcomed—and returned—wholeheartedly.

The kettle quietly boiled on the hearth while a symphony of crickets chirped. There, I sat with her.

"Part of me wants to believe that everything will be alright," she started.

"Renoir assures me so. As usual. But, I know that most of our forces will probably be dead by the end of tomorrow."

"Aria, we can't keep dwelling on those who are dead, or will die. There is a time to fight, and there is a time to mourn."

These words I borrowed from my late mother, lest you wonder whether I am as wise as I seem.

"I know that, of course. It's just... I realize that this is a final night's sleep for many. How many lives would be spared if we just... just stopped and turned around?"

I was tempted for a moment to actually heed her words. Lord Commander though I was, I didn't want to die. I wanted to live with Aria, make love with her, and find our ultimate happiness. But those are not the words that came from my mouth.

"The men and women of this company are prepared to give their lives for our country's freedom," I said. "Those who aren't have already left."

"Well." She tilted her head. "You're... right, of course."

"You have doubts now?" I frowned. "After devising the battle plans yourself?"

"It is not so much doubt," Aria smiled ruefully. "But the uncertainty of life. I've prepared as much as I can, but there's no telling what will happen now."

"If that is not doubt, what is it? Aria, remember Harforth? Reinbach? Queensgallow? We took all of those strongholds with your careful planning. You're an excellent tactician. I see no reason for you to doubt yourself now, of all times. Unless something has gone wrong?"

My mother always said that the most reliable people will fail at the most crucial times. Aria was not, to my knowledge, such a person.

"No, I think everything is going according to plan." she sighed. "I just need..." She trailed off, looking away. The glowing embers danced excitedly in her placid, blue eyes.

Oh. I get it now.

Yes, that one tryst, on the seventh day of winterlight not so long ago. Given the nature of our lives, often we had not the time or convenience to bed each other properly. But passion and desire, whether curse or blessing, still manifested and needed to be handled, for lack of a better word. That one night, Aria bade me touch her in pleasant ways so that she might dispel her immediate needs. I didn't know how successful I was until now.

"I see. Do you need a...?"

"A hand? Was it that obvious?" She blushed fiercely.

"It's not the first time."

"I couldn't do it myself. Not alone, anyway. It's not too much trouble is it?"

"Of course not, my lady Aria."

That got me the smile I wanted.

I set my tea aside. Our exchange of words was brief, but effective. I could see the desire welling in her blue eyes, and I would do anything to address it.

Rolled out on the floor was a large, gossamer rug of Azgarthian design, plush and inviting. There upon it Aria knelt on her knees, patiently waiting for the touch of the musician who could play her like a Marcellan cello.

I knelt and embraced her from behind. There, I took her chin in my hand, and she craned her long neck to face me.

There, our lips melted as one.

A year ago, my heart might have surrendered to desire. Even tonight, Aria's violet hair scented of myrrh, and so often did that intoxicating aroma nearly drown me with lust for her. What's more, we hadn't bedded since leaving Castle Vorpus. The circumstances—ambushes, interrogations, stratagems, injuries, funerals, and so forth—hadn't allowed for it.

Luckily, I had my wits. Tonight was for Aria.

"Here," her lips fell away.

She guided my hands to her belt where I undid her buckle and tossed it aside. Then I gingerly pulled down her breeches just enough that I could pluck her strings. I left feather-light kisses upon her alabastrine nape. Her breath quickened. And her teardrop earrings trembled with every touch, scintillating in the glow.

When Aria's breeches lay bundled at her knees, there remained only her white underclothes embroidered with a pattern of purple swords. Such was both her trademark and her embarrassment, and a subject of much personal history.

"As usual, Aria," I teased.

"Always," she managed a coy smile.

Her rear nudged against my lap as I embraced her from behind, and my hot blood began to coalesce around my loins.

"Should I put more wood on the fire," I asked.

"Don't worry about it." Aria tousled her fingers through my hair. "You're more than warm enough."

Such words were very encouraging for a timid man like me.

I traced the small of her back with a fingertip, just past the laces of her silver girdle. Further down I felt the taut curve of her derriere, veiled only by the warp and weft of cotton. I lingered there for but a moment, necking her as I went. Then came the muffled sighs I was looking for when my hand finally slipped under her waistband, and I felt the goosebumps of her skin rise against my probing fingertips.

Those fingertips sought, and sought some more. When I dared seize her round bottom, she quietly sighed. And when my hand dared cruise further down, my middle finger found a spot of dampness.

"Ngh...!"

I heard her sough through her teeth, like the wind in the trees.

This was not enough to undo her, of course. If my left hand would watch the rear, my right would handle the front.

I ran my fingers over the edge of her chainmail. There, my fingers encountered her waistband, supple and elastic. Further down, I traced a figure-eight into the cotton, stopping just shy of her cloven mound. Aria must have been growing tired of my teasing by now. But I knew this was the way. Her breath and pulse told me so.

"Here I go."

Without a second thought, I ground my middle and forefinger directly into the myriad nooks and contours that shaped her sex. Even veiled by fabric, my fingers instantly knew her intimate layout as though it were an island of treasures. Her veldt—which, in the old Devlani tongue referred to her pubis—felt light and airy as goose down. Yet further, tucked in the valley between her peach-shaped cleft, I felt the nodule of her sensitive clis. She gasped sharply as I grazed it. And so I passed through to return later, meandering around her urithe until I reached the veiled opening of her siilk that led to her depths.

Yes, such terms were used among us. Usage of the old Devlani tongue, a dying language, was outlawed by the Tyrant Emperor himself. To speak it was like spitting in his face. So much the better.

"Oh Gods." Aria shuddered. I felt—and heard--her sopping arousal coating my fingers. I had been kneading through her crevasse dutifully, stopping only to fondle her swollen clis. Moans of every octave left her throat, and I began to wonder if our tryst could be heard outside.

"Aria... are you...?"

She clutched my hair as she ground her bottom against my lap. The heat of my erection pressed hotly against her backside, screaming at me like a beast in a cell. But I ignored it.

"Hurry...!" She audibly gulped.

She pulled down her undergarments in haste. Her eyes shut, head tilted back in yearning. She wanted me to finish her.

I quickly reached for a towel and placed it on the floor before her, knowing what was to come. My left hand had idled at her perineum, just shy of her anise. I finally drove two fingers deep into her dripping core. As if struck by lightning, Aria gasped and writhed in my arms. I delved ever further, and around, and back and forth, buttering the lubricious walls of her siilk, while I fondled her clis with an intense, circular caress.

"Ohhh..." she mewled.

"Are you getting close?" I whispered.

"A little... to the left."

"Here?"

"Ah... y-you're not quite... not quite there..." She reached down, but I brushed her away.

"Please let me try. I'm doing this for you."

"A-Alright."

And so, I carried on.

I wasn't quite sure how I had done it. Like playing a random set of notes that chanced to create a delightful chord. Despite how many times we had bedded, there yet remained some mystery to her ultimate pleasure. But such mystery was not unwelcome.

"James! Oh God, I'm--" she panted.

Suddenly, I heard the shuffling of boots.

I sealed her gaping mouth with my palm. We sat perfectly still, my fingers still buried but unmoving in her drenched womanhood. From the shadow cast through the canvas walls, I could see the outline of a man's helmet and armor.

One of our cavalry?

"Lord Commander James! This is Squire Maris of Squadron 16! Are you awake," he bellowed behind the curtain.

"Y-yes, what is it?"

"May I come in, Commander? It's urgent!"

"NO, you may not! I-I'm very busy right now," I blurted out angrily.

The Lieutenant paused, seemingly in confusion. For a moment, I thought he might barge through the entrance. Then, I felt a tug on my sleeve.

Aria motioned: Finish me, those eyes read.

Her bated breath. The glistening sweat on her nape. The shudder in her hips. I had dared stop when she was teetering on the edge.

"Commander, there is movement on the Western front! General Ian requires your orders! What say you?" Maris demanded.

I didn't answer. I inserted a third finger into Aria's depths and mined deep and eagerly for her vanil, her arousal that had been running in glossy laces down my wrist.

Then, she bloomed like an orchid at dawn. And she moaned long and loud into my hand.

From her urithe fountained an orgasm might've that shamed any that came before. She cried out silently into the palm of my hand, nearly shuddering free of my embrace. Her hips bucked without end, as if struck by wave after wave of delicious pressure. The muscles of her siilk convulsed, her inner walls clenching me repeatedly with every spritz of her copious vanil. One. Two. Three. Another. Then another. Until, finally, the last torrents of her stress appeared as mere beads of liquid crystal, and she fell limp in my lap.

"Commander James? Are you alright?"

Aria gasped for breath. The silk towel lay drenched, as I expected it would be.

"Everything's fine, Maris," I finally responded. "Just tell Ian we—I'll be around in short order. Run along and tell him that."

"...Alright. Understood. I'm sorry to bother you, Lord Commander."

"No offense taken."

With that exchange, our interruption left the premises. Aria heaved a great sigh of relief.

"How... was that?" I triumphantly asked a question I thought I already knew.

"J-James, I was so embarrassed, I nearly died of shame! Why did you continue?!"

"Huh? Why did you tell me to continue?"

"I didn't! I told you to get your fingers out before I climaxed!"

"How was I supposed to know that?!"

"A tug, James! A tug means 'out'! I would be mortified if he walked in at that moment! You know that, don't you?"

"Well, I... I'm sorry." I felt somewhat deflated.

She turned away and appeared to pout, but I could make out her wry grin in the reflection of the tea pot.

"In any case, you did... well," she said, her eyes cast downwards. "Well enough that I'm sorry too."

"Ah, sorry about?"

"A-are you sure you don't want me to do something about that?"

She was, of course, referring not to the tent around us, but to the tent in my trousers.

"Better not," I replied with some resignation. "If there is movement on the Western front, I had better head there without delay. Don't worry... this will subside."

"Yes, well, if we live through tomorrow's battle, I'll do something nice for you. How does that sound?"

"But you always do nice things for me, Aria," I chuckled.

"Something nicer then."

The fire crackled as I put more wood on the hearth. Having relaxed herself, Aria quickly fell asleep on my bedding. I sipped the last of my tea, waiting for my arousal to fade before heading out. Tomorrow would be a hard day, and I hoped—Gods willing—that we had any future of nice things at all.

But if it was any consolation, I wasn't shaking anymore.