Red Thread of Fate Ch. 02

They were both fantasizing about sex with another person - one he had fallen wildly for, working up the nerve to 'ask out' - she, enjoying listening to a narration of how Ascher fucked Isabel while fucking her , and he demonstrating his adoration...by fucking Mala? The clarity was lost by the third pump of his semen, splashing in her depths. The intensity of his climax surprised even him, as did his closeness with her. They were tightly pressed together, far more intimate than was the norm, and in the afterhaze of their pleasure, they held tightly to one another.

As per usual, words couldn't really fill the quiet between them, and none were really necessary. She was smiling, shining and beautiful with sweat, her short, dark hair tousled and pressing her forehead against his. Mala's plaintive, low whimper of fulfillment broke the quiet when he pulled free, and his seed welled in a...white...thick...familiar pearl. Ascher's eyes hung there on the sight of her swollen, well-fucked pussy before she closed her legs and snapped her fingers.

"Eyes up here - don't have to stare like that!" she protested playfully; he could see a trickle of himself flowing down her thigh, and her nether lips were still wonderfully swollen from their recent lovemaking.

"You were literally just holding yourself open and asking me to cum inside of you," he pointed out as he rose and - following the usual protocol when they had sex at her place - snatched her...water bottle, if it could be called that, from its stand. It was pretty and pink, and looked like a love potion from some magic girl cartoon - at odds with the no nonsense survivor he'd depended upon countless times in her land of forested mountains and gunfire.

"Please. You know that's different." Her trademark stoicism was broken by a toothy, panting smile when he returned to her bed with the water bottle and a box of tissue to clean up. "I won't lie Ascher Razankee. That was the best you've ever done it." Mala had long given up trying to pronounce his family name. "Better than that time on Halloween, which means..." she took a long pull from the water bottle before handing it back to him and drawing to sit up with her back against the pillow. "You guys really, really like her."

Ascher nodded quietly, thoughtfully. He reflected on the woman lying bare and glowing next to him, her smooth, almond-dark skin flushed from the enjoyable effort of intercourse. She was desirable, an impressive and powerful person who was one of his best friends, and not for the first time he wondered why he wasn't... with her - and as before, when he turned and looked inward, that passion just wasn't there. It was easy to seek sexual comfort in each other's arms but it just wasn't the same as with Isabel, and that was what she'd said herself.

You guys really, really like her.

He calmly processed that last bit of information. Guys, plural. It wasn't...as upsetting as he thought it might be, and even if he was ready to admit that the thought unsettled him, he'd be a hypocrite and unwilling to acknowledge it into reality. "Well, no surprise that you know, or that she's seeing someone else." Ascher swallowed dryly, distinctly aware of the way Mala was watching him like a very curious cat. "Do you have any idea who he is? If they're like...tight with each other?" He felt a bit like a creep for asking.

"Oh yeah, I know him - I'm actually pretty surprised you didn't know, but I thought something was funny when you said you could enter her with no foreplay, and that she was all...creamy for you." Despite her earlier protestations of modesty, Mala's legs were parted, touching herself and marveling at the way his semen stuck between her fingers. "...so like, when was the last time you two had sex?"

"Last night, she came over around like...8 o' clock." Ascher's thoughts had stopped moving, refusing to budge without further information; he felt like the Golem of Prague, minus its enlivening power...like a dog that wouldn't be tugged further on its leash. "Why?"

"Well," Mala gave him an unchastened little smirk as she plucked a couple of tissues from the box, "I...might have been listening to her. Last night. A bit before she went to see you...she was doing my roommate. A lot , so..." The way she looked at him was reminiscent of a hungry piranha. "I think you were probably fucking his cum deeper into her, and then pumping her with yours...hell she probably went to get pounded by him a few times after taking you. Isn't that super hot?"

Ascher had become still as a sculpture, achieving an unmoving, unbreathing state.

"...your roommate." He experienced a sensation like witch's fingers walking teasingly up his back, cackling with mockery in his ear and reminding him: you know her roommate.

"Yeah! You know, Yusuf? Rockstar, loud, apparently fucking incredible in bed, I mean...you should have heard her - where you going? Ascher?"

The corps veteran slid the bathroom door shut and turned on the faucet, splashing scalding water over his face and gritting his teeth in barely controlled, piquant rancor. There were a lot of other distinctly uncomfortable feelings to wrestle simultaneously. It wasn't the fact that Isabel was having sex with someone else that bothered him, it was the specific someone else...

...and coming over afterwards to fuck Ascher. He quietly processed what had become THE THREE DREAD THINGS that were now destined to afflict his ego.

FIRST DREAD THING : Isabel wasn't so insanely hot for him that she eschewed foreplay altogether for sex; it was that she was coming to see him carrying Yusuf Mizrah's load inside of her, dripping out of her - he really should have put two and two together, considering just how much of what he'd thought was her juice inside of her. He wasn't mad at Isabel because he just...adored her too much, but...Mala's words hung around in his head. ...fucking his cum deeper into her, and then pumping her with yours...

SECOND DREAD THING: the sheer hypocrisy of what he was feeling. He'd literally just indulged in an ongoing sexual relationship with another woman, moments ago, demonstrating how he got Isabel off no less , and...he was feeling ridiculous green-eyed jealousy befitting an adolescent boy. He hadn't felt this way about a woman in probably...ten years? Twelve? The paradoxes were numerous; his polygamous behavior against his desire for monogamy...his envy in the face of Isabel's own sexual proclivities, so like his own, which he had no right to feel...the confused unease at another man's semen on his cock, and the inability to deny what Mala had said was true - it was kind of hot, that they were taking turns claiming her.

THIRD DREAD THING: Ascher did not like Yusuf Mizrah, and the feeling was quite mutual. He'd known the guy since high school and always taken him for an arrogant blowhard. Yet, Mizrah also had qualities he couldn't help but envy - that natural ease with crowds...the rumors of his incredible sexual prowess...his skill on the guitar and at the microphone - Ascher's mother had insisted that he play violin, an instrument he'd despised in spite of his natural talent. Consequently he'd forgotten how to play, and even now was scratching his mind, wondering if he could play to impress Isabel but ultimately feeling...

Small. Ascher Nathanael Ryazansky, a man of stature and presence, was not used to feeling this way.

THE THREE DREAD THINGS had the despicable quality of stripping away that carefully crafted sweet, gentle outer layer to reveal that repugnant, impulsive, violent thing beneath.

Don't be mad. Be mature. Be an adult. You don't have to lose your shit over this, is it worth it? You can still just talk to he r but what if he's got a better dick? What if he's better in bed? What if he's just far more appealing as a man than I am, and I end up as a reject or a side piece?

Mala's knuckles rapped twice on the door before she opened it, peeking her head in and raising an eyebrow. "...you freaking out?" she unobtrusively entered, still naked and came up behind him with barely a sound. He didn't answer right away, not until she put a hand on his shoulder and he found the composure to spit something out.

"Nope. All good in here, just uh..." Ascher was a mediocre liar in most situations, but one thing he liked about Mala was that she just kind of went along with his bullshit, let him save face when he needed to. "...I think I probably need to talk to Yusuf about this."

I'm going to kick his ass / no, no you're not, this is warzone-Ascher behavior.

She pressed her lips together at the corners, pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead. "...did I...do something tactless? I didn't mean to, seriously, I just kinda like...got caught up. I shoulda - "

He hated hearing her castigate herself like this, so he turned and placed a hand softly on her shoulder, finding his own armor to protect her from guilt or shame she may have felt. "Hey, shh...stop that. Let's leave the Land of Should for the Land of Is. I'm not pissed." Not at her anyway, she couldn't have known his history with Yusuf. "I just wasn't expecting to hear I was like...y'know. Thrusting my cock into another guy's mess."

Mala ran her fingers through her short black hair...he could tell she was ashamed for not quite understanding the situation, for assuming that her thoughts and his were in concert. He could tell she was hunting for something to say, and to spare her the effort he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him, settling his chin on top of her head. That way she couldn't see his expression as he smoldered - in the back of his head he could hear the familiar pop-pop-pop of automatic rifle fire, the subdued bwa-booom of improvised explosives off in the mountains.

"Okay...well...if it'd like, fix this, and make you feel better," the petite woman spoke against his chest, resting her palms against his ribs, "maybe I can take you to see him tonight."

I can talk to him outside and introduce him to the curb / no you can't, you won't, what is wrong with you?!

Mala had no way of knowing this grimacing, atavistic side of his, as he'd sunk considerable time and capital into presenting an image of kindness and patience - the sort of person he desperately wanted to be. She couldn't have guessed that she was leading him straight on a collision course with her roommate. "Alright. Where's he gonna be?"

Is Isabel gonna be there? Shit Ascher don't let this be worse than you need it to be...

"Heh, he's doing amateur boxing night at the Orpheum...thinks he's big shit. Probably training with that blue-hair chick he shags." Mala scratched her nails across his chest and turned her shower spigots back on, washing his copious ejaculate from her thighs casually, talking to him over her shoulder. "You can talk to him after, he'll probably be feeling all good after winning and will be friendlier."

There it was. Ascher had overcome the more impulsive aspects of his behavior for the most part but his attention had zeroed in on those three words - Amateur Boxing Night. He knew rationally what he was thinking was stupid alpha-meathead behavior, completely unbecoming of a civilized person like him, and it wasn't like he was some great fighter...but he did know what he was doing. Years of TKD as a kid and through college weren't the same thing as whatever amount of training Mizrah was getting in boxing, but the sort of idiot confidence that overcomes a hero in a chivalric tale in pursuit of a lady's desire had hijacked his higher functions.

"Alright...thank you Mala. I'm sure he and I will be able to come to some sort of resolution on this." His voice was reassuring and even.

I'm going to beat him senseless in front of the crowd...and if Isabel is there, she'll see that I'm the stronger, bigger man. She'll know he's all talk, she'll see my strength, and then...I can make her mine. / Ascher for the love of the Patriarchs listen to yourself - / No.

When she stepped in the shower, he let the placid, gentle expression slip away, lips pulling back to show clenched teeth and narrowed, dark eyes...an ugly expression he didn't want anyone to see, except for Mizrah when he took him down. Ascher looked at himself in the mirror, inhaled and flexed, musculature standing out and rippling beneath his pale flesh...real strength, none of that for-show definition that was the province of that prancing peacock.

"You're mine, Mizrah," he hissed, like acid dripped over copper.