The Rabbit Dies Pt. 01

I can feel it through the dream, my hands gripping sheets, my teeth biting lips, my legs kicking off the sheets and every inch of my real skin has the night air to tease it and tickle. The soft blanket pools of the edge of the bed and I realize that I will have to go over and get it, but the tongue and the brush against my sore muscles splits my conscious and I am back in the field of flowers and kisses.

Tongue swirling inside me as strong, rough hands paw and knead my breasts. Songs of love and spring and summer winds intertwine with the deep groans that come from my chest as I thrash against the ecstasy. I curse the man between my legs as I curse the woman who sings of the goodness in the world, just as I curse the thing that made me the way I am. And I curse myself of enjoying all so much.

To my great delight, I can feel Amaru's sizeable shaft twitch and shift and bounce against my spine. He groans into me, sending a deep bass to my mind and he climaxes, just from the act of worship alone. It hits my shoulders, shot after shot after shot and the hollow within me says that it should have been inside, filling me and seeding me. So much, he has so much within him, and I lose track of his twitches.

The groan and song he makes within me sends me over the edge and I clench and tighten and twitch as well, spasming and tightening and roaring my pleasure into the sky. I stain the grass and petals as my release doubles back to reality, just as I spray into his mouth. Both mes shake and quiver and tense and dance to the song of another played with lips and tongue and skilled fingers.

Five, no, ten, no, all of the breaths I have left enter the release before comes down, the ministration of long muscle drawing out just another once I thought I was done. But the fall comes, from the highest mountain peak into the soft grass warmed by sunshine and blue muscular skin.

Another handful of breaths and heart beats later and Amaru collapses into the grass, laughing a deep throaty chuckle that rumbles through the earth and shakes my core, finding some last rattle in my stomach to churn and hit the sparks in my skin.

"What the hell was that Claire," he gasps.

"No idea what you're talking about," I say, and the hum hits me again. I sigh and squirm, trying to find some better way to slot our bodies together.

"Fucking waste is what I'm talking about. You really need to get out more. It's a shame, an absolute shame."

"Not interested."

"I know. I know and I hate you for it."

"You and everyone else."

He slowly moves my legs off of me and slips to my side. He smells like sweat and grass and river rock. I want to shift to his side, breathe in his scent and fall into the endless sleep next to him. But the heat on my back won't let me. The heat in my core won't allow it. There is seed still in him. He is still hard and willing and frustrated and the rational mind, that weak little pretense that I am not a beast grows weaker and weaker as his scent fills my mind. I want to go on. I don't want to fall into the comfortable embrace of nonexistence yet.

The mattress of grass under the stars, a cold spanning breeze crosses my chest and sends a jolt to my stomach. I am alone out there, alone in the cold and the night, absolutely isolated from the world. My bed is cold. The bed here is warm and shared and bright and sunny and all things good. There is only the scent of flowers back in the physical space. The scent of flowers and a meandering string that might or might not even be real in the first place.

I glance over and Amaru is staring at the sky, eyes far off and his muscles shining. His length hits his navel, still twitching and hard. He could take care of it. Neither one of me would mind. I would certainly think of better alternatives for now to take care of it, but the knot understands the pleasure of passive observance. Further categorization and understanding. Another session of peacocking just to make sure.

The math comes back and shouts a course of action. Roll over onto him and keep straddling and pressing and taking him until one of us passes out. Then keep doing it until we both are comatose. In the event that one of us wakes up, keep going until both are satisfied. It comes so naturally. It's easy. It can all be so easy. And tomorrow, tomorrow will not be easy. I will need everything I can muster in order to combat tomorrow.

I slowly sit up and take in the dream, the blurring colors that mix between flowers and trees and bark and sky. Everything just a little too vivid, the lines a little too indistinct. Even my own skin, my own pale hue, has too much pink, my hair just a bit too yellow. I can feel his eyes on me, scanning the lines on my back.

"New scars?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"Really? I don't remember the one by your left shoulder."

"That's an old one. First time I put on plate, I cinched it wrong so the first time I lifted a shield, it cut into me."

"Never noticed."

I shrug. I've stopped noticing the scars on my body too. His eyes find the roundness of my hips and I can tell he's thinking about how nice they would slot into his hands if he were to take me from behind. I am thinking about that too.

I sigh, letting everything tense and heavy flow out of me and settle to the dirt. How many times? How many times have I sat here on this hill and refused the call? I answered it at first. And then I stopped. I turn and he is still there, his eyes no longer smoldering. Just benign curiosity now that the initial push fades. He gave in. He gave in a long, long time ago and now he sits there staring at the clouds, staring at a rather comely lass, naked without a care in the world, his hardness, his own terrible lust consuming him no doubt, and there is no conflict written into his eyes. He smiles, softly, barely even a quirk of his lips. His member twitches on his belly, preseed leaking into the lines on his stomach.

I lose.

I pounce and pin and hold him down. Like a gentleman he struggles.

"Claire," he grunts, "Hey Claire. I thought you said you didn't want to do this."

"I lost," I hum and press my face against his member. I murmur and purr my delight through him. Big, eclipsing my face and stretching past my throat, arm and chest and belly splitting for him as I hold him down and lick the bitter salt from his stomach. He keeps struggling, keeps trying to preserve what I actually want from the dream. But he loses too. We all lost to the grand pull of our bodies. We all lost to my need.

It smells of him, of work and effort and sex. Raw primal sex, sweating body on sweating body, dark moments in the middle of the night preserved into the vein and the throb and the pulse. Heavy, it is heavy in my hands, his sack still bulging, easily flowing over the palm of my hand. The needy knot twitches and tightens and shakes my body more and I press my face into him. One final push from the gentleman and I break from him. I growl and snap like a wild beast and the half of me that is not drunk on him wants to apologize.

"Claire," he shouts, "Claire! Stop. Hey. Stop. What's gotten into you?"

"Not you."

I shrug him off and nuzzle back to his heat. In waves, it pours off of him in waves and consumes me, turning the thoughts smooth. There is only him and me and what is mine and nothing can stand in the way of it anymore.

I kiss the tip and it turns to wraith, deep dark azure wraith. Through my lips I feel it pulse and throb, thick veins crossing the surface and I feel him squirm underneath me, still trying to throw me off. I refuse his will. I refuse the part of him that wants to stand to reason and civilization and deny that we are nothing so sophisticated. I just see something that I want to eat, and I will eat it.

Salt and heat and bitter, my tongue traces the colors, the deep blue lines on his impressive length. I take my time. The inches he has might as well be miles. Might actually be miles. His breath hits my entrance and that finally gets a quiver out of me as I shift and settle my hips to his chest. Still needy, still hungry, still so much more that I want to do, but now, now this is mine and mine alone.

Once more, my lips meet his summit and get vertigo from the peak. And I can take it. The part of me that spurred this on can take it. It's certain of it. It would not be here for me if I could not take it. I open as wide as I can, and I dive.

Hot. Hot, heat, warm, salt, bitter salt and heartbeat fill my mouth, suffuse my lips and his head is inside, my tongue swirling and suckling and his preseed, copious and effluvial, pours forth in stuttering jumps that make my knees shake and wobble. He tastes good. He tastes like he's mine and that is the best thing anything can taste like. I moan around his flesh while his stomach twitches and flexes underneath my body. And he moans too, low, and deep and rumbling, like the sky is opening up for summer rain. Thunder, rolling thunder underneath my grasp and in my mouth and it tastes heavenly.

"Claire," Amaru whines, "Claire, what are you doing to me?"

I hum a song I do not know and let him figure out the meaning. Frankly, I think it's pretty obvious. I press my hips back again, trying to seek out his wonderful licky tongue. As pleasant as this is, the favor needs to be returned. He bucks and shifts and tries to get deeper and deeper, tries to get to my throat. He gets a little bit of teeth, just a nip at the edges for his impatience. Mine, and I will take this as I want to take it and he will be grateful for everything I give to him. He whines and groans and I am forced to push his hips back to the earth.

I ease down, letting more and more of him in my mouth, more and more of the vein and the throb and the pulse. Every breath I take is full of his scent and I feel right. I feel amazing. Everything slots together once more and I am right and the world cannot take this from me. I hum again and the world hums with me. I am singing over flesh and skin and heat and salt with hymns of warm grass and primal lust and dark nights spent in isolation together. The rut, the choir of rut and estrus, emanates from me and into him.

The soft bed of grass trembles beneath me, beneath the stars as my breath quickens and sharpens, pierces into my lungs and I writhe with the sensation. I do not want to take him out of my mouth, and I will not. The clothes I wear, still damp and clinging, sodden once more as I twitch and the flesh within me clenches.

I moan and my voice is an unobstructed howl into the full moon night. The leaves shake and rattle with the release and the sheer joy of having something inside of me. There should always be something inside of me. There should always be something warm and hot and wonderfully thick bludgeoning my insides and bruising my bones. The fact that there isn't every single moment of every single day is a sin, a downright sin of stellar magnitude. The knot tightens and breaks, and I force myself to his hilt.

He gasps and goes still, so incredibly still, stone statue still and start pulling back, the empty hollow in my throat lonesome once more. Amaru finally takes the hint and starts using his tongue once more. Deep, the wriggling muscle goes deep and spreads and opens me and I roar through his flesh, trying to drain him, bobbing my head up and down. I will not let go, even as the stars dance at the corner of my vision.

Odd thing to be choking and able to breathe at the same time, to have that restrictive walnut not be an issue. The mind knows that there is nothing there, but the sensations are still present. I choke and sputter and breathe easy, calmly, still in the midst of mostly restful sleep and I do not care. I do not mind. I have Amaru in front of me, in me and pleasuring me. I could die here, and I would not mind.

My hands find his thighs and grip, digging in the smooth muscle, raking the flesh, and leaving marks in my wake. He doesn't mind. He doesn't mind at all. He has my taste for him and my mouth around him, tongue fondling and stroking and sucking him. I could mark him, just dig in a little deeper and draw blood. Finally have a scar of his own on that beautiful blue, but the thought vanishes. He needs to be pristine and perfect if he is to be mine. Amaru pulls away and that suddenly makes hurting him all the more palatable because I have not finished.

"Claire," he whines and moans and sings such a beautiful song with, "Claire. I'm coming."

He twitches and bucks and spasms into me like an earthquake as I hilt him once more. Every single twitch, every single motion builds and builds and grows and swells. He roars and the earth cracks open below us. I claim each shot, each and every one, in my greedy throat. I lose count of the pulses, the thick seed shooting from him. I don't need to count. They are all mine, and I will have all of them. I sink my fingers into his thighs and draw him deeper and deeper, nose to his sack and chin to bone.

The warmth fills my belly, radiating through my skin, my muscles, my mind as it continues to throb into me. The shots to my back are nothing compared to this. The knot releases in pride. A good mate. A very good mate that can fill wombs to bursting. A good mate that knows that I want more, and he will give me more until he is hollow and I am full. A good mate that refuses to relent and does not resist my ransacking of his body.

Good, but not great. The flow weakens, the pulses taking longer and longer pauses between each one. Not quite as fast, not quite as much, not quite as primal, but slowly coming down. The earth settles and the rocks quiet and the world goes still once more. I pull away and breathe in the cold night air, tinged with flowers and trees and smoke, just a bit.

Amaru huffs, his chest rising and falling like the ocean tide, deep, deep, deep gulping breathes. I feel his jackrabbit heartbeat in my stomach. The knot tightens for a moment and then releases. I will not find more, not from him, not right now. I sigh, his taste still on my lips, and I roll back to the grass.

"I stand by what I said early," he says, "What the hell was that?"

"That's what it's like with me," I say. My arms go to the sky and something pops in my chest. A spike of pain almost jolts me from the dream and drops me back into the real grass and the real flowers and the real night air. I cough and sputter as the pain fades.

"You alright," he asks.

"Not in the slightest. But thanks. I needed that. Probably. And I'm assuming you're spent?"

He laughs. Of course, he laughs.

"I'm good," he says, "But I'm apparently not that good. I'm out Claire. I'm done."

I rest my head on his stomach, listening to his slowing heartbeat.

"Good night," I say, "Looking forward to doing this again."

"Good night."

I can't tell if it comes from next to me or from the trees.