The Rabbit Dies Pt. 08

"You are terrifying," he says in a small voice swallowed by the heat.

"I am. I really am. But you're not running. People tend to run."

He kisses me again and I feel the heat in his core pour out of him. Heat, glorious heat and he kisses me and takes my head in his hands as I do the same. I run my hands down his neck, his back as I pull myself into him, lost in the cool mountains ol muscle and skin and bone. He shifts and moves and it is an avalanche beneath me and I ride it, ride every motion to its end. My fingers dig into him, looking for grip and solid rock. He has taken some heat from the sun, but it is not enough to fight the chill in him. I do not mind. I do not mind at all. It sparks against my skin, that delightful soft thrill of his motions.

"I'm not running," he says to me, "I don't want to run. I never wanted to run. You are something so different than me and I am afraid of you. But there is so much more, so much more in that than just fear."

I kiss him again and I never want to stop. I don't care about Warren or the Weavers or the endless frontier that stretches beyond the rim of the world. Amaru is here and Annette is coming back eventually and we can just stay like this forever and ever and ever and ever. I kiss him and he states of clean stone and pine needle forests and white-water rivers carving down the mountains. His hands go to my back, the tingly flesh still healing. Sparks and lightning and thunder bolt rains running through my mind and it feels like a lit fire under my skin with the dancing vein lights in the coals.

His disappointment sinks through his frame as he goes up my shirt and finds the smooth cotton bandages still pressing against his chest.

"Can I take these off now," he asks as he traces the outlines of my breasts through the cloth.

"After," I say, "After. I just want to make sure."

He hums and haws at the idea and I can tell he just wants to rip and tear and set me free. I want that too, but I still need them, I still need them over my skin, just to be safe. It's taken so long for this wound to heal, I might as well keep it on a little longer.

"Really," Annette huffs, "On the rocks?"

"Where else were we supposed to do it?" I ask.

"Literally anywhere else. Like the grass. Or inside the rocks."

"So, we really only had about three options, don't we?"

Annette sighs and starts to clamber up. She doesn't seem to mind the rocks all that much now that he is coming to join us. I busy myself with making Amaru as naked as I am. The sky-blue lines of ink pool and joint and swoop over his stomach, leading down below the waist. I know what is over that horizon, but I need to see it again. The hunger is back and unclouded and free and if anyone stands in my way they will be shattered. I do take care not to rip through his trousers. He only has so many of those left and it would be such a terrible shame for his nakedness to dangle and sway with the steps he takes with us. Such a shame indeed.

There are hands on my back, heated hands of embering coal, tracing the gaps in the bandages as well. The flesh, the skin, the raw and open wound sings and smarts and imparts the blank scour of pain. I lean into her hands. It feels good, that mix of heat and cold in my body. The sunshine down on our collective soul. The arm tocks, the passing scent of a storm that went on far too long. It all melts away with the touch and the kiss. I am not sure whose lips mine are on and I do not care.

It's the tongue that gives it away. It's too narrow, too winding, too teasing to be Amaru's blunt instrument. Annette is kissing me and playing with my lips and I torture her back, with the same battering and raw hunger I give to Amaru. I just feel her eyes go wide as her own lusts start to well in her chest. She breaks and cannot take off the wet clothes fast enough. They should have been off in the first place. It would have been much easier to dry them if they were off. The black skin and emerald touches that I like, those are just a wonderful side effect for me.

Between the two of us naked, we get Amaru down to the base primal state we all pretend we do not exist in. His arousal almost uppercuts me with his pent-up excitement. It really is so marvelous, so titanic and heavy as it lays in mt palm. I missed it. A week or so of its absence and I can already feel the aching hollow it leaves inside me. The body remembers what it is supposed to be shaped like, what it loves to be shaped like. Even the pulse comes through its skin in thick rigid veins. Weight, so much weight in the palm of my hand and I feel the soft grow strong and hard and so wonderfully upright. Its purpose was so clear and apparent and I love it.

It gets soft touches and loving strokes and a palm that circles and caress to bring it to twitches and convulsions. The man its attached to hisses a sigh through gritted teeth and shut eyes. It's easy to slot against his body, touching everything and feeling everything about him. It feels good, so good to have his body against mine, to touch and feel and stroke. He sighs and slowly relaxes as I let my touch break from him. I move and shift a bit more, letting my head rest on his lap, bringing him to my entire vision.

He gets another kiss and the one part of him that is warm, so incredibly warm, and it twitches again. He sighs and groans as my lips shift and touch and kiss. He does not get licks, not yet. There is more to kiss, more to touch with my lips. I center on his summit with one last kiss that suggests that might go deeper. Later, not now though. I bury myself in him, taking the dark scent and my mind feels soft. My thoughts slip away and all there is collects on my tongue.

The slight salt of skin and sweat coat my tongue. Intoxicating, drunk mind thoughts and I all can be is in front of him. I was starved of him by my own hand. And that hunger, that ravenous raging thing in my core has awoken with his scent and his taste. I barely even register Annette's help with him. Mine, this is mine, but she is welcome to share. I break for a moment to taste her, let everything mix and stir and gel together once again.

I take him my mouth, letting the heat from my core spill from every single motion I can imagine. Licking and kissing and sucking, Annette and I working the exposed with our hands. I have to make sure that every inch of his is contoured in delightful agony. Every part of him must be broken down into a puddle of melting joy by my touch. I am a killer. There are many ways to kill and the little death brought from me is one of the avenues. I am a killer and I am devoted to bringing him to edge of this death. Licking and kissing and sucking taking more and more of that impossible length within me, feeling it spread my mouth my throat my jaw in some futile attempt to best me. I swallow and massage and touch everything hard and hot and so wonderfully full within me. Mine, this is all mine and it is mine to do with as I wish. He taps the back of my head and I relent. Shame, such a damn shame that I have to let go. It's better for him. He still gets soft grip and my hands running up and down, up and down, because I live to torture things that I love.

There is a bit of fight left in him to my joy. His fingers trace my wounds one last time, letting the sensitive flesh tingle and spark, but he moves lower, keeps moving down my spine, cupping my ass in deep loving caresses. I sit in my quiet stillness, letting the counterattack come. I can take it. There is a hand creeping wonderfully close to something that needs terrible attention anyway. It's welcome to try. Annette works to spread me open, tease for Amaru, let the body know that there is something that it needs. It won't get it from the deft hands calloused from harmony and performance, but it will get it. Her other hand works on him, aligning and lifting and making sure that everything is as it should be. She nips the tip of my ear and kisses my cheek.

"Are you rea-" she starts. I turn to glare at her and the dark thing she sees in my core makes her silent. She kisses me and I am pacified. Her hands go back for one final check and then one migrates to my chest. Amaru has his work and she has hers. I most definitely have mine.

She slips one finger inside and I break for a moment. Full, fun little sparks and pings in my core and does a good enough job of stimulating. Rough hands on the outside, narrow fingers in. It works. It's not quite good enough for what I want, but it is nice in its own way. Definitely more dexterous than the length that is spitting and bucking under my care. Right now, though, right now, I have a full mouth of lip and tongue and loving hands and all sorts of caresses and prods that form soft sighs and clenched breathes through my teeth. Good, she is very, very good at making me feel good. And judging by the stop and start of his motions, I am good at making him feel good as well. Bodies, too many and not enough, pressed together. I do not know who I am making feel good, but I do know that I am.

My hands and lips, my tongue and my fingers, everything is slowly dripping and spotting and weeping in pure joy at the touch of another again. His hands keep poking and prodding, spreading and stoking and going deeper and deeper into me now that they join hers. Not quite as deep as his length, but good enough. Somewhat to my surprise, I feel the clench and the twitch start once again in my stomach. I welcome it. I welcome it into my body and I love it so dearly. There is no break in my administration to him. I am stronger than that.

I take one final breath through my nose, filling my lungs as it hits. Stars and void, pinpricks of light that sear and singe and strobe in my mind. Smiling, I am smiling some manic high over and through him and my climax hits me. It twitches and shifts and shakes so hard I'm afraid that I might fall apart. And I remain for all of it, just enough awareness in me to know that I am rattling apart at the touch and the will of Amaru. I laugh. I have to laugh because some part of me thinks it will end after this. And a part of Amaru and Annette as well. They are both wrong. We are all wrong.

My head moves down from his, tracking the lines of pale sky. There is the summit of all, the mountain that pierces the heavens and floods the valleys. It lays up my face, obscuring my eye, my cheek, my forehead and beyond. The vast range is mine, all mine, taken and given willingly in its entirety. My lips part over him, heat and salt and him filling my mouth, my head in spinning dizzying highs. He tastes good, so good and I like the way he tastes and I cannot get enough of what he is. His hands go to the rock and I am partially thinking that he will break the rock again. Swirling licks and deep bobs over the summit down to the base, again and again, as much as my jaw can splint and take and tase of him and he cannot hold on. He cannot withstand the onslaught. He tries to go for my head, to get some tap out motion that would get me to halt. I do not want to stop, so I won't. I will devour every inch, every drop, every bit of him and hold him in my heart forever and ever.

The eruption begins with a moment of revering stillness. His eyes go wide and the jaw goes slack. He cannot focus on anything tangible. There is just an endless void before him with blonde hair and pointed ears, the precipice of euphoric disaster made of tongue and lips and just enough teeth to give the pleasure a painful texture. He's tough enough to like it. The flow builds in tremors and waves, much like mine. It grows to gargantuan heights, eclipsing the stars, blotting out the moon and plunging his world into darkness. His hands find my head again and they lock me in place. I wasn't planning on moving and the insinuation hurts, just a bit.

But I ride it out, savor the impact and heat down the back of my throat, let the taste and scent of him fill my head with nothing but him and his release into me. So much. The countless times we have laid together, both in dreams and reality and there is such a thrill at the sheer amount he can give. And the pride that it is mine, all mine to devour, the partner I have chosen to lay with is virile and strong, I have chosen correctly.

The warmth fills my stomach with satisfying weight and he continues to pulse and throb in my mouth. I start pulling back, dragging my lips over vein and wring and steel flesh until just his summit rests in my mouth. Bitter salt, that same heady scent of masculinity encapsulates my mind. He is still going, the endless sea within him crashing and breaking in a typhoon storm against the hull. The endless shore and the infinite break waves, colliding and impacting again and again and again. A few more and he tastes sweet, sweet freedom once again.

The heat covers my face, my neck, my collar, soaking into the cotton covering my chest. Even through the fabric, his seed stains my skin, filling the air with its heavy scent. Heat, so much heat housed and nurtured, spread forth and open and I am here to bathe in it. It sits in rivers and lakes on my features, more, more from the endless sea.

But he is still just a man, despite all evidence to the contrary. His release ends in the pulses growing weaker. The gaps widen and the look on his face finally becomes something rational and focused once again.

"If I didn't know better," I hum, "I'd say you were a bit pent up." I run my tongue along my lips, grabbing the seed and bringing it back into my mouth. Annette pouts but waits by the side.

"I mean, yeah?" he says, "We haven't done it in a while, and you know. Never had much a chance at privacy with all three of us."

"Neither one of us would have minded. And now that you put that idea in my head, you have to now. And we're going to watch."

"Not sure if that's something to show everyone."

"Amaru, I was front row when you fucked a demon. Annette did the score. We can watch you stroke yourself."

"I'll do the music for that too, if you want," Annette says.

He laughs and my heart melts a little. He is happy. I like it when he is happy. To my surprise, he pulls me up and kisses me, his seed still on my lips. I like this surprise, a weird little knot in my stomach clenching and loosening in time with my heartbeat. He pulls away and laughs again at what I presume is a look of shock on my face. I'm not quite sure. I think it's shock. I hope it's shock because I don't know what else it could be.

"There's a thing that I like to pull," he says, eyes half lidded, "And I notice that women tend to like it. I don't mind this at all. I've been with other men."

And he's right. I do like that. The knot in my core tightens over my stomach in some terrible curse of lust and desire, so tight that it will snap my bones. I pounce. I tackle him as softly as I can and I am on top of him. Lips and tongue I find new ways to put my mouth against his, against his neck, against his collar, against his chest, his stomach, his arms. His entire body tastes of that bitter salt and the cool skin and the rocks of the mountains. He finds my mouth again and I am tasting him in every single way I can think of. More, I need more. But I have to break from him just to let my mind still.

"Something else we are going to watch then," I say.

"I'm not going on a stage again."

"Doesn't have to be a stage. Outside, we could do it outside. Annette and I can be in the bushes."

"Why the bushes?"

"Because that's how proper peeping is supposed to be done. You watch sex from the bushes."

He kisses the top of my head and his hands start roaming my body again. Gentle erosion, the wind and the water on me. I am ready. I have been ready since that hollow in my throat formed. But that moment of one to the next always needs to happen. There always needs to be a break between each of us to collect our thoughts. He wants to go on. The evidence of that is poking me in the stomach, poking at the knot that it wishes to see undone and battered into pieces.

Amaru's hands turn me until I face the stones baked with the heat of the sun. Warm, so warm. A thought enters that states I could just take a nap here and let the day go on as it would, but the knot in my core threatening to break me does not allow that. I raise my hips a little, inviting the hands to grab and grasp. Annette shifts over to me and I take her head in my hands and taste of her as well. She comes away drunk, intoxicated, completely lost to the scent and the taste.

And they obey. The grip hits bone and muscle and flesh as I sway, letting the eyes feast on me. I can feel them. I can feel the desire and the lust, the need for me singing in every nerve I have. Sex, I am about to have sex again and he needs to hurry it up and put it in me, or I will have to get violent.

He lines up and enters and spread and opens and I want to break something in pure joy. Full, so godsdamn full of him, stretched and the heat of his length within me. The stars start to blink almost immediately, just little pinpricks at the edges. A soft one, a teaser, something to whet the appetite of the body with a taste of what is to come. I lower down to my elbows, moving my hips back a bit as he keeps pushing in. Side to side, just to give him a bit more help in spreading me open. So thick, so gloriously, rapturously thick, spearing into me and parting the flesh, shifting bone and he is going slowly, much too slowly for my tastes. I move my hips faster.

"I'm not going to break," I say, "Harder."

"It's just been a bit is all. I don't want-"

"Harder."

"Amaru," hums Annette, "She has the horny face. It might be a good idea to give the lady what she wants."

And that is all it takes. He is still slow, but I think I am to blame. In my impatience I am moving. He is afraid of slipping out, and I do not want that either. He puts more force in the grip, the counterbalance to my own dance against him. Not quite faster, but stronger, and I will take that. I will take all of him, again and again and again, until exhaustion overtakes us. I move down Annette's body, her hands doing most of the work taking me where she wants me to go. I am somewhat too preoccupied to pretend at fighting. I know where I am going and I know that everything will be better once I get there.

The pace increases slowly, carefully, more for his sake than mine. My hips and my muscles twitch and writhe over him, eager to keep him locked and still and pleasured. It starts again with the dance, the battle of ecstasy. I lose myself to it. There is only the give and take, the motion, the sensation of full and sated promises off the horizon. There is only the hands and the pressure of weight, his immense form towering over me. There is only the endless rampaging revolt conquest of my own body against his, eager and needing to take what is mine, rightfully mine. He cannot withhold. He has to give me everything I demand.

I am in front of the emerald heat of Annette, weeping and splitting. I feast. I take everything from her as Amaru gives me everything he has. It is not enough. But the hands go to my hair, interlacing the locks and tighten my scalp to a snare drum. It hurts and I like it. The length in me, the salt and body skin of Annette and the lingering rainy grass. Mine, it is all mine and I will take everything for the simple fact that I want it. I mangle her with tongue and lips and teeth, Amaru's thrusts entering me and transferring to her. Her legs lock around my shoulders and I will never leave. I can never leave, because I will never have my fill.

In some grand act of defiance, Amaru takes an open palm to my ass and letting that sharp sound echo to the sky. I glance over my shoulder, dripping and messed, and see a dark viscous look in his eyes that I can't help but meet with a smirk.

"Harder," I say, "And actually make it hurt."