The Spy and the Pilot

Max turned around, still half asleep, pulling my body into the half-moon of his own. We lay on a straw mattress in the loft of a barn that had been taken by the resistance here in rural France, and for modesty's sake we had retreated to either sides of it; a difficult task, now made more challenging by the pilot's movements.

He took a deep inhale, his face nestled into the back of my neck, and exhaled warm breath onto my tingling skin. Now, with me in his arms, his nightmares were retreating into the dark recess of his subconscious.

We had slept beside each other for four nights now. That was how long it had been since we had found each other on a backroad from the border, him separated from his grounded plane and me... well, I had kept myself separate from everything in order to remain undetected. Every night he had been wracked with awful nightmares; this was the first he had touched me in his sleep.

I knew that this respite from undoubtedly horrid images should be protected, but an itch inside of me yearned for his hands, now securely fastened at my waist, to animate themselves and explore my body. He had removed his cotton undershirt to sleep better in the heat, and in the dappled moonlight of the barn I could make out the sinews beneath his bare skin.

"You hardly know him", my brain hissed to itself, cannibalistic in it's determination to stifle the urges. "And he's not even awake so he doesn't know what he's doing"-

Yet, I tilted my pelvis back ever so slightly. I sighed, trying to mimic the unintentional sounds of someone asleep. The movement made my body arch back into his groin. His body seemed to instinctively tighten around me, welcoming the way the space between us vanished. I felt small, childlike inside his broad, muscular frame.

I tilted my pelvis back yet again, hoping the rhythmic movement might stir some kind of consciousness into his lower half. I moaned, as if I was the one having nightmares now. His arms, once slack against my lithe torso, now stiffened.

That might have done it.

I continued to keep my eyes shut, gripping my arms tighter against his, as if I were protecting myself. The more I created this fiction, the more real it felt. Hadn't I been trying to make myself invisible, protecting myself from enemies this whole time?

"Natalie?" He whispered, his Scottish vowels thick and low in his hoarse semi-consciousness.

I waited a moment, then pretended to rouse myself. I murmured a little.

"Natalie," he said, more gently this time, "I think you're havin' a nightmare."

You're a sneaky bitch, my brain thought- but his arms were so strong, his chest so firm against my back. I hadn't felt this safe since the start of the war. I was alone then... I had been alone for years. I had used men sexually, of course... but not for my own comfort. Not for my own pleasure. Hadn't I known from the moment he smiled from beneath his RAF cap that this could be a different kind of ally?

"You're having a bad dream," he repeated softly, with a tenderness I almost couldn't bear. As if I'd known him for more than two days. As if the thought of me, my safety, and my unreachable subconscious was of the utmost importance to him.

I turned in so I was facing him, curling inwards and tucking my face just below his chin. I would never admit to being frightened by daylight, but in the darkness, I permitted myself this luxury; comfort. I had been frightened for so long, one almost comes to accept it; it was a fear people who did not know wartime would never understand.

One of the pilots arms wrapped around my back and scooped me up, the other wrapping underneath my neck to cradle the nape of my hairline. His fingers were coarse unlike mine which were still soft from handling weapons of a slightly different kind: transistor radios.

"Shhh," he whispered sleepily. "It's alright." His hand was so big that whilst still cupping the back of my head, his thumb could rest against my cheek. It stroked my face calmly, sending chills from the root of my torso up my spine.

My breath caught a little, suspended between us. His other arm was still draped around me, no doubt feeling the change in my body. His body stilled too; he was suddenly holding his breath as well. His thumb, however, maintained its steady rhythm.

I held my breath still, willing it to edge closer towards my parted lips.

And then, it did. I could feel it... His thumb was edging closer and closer towards my lips, and then dared to caress them, catching slowly against my full lower lip as it did.

The moment his thumb caught my lower lip, I exhaled, a light breeze brushing against his skin. His thumb lingered there, against the warm and wet skin inside. He was waiting for me to protest, to push him away.

The silence between us felt electric. I moved one of my legs to negotiate the space between his, hooking myself around him so that our bodies could press together. With my chest now against his, I could feel the air between us thudding with quickening heartbeats.

He did not remove his thumb from the entrance of my mouth. He was waiting for me to give him a signal to proceed.

I gently brought his thumb between my teeth. It felt both coquettish and primal; the feeling of something fragile, soft, ready to be destroyed.

Yet, his thumb retreated. I might have lost hope there, embarrassed and rejected, were it not for the feeling of his thrust pulsating against my lap. An unmistakable reaction of longing.

I should not have worried; his retreating thumb dragged down my chin and neck slowly, leaving a slightly damp residue behind it that cooled quickly in the night air. Simultaneously his other arm brought me even closer to him, his breathing quickening.

"Natalie," he whispered, betraying a deep sense of longing. I knew he wanted me, then. He wanted me quite desperately.

But I did not want it to be quick. I wanted it to be slow.

I brought my free arm up behind his head so I could drag my fingers from the back of his head to the back of his neck, bringing my face up to meet his. Would he take it from me greedily, as if I were some street woman in a foreign city, an anonymous body that he could hide inside until his grief had retreated?

He seemed to sense this. Instead of greedily launching at my mouth, he held me there.

"I wish I could see your eyes," he whispered urgently. "Your eyes..."

"You can," I promised him. "What do you see?"

I was terrified of his answer, because I knew that so many men had answers readily prepared for questions like this; it didn't matter who was looking at them or who was asking. Intimacy was a game, a war they could win on foreign shores before returning to their squadrons to regale their mates with their conquests. I felt too deeply for that. Losing this moment to a parlour story meant for male amusement would be too painful.

He was silent. Then, in a voice of resignation and sadness:

"I saw a lot of pain."

There was no pretence, no air of manipulation. There was familiarity, however; a sense that he recognised it in me because he felt it himself.

I held his neck here, hit with a wave of grief for us both. I would have pulled him so close that his body merged with mine, if I could. But this hand released him as soon as it held him there, tracing down the skin of his spine until I could pull it inwards towards our stomachs and continue this unbroken line, ever so slowly, around his side and drag it upwards between us against his almost hairless chest.

I felt his heart beating there. His mast continued to throb against me, but it did not cheapen the moment. It intensified it. I knew he wanted me, and that it took everything in him to restrain himself... because he needed me more than he wanted me. He needed me to be here, in whatever way, and he wouldn't do anything to risk it being taken away.

"I need you too." I breathed. He could have me in whatever way he wanted... if that's what he really wanted.

I could feel his face tilting towards mine, slowly, until his breath whispered against my mouth. Our lips were so close, his breath sweet and warm, smelling of the mead we'd drank with the resistance soldiers downstairs.

His lips were soft against mine. I realised then that I had imagined this moment every time I looked at them, plump and full. His wrested with mine, not trying to part them but just enjoying the way they melted into each other.

I was hungrier, it seemed; I gently parted his, daring my tongue to trace within just has his thumb had done only a few moments before. He drank me in. His warm tongue wrapped against mine, sending tingles through every nerve ending available, making me hungrier and hungrier.

He finally broke his stillness. He gave in to his urges and grasped my body firmly. He positioned me on top of him as if I weighed nothing. My groin could not be separated from his, seeking heat and pressure, pressing against his shaft and his lower abdomen as I righted myself on top of him.

Electricity surged inside of me, moving me to sit up away from his intensifying kiss so that I could straighten my arms and brace them on either side of his shoulders to slowly rock the seat of my body against him. I was abreast a wild horse, willing it to pursue.

He groaned quietly, rock-hard beneath me. I continued to work him, wanting to feed the desire I knew was raging inside of him. It became too much to bear; he reached up with one hand and secured it behind my neck, bringing us together so that he could kiss me again, more urgently and messily this time.

I slipped one of my arms down against his chest again, wanting to coax the creature that was aching for mine. He almost snarled inside my mouth as he grabbed that same hand and used his body to deftly spin me to my back, pinning both arms up on either side of my head. I exhaled through a smile, exhilarated by his careful control of my body.

Now he had me pinned, and with a masterful restraint pulled his crotch away from mine so he could move quickly down towards my base. It was yearning for touch.

I found myself nervous; he may not do this for women, I thought. A lot of men don't. Yet his fingers must have found the hem of my silk nightgown resting at my thighs because I could feel the roughness of his touch grazing upwards against my sensitive, soft skin towards my mound.

I was not wearing undergarments. The pair I used were precious and currently drying somewhere... does he think me a whore, I worried-

He seemed to sense my mind fretting because one of his hands felt down the side of my body slowly, taking in my shape. He was soothing me, willing me to relax. His caress was deliberate, careful, finishing at the side of my body where he gripped my hip, his fingers sinking into my soft arse cheeks.

He audibly groaned here, starved for the softness of a woman's body.

"Fuck," he breathed, using his free hand to gently part my knees even further and position himself at the entrance. His head remained above water, however, and I could feel his eyes searching for mine through the dark.

"Please..." he begged gruffly.

"Please," I exhaled urgently, bucking my hips upwards in an attempt to bring him closer to me. I felt his dark hair, dark brown and curly in the daylight, tickle the sensitive inner side of my thighs, signalling his descent into heaven.

"Slowly," I begged, my body already wired with so much desire that I felt I might break if he touched me too quickly, or too hard.

He slowly kissed along the parting of my lips. This was almost too much; my inhales were short and sharp. He finally slid his warm, wet tongue between the folds ever so slightly, barely reaching the pink beneath that was slickening in preparedness.

I groaned now, all other thoughts fleeing my body in anticipation for the moment his tongue would properly enter. When it did, I felt a rush of warmth cascade from my feet upwards. I could hear the sound of his wet tongue against my own moisture, lapping upwards towards the golden crown at the top. He was slow and deliberate, without feeling mechanical or procedural; He was listening to my breath, instructed by the movement and response of my body.

I made a guttural sound as he reached the sacred place, his tongue flicking against it gently before massaging around its edges-

"Yes," I gasped, "like that-"

But he didn't need my help, because my body was riding against his face, helping him reach the momentum it needed. His tongue quickened its pace, sensing that I was riding towards something that was fast approaching-

"I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming" I chanted breathlessly, the ebbing of warmth in every part of my body concentrating into an intense beam that was crescendo-ing into its peak. It had been so long since I felt this.

His tongue, darting deftly, was only seconds away from that final stroke. When it finally came, the crest of the wave brought a spilling sensation that had my legs quivering around the sides of his head. Then, my body felt as though it had melted away entirely.

He hungrily kissed upwards from my abdomen, resurfacing to kiss my mouth with stubble wet from my release.

"Max," I whispered. I was panting slightly, my eyes still rolling backwards towards the darkness above. I was immobilised. "I'm sorry, I..."

"No," he stopped me. He didn't care if I returned the favour; he was too busy kissing my body lightly, devouring every inch he could. I must have tasted salty with sweat. I smiled, willing myself to return to reality.

I reached for his hand, guiding it up towards my breast. His body came with it, softly pressing against mine. I could feel his member was already stiff -- it seemed to have only strengthened in the time since I'd last felt it in my hand -- but with the mention of my soft breasts, it quivered against my abdomen.

His fingers started to gently coax the nipple, sending goosebumps down my torso. He was not like other boys, who grabbed and pinched. He took it into his mouth, sucking ever so gently. My other hand felt for him, moving from the base towards the tip ever so gently.

"I could do this to you all night," he promised me quietly-

"No." It was my turn to stop him. My strength had returned.

I slunk downwards towards his cotton pants, bulging against what was within. I pulled them downwards, feeling his legs start to kick them away. We had showered hours before for the first time in months; his body smelled faintly sweet, a musk of summer sweat just starting to descend upon both of us.

I kissed the inner sides of his thighs and up around his navel, wanting to draw out this moment for him. I moved unpredictably towards his erection, trusting that in the darkness he was relying on the sensation of touch alone. When I finally and slowly licked the length of his shaft, I heard him gasp in the darkness above me.

"Natalie," he exhaled with something that sounded almost like awe.

I continued to slick his shaft with my tongue, working my way up towards the tip carefully, only tempering it ever so delicately. I needed to take it all into my mouth, though; I did, working up and down slowly, creating pressure with my lips as I went.

"Ugh," he groaned, "Oh, Jesus..."

I worked him at the same slow pace, feeling his member throb with the base of my tongue. He was writhing beneath me on the bed, his hands grasping for my hair, my arm. The slowness was excruciating-

So I replaced the pressure of my mouth with the pressure of my hand, gently increasing the pace. He was in ecstasy, laughing amidst the groans of delight.

"You're amazing", he exhaled in disbelief. I could hear his smile. I would have continued for as long as he would have me, but before long he was begging.

"I need to be inside you."

I was quick to oblige, my opening aching with the promise of him. I straddled him once more, one hand bracing gently against his firm abdomen while the other hand guided him inside.

There was little resistance; I was already so wet, enveloping him as if we had been designed to take each other and each other alone. He was the one who wanted to go slowly now, starting to buck his own hips up underneath me to feel me tighten around him... but I wanted to stay in control now, in the same way he had taken charge of me.

I rocked forwards and back on him, riding him so that my pussy moved up and then back down to the base of his shaft with every stride. It felt as if he were entering me for the first time, over and over. I pinned his arms down, letting him relax into the feeling of being taken.

He sat up abruptly, laughing in delight, pulling my torso towards his so that he could position me to be leaning back a little. He held me there easily with one arm, using his strength now to push upwards inside of me, pulsing harder and faster.

I groaned, feeling him start to hit the wall of my cervix and hint at that inner spot, a different kind of dulled pleasure starting to awaken. I gripped my legs around the back of his torso to intensify it. He responded by taking both arms around me and standing up, lifting me easily and turning me over onto my back, gently laying me down while still maintaining his anchor inside me.

He pumped inside of me here, harder than he had before. I wanted him to. He was starting to give in to his own needs now, rather than only thinking of mine. It was not reckless, or angry; it was deliberate, controlled. He was starving, but I knew too that he would hold out as long as he could.

I felt my inner centre start to glow with the promise of a different kind of climax. I was surprised. I let out a low, sustained moan and positioned my legs so that they would tuck over his shoulders. I needed him to go even deeper now.

He obliged, pumping. His breath was short; I could hear he was getting closer because he was exerting more and more force in his breaths, trying desperately to hold out. But I wanted him to surrender. With my face beside his head, my soft mews of encouragement were right beside his ears. Nothing was lost on him, and every sound I made egged him on.

"I want you," I said in a low whisper. "I want you."

This was too much for him; he spluttered, his body spasming suddenly. I could feel his rod giving it's final quiver, releasing his load inside of me. This filled me with such intense satisfaction that I rode my own kind of second wave of pleasure.

He sighed, falling against my breast bone and burying his head into the side of my neck. He inhaled here, holding my head in his hand, cradling it. The pressure of his body against mine felt like home. I felt safe.

"Natalie..." he murmured. I don't know what followed in his mind, what he was thinking but not saying, but it didn't matter. He rolled over onto his side, stroking my face in the darkness. Accustomed to the darkness now, I could see his eyes, searching for mine.

I allowed myself to blink once or twice and look up at him. I didn't want to be separated from him... but I tore myself away to clean up.

The air was fresh around my body, naked of it's covering, somehow removed in the throes of ecstasy. I hoped this would bring him relief, that he could sleep now, that I would return to the bed to find him sound asleep. His body was sprawled on its back, the moonlight illuminating his gorgeous expanse of chest, muscle and smooth pale skin. I found my place beside him, trying not to disturb. But within moments, he had turned himself inward to hold me again, our bodies returned to their half moons, only now there was only skin separating us.