War Prize Ch. 03

When he recovered his voice he said, "You win."

She rested her head on her arm, gazing up at him through her eyelashes. "No," she breathed, "you win."

She let him thrust into her cleavage, bending her head so that his tip slipped along her tongue. Then she moved again, licking his shaft, sucking hard on his rod, and this time, not stopping until his ejaculate coated her mouth. She showed him how full it was of his seed, and when his eyes widened with pride, she swallowed and made a show of enjoying the taste.

She sat back on her heels, and after a moment, he sat up, leaned forward and pulled her onto the bed. He laid her down on her back moving her legs wide, propped himself on one elbow, and the device started vibrating inside her.

She shook her head, violently, and grasped his hand holding the fob in both of hers.

"Turn it off, please," she begged. "I don't like it. I like it better without, when it's just. When you're..."

He cocked his head as her grip on his hand tightened. "Really?" he asked. "But I thought—"

She didn't let him finish. "No. No. It's better without. It's. I don't know. It's too much and not enough at the same time. Please." She breathed hard, twitching her hips. "Please. Stop it."

"Ok," he said. She let go of his hand, and he pressed a couple of buttons. The device stopped and she sighed, genuinely relieved. She glanced up as he moved to toss the fob onto a small table near the curtain.

"But," he said grinning, as he leaned down, and his hand found her lower lips. "I have to get you back somehow, don't I."

She let her eyes twinkle, and grinned back. "I guess you do. Turnabout is fair play."

He moved to kiss her, but skipped her mouth, and went straight for her nether regions. When his tongue found her inner lips, and he parted her to suck on them, she arched her back and pressed her head into the pillow. As his tongue and his lips found her clit, teasing it erect and swirling around, flicking over the very tip with gentle pressure, she groaned loud and shuddered. He bent to his work, determined to bring her close and then let her suffer, just as she had done to him. He succeeded, and she let herself enjoy it. She shut off her mind, focusing on the sensations, pretending, when she needed to, that the mouth and the fingers belonged to her Mate. Or pretending, that He had asked her, as He often claimed He would, to allow some man to use her. She pretended that she was doing what she was doing and allowing what she was allowing because it would benefit Him, somehow.

That imaginary scenario helped, and she responded the way the General expected. She responded with breathy exclamations and panting and moaning and begging. She responded by rolling her hips and thrusting up into his mouth, and shuddering against him, and grabbing his hair to pull him closer. She responded to him stopping by crying out in frustration, and begging again, and babbling incoherently when he started up. She responded by bucking wildly and the collapsing in the throes of a genuinely strong orgasm. She responded by gazing at him adoringly when he repositioned himself over her and started fucking.

She pulled his face to hers and licked herself off of him. She raised her legs and clamped her feet at the small of his back. She rolled with him, when he moved onto his side to get at her on a different angle and so he could also fondle her breasts again. She moved them, rolling him onto his back so she could straddle him, moving into a squat with his shaft impaled in her, balancing with her hands on his stomach and her head thrown back. She fucked him then, the sounds of their bodies slapping together, the sounds of their grunts and panting drowning out her fear and her worry. She came again, riding him, and again, looking down at him, and again, her body twisting and shaking, clenching around him. He roared, shoving hard up into her and reaching one long arm down to pull her to him.

She sprawled on top of him, her eyes closed. His arms flung wide and his chest heaving. She slid to the side, curling against him, laying her head on him and listening to his heart beat. She stretched up, putting her lips on the pulse at his neck, feeling the skin there thump. She licked the spot, licked a drop of sweat from him, kissed him there, and laid back down. He was still shaking.

Finally, after minutes, he managed to say, "Ok, I definitely win."

She laughed, heartily and full from her belly. 'No,' she thought. 'You don't.'

She stretched her body along his, relaxing against him. Her mind moved too fast for her to sleep, but she noted his body softening, his breathing coming slow and even, and his hand twitching at her back. She made short strokes across his chest, petting him, lulling him into sleep as she formed herself against him. She waited, thinking, planning, as he slept.

That phrase "the day after tomorrow" rattled and hummed in her brain. It repeated, flashing like an alarm. Every time it seemed more dire, more like a harbinger of her doom.

'Alone in a house, in the country, with just this man and whatever household servants he has.' She thought of it, imagining the large building and the front porch and endless fields and woods. 'Always under his control. Never free. Starting over. Learning him.'

She pressed her forehead to his pectoral muscle, closing her eyes. The weight of the future felt crushing. The weight of her decision an anchor for her sanity. She breathed out slowly. She waited.

Unexpectedly, she dozed, a short dream of Him.

~~**~~**~~**~~

She ran headlong through the woods, laughing. She'd picked up her skirts, and her feet pounded in warm boots. She heard Him, behind her, calling her, teasing her, telling her what trouble she was in for making Him chase her. She ran harder, toward a thick stand of pines, reaching out to brush her hand along the needles, their scent filling the air. Her foot slipped, and she fell, sprawling on the leaves and the dusting of snow. Before she had a chance to roll over, He was on her.

He straddled her, pinning her skirts to the ground with His knees. His face flushed, His eyes bright, and His smile broad enough to show His teeth. He caught her hands in His, captured them both in one. He wagged His finger.

"Naughty, naughty," He panted. "Naughty women need correction."

She stuck out her tongue, giggling. He swiftly bent and took her tongue between His teeth. Then their lips met, their mouths opened, and His tongue found its usual home in hers. He stretched out, laying down on her, splitting her legs with His. She embraced Him, pulling Him close and moving, rolling so she wound up on top. She kneeled, grinding her hips into His, letting Him claim her mouth while she used her pelvis to tease Him erect.

When He broke the kiss to fumble with her coat, she sprang up, running again, laughing again.

She heard Him cursing, laughing, scrambling up, chasing her.

"You can run!" he shouted. "But you'll always be Mine."

~~**~~**~~**~~

She woke, tears in her eyes. 'Yes,' she thought. 'I will always be His.'

She listened to the General's breathing. It was slow and steady. She sat up, swinging her legs out of the bed, and felt a hand clamp onto her arm.

"Where are you going?" he said, groggy.

"I have to go to the toilet."

"Oh." He smiled and started to sit up.

She shook her head. "No, it's the other thing." She waved her free hand under her nose.

He wrinkled his, and let go of her arm. "Ok, then."

She leaned down to kiss him lightly. "I'll be right back."

She slipped out of the bed. She walked quickly to the toilet and did her business. Her heart was pounding. On the way back, she walked softly along the workbench, to the hook with his jacket and the utility belt. She paused, listening, hearing a snuffling snore from the sleeping area. She moved the jacket and pulled out the knife, turning it over in her hands.

'It's smaller than I thought, but it'll do.'

She walked toward the front flap, listening for three or four heartbeats. She heard the sentry breathing, but no other noises. She walked quickly back to the sleeping quarters, making sure to part the curtain as though she'd come from the back of the tent. She held the knife, handle cupped in her hand, blade along the arm cuff.

As she leaned down to pull the sheet and blanket back, she slipped the knife under her pillow. She climbed into the bed and settled back, next to the General. He barely stirred under his sheet and blanket. She waited, feeling a strange sense of calm with the inevitability of her actions. When she was sure he was sleeping, she pressed closer to him, but reached her hand under the pillow, gripping the handle of the knife.

She pressed closer still, finally moving herself over him, straddling his hips. The bed clothes were pinned under her. She leaned down as he opened his eyes. She managed to move her thighs to trap one of his hands between her leg and his torso.

She brushed her thumb across his lips, her face inches from his. She leaned over, and he turned to keep her eye.

She was surprised, really, at how easily the knife slipped into his neck. She hadn't expected it to be so sharp. She had expected the muscle to be harder to split. His eyes widened and she clamped her hand on his mouth. She wanted to be sure, so she dragged the knife up, then pressed it down. Then, as his hand spasmed and beat on her leg, and his body bucked under her, she twisted the knife, opening the wound further.

She yanked the knife back out, and the room filled with the hot copper smell of his blood spurting out of him. She pressed her hand to his mouth, even as he tried to open it, tried to scream. She heard the wet splats of the arterial spray coating the bed, the floor, and felt them on her face. She didn't flinch. She clamped her legs tightly around him.

His free hand batted at her face, scratching her, clamping on her arm, trying to drag her down, drag her off of him. His feet kicked and tangled in the covers. She concentrated on holding her hand on his mouth, and using her weight to keep him from getting up. As his struggle became more feeble, and his eyes started to close, she leaned down.

"You. Never. Owned. Me."

She sat back, waiting until he ceased moving completely. Waiting until the blood from his neck dribbled out in thin drips. Waiting after that, until his body let go the urine in his bladder, until her hand cramped on his mouth. She grabbed his left arm, and made a slice through the center of the tattoo there.

Her work with him done, she climbed off of him, out of the bed. She tucked his arm back against his body, and settled the sheet and blanket over him. Not over his face, or her handiwork, but just enough to hide his nakedness. It was her one concession to the few kindnesses he'd showed her.

She was tired, but there was one thing left to do. She found the control fob on the table and quickly walked to the shower, knife in her other hand. She turned the water on, finding a comfortable temperature. She looked at the fob, and keyed in the sequence she'd seen enough to memorize. The manacles on her wrists and ankles opened, giving her access.

She sat on the shower floor, tossing the fob just outside the radius of the splash. She didn't want to risk anything going wrong if it got wet. She assumed that as long as the manacles stayed wet, they would stay open. But she wasn't sure.

'Ok,' she thought. 'This is the hard part. You have to do this right.'

She looked at her arms, looked at the knife. She took a deep breath. She put the knife in her left hand, the one she didn't use as much. She braced her right forearm on one leg. She breathed in deep, and stabbed down hard. She dragged the knife along the middle of the inside of her forearm, slicing the vein along its length for a couple of inches.

Her arm was on fire. Her fingers twitched and she had to concentrate to move the knife to the other hand. Her dominant hand. She was shaking. Pain, adrenaline, triumph. All coursing through her, making it hard to think, hard to move.

'Fucking get on with it. You can't stop now.'

She braced her left arm on her leg, and stabbed down, slicing that arm as she had the other. With this cut, she allowed herself to cry out, softly. The pain was just as intense. The relief more so. The knife clattered on the shower floor and she held her arms out, held them down, directly into the spray of the shower. Her blood washing off and over her hands, and just as quickly more blood flowing out.

She sobbed. She laid down on her side, arms still stretched under the shower spray. Her knees curled up, but her torso twisted, her face to the ceiling. She closed her eyes, the room was spinning, and she felt so very tired. She almost laughed. Of course she felt tired. That was the whole point. The water beat down on her, warm, and she drifted, imagining walking in the rain with Him. Dancing in the rain. Making love in the rain, in a favorite secret space in a little park in the city few people went to.

She sighed, smiling.

~~**~~**~~**~~

Maybe it was a dream. Maybe it was a fantasy. Maybe a vision. Or heaven. She found herself standing on the balcony of their apartments. She stood naked and unafraid, looking out over the remnants of her battered city. She ached, in her limbs and deep in her heart. She was proud, triumphant. Lonely.

A noise behind her and she turned. She gasped, for there He stood in the doorway. She rushed to Him, putting her arms out to embrace Him and only then realizing that her hands wouldn't function. He gathered her to Him, kissing her. He was so gaunt. His uniform was filthy, torn, and bloodied. A new scar creased His face, and an open wound marred His temple. She realized He wasn't moving one arm. She wrapped her arms around Him as best she could manage and He led her into the living room.

She cried out in joy, and His smile warmed her heart. He tried to speak and His voice was a croak. His eyes were darker than the night, His skin paler than snow, and they both shivered. He held her hand and kissed her wrist. She saw the ugly split down the length of her forearm and remembered. She smiled. Then she frowned.

"Why," she asked. "Why did you give me to that man?"

He shook His head. "I didn't."

"He said—"

He pressed His forehead to hers. "I know." He paused, and His next words were soft, a whisper straight into her heart. "I'm sorry. I'm shamed. By the end. By the end I couldn't stop telling them things."

He looked at her, sinking to His knees in front of her, His darkened eyes wet. "That General saw your picture. Asked me about you. Asked questions about you to distract me. To change the subject. He promised he could keep you safe. He promised on our kinship. He said he could get you someplace safe. I... At some point, I started believing him."

He buried His head in her stomach, and she sank to her knees to comfort Him.

"Please, Elspeth. Please forgive me."

She cupped His cheeks with her ruined hands. She pressed her head to His, her mouth to His.

"You said we would survive together," she chided lovingly.

"This life or the next," He answered, "what difference does it make?"

For two people who had never believed in gods, it seemed to make no difference at all. They sank down together in the soft carpet of the living room. They curled each around the other, forehead to forehead, breath in breath, arm around arm. She held Him, feeling His last breath wash over her. She held Him until His body cooled. She held Him, until her eyes slipped shut, and her last breath joined His. Until they both were freed.

~~**~~**~~**~~

When the General didn't appear for his morning meeting, the sentry was ordered to investigate. One look at the carnage in the sleeping quarters and he raised the alarm. It didn't take long to find her laying on the floor of the shower area, cold water still flowing over her. Her blood and his long since washed down the drain. Her head was twisted, her gaze upward, and in death, she smiled.