Copyright © 2007 K.M. Frontain
All rights reserved, Freya's Bower.
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He came to me some time later, the thing that Vaal had created. I wasn’t sure how long later. I felt his presence first, not a gloat of triumph, but a quiet concern that manifested as a grip on my arm and a gentle haul upward. Back to the cabin he took me, a god who had lost the last of his self-illusions.
He’d changed the cabin about. The top bunk mattresses lay on the floor in the centre space. Clean sheets covered both. Scents filled the cabin, essential oils, warmed, their odour washing through my mind like summer.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Ease of spirit,” he said and manoeuvred me down on the grouped mattresses. “Don’t think. You don’t need to think.”
And I didn’t want to. He’d shown me already it was useless.
“Shh. Relax. Body and spirit. Just relax.”
I let it go, all of it, expectations, fears, ambitions. Memories. I let it all go. I wanted him. I wanted to say it, but I was too weary even for that.
“You don’t need to say it,” he murmured, and I shut my eyes and let him become the mind that controlled our all.
I can’t say why I trusted him, when with every lover before I had kept a small part of me back to watch, to survey, to be suspicious. But in that moment, at my lowest moment, perhaps I had come to where there wasn’t any point in worrying any longer. I knew Vaal didn’t want to eat me. I knew this half-mortal needed me, and that was enough. I was safe, as safe as I could ever be on the long continuum of my life. I just wanted him.
“Roll onto your stomach,” he instructed.
I did. The oils that brought summer to the cabin went onto my skin, and Creation, but his hands were good. He started with my shoulders, my neck, my arms. Down my spine and flank—even when it tickled, I couldn’t move to stop him, just flinched, then loosed small noises as the stiffness eased and the comfort went in. I thought I’d die when he worked the muscles of my buttocks and went lower, but even that tension left. My calves were the worst, provoking me to laugh and to twitch beneath his grip, but he laughed as well and kept at me, and it was glorious. I couldn’t believe calves could feel so good.
And then my feet. I really did almost die of ecstasy. Feet are sorely put upon, and he gave me an insight into them I will never forget. I would kill a man for touching Haru’s feet, knowing what I do now.
Oh, yes. I’ve had foot rubs before, but none as skilfully as this. One cannot compare the hands of a mere mortal to Haru’s, who knew where to press and when, who seemed to draw the hurt out of the soul at the same moment he relieved the tension of the body.
I was on my back when he started on my feet. Just a soft command, “roll over,” and I found the energy to be where he wanted me to be. One can’t understand the sensitivity of feet until one has had a foot massage, but I was more relaxed in body and spirit after he handled me there than when he touched any other part of me, yet I was all the more electrified because of it. The sensuality of the feet. It can be a very odd thing.
He worked up my shins, did quick labour on my thighs, though I wanted him to linger, and then I wanted him to linger all the worse when his hands slicked over my lower torso. My stomach has always been easy access to my sexual energy, and when he touched me there, I had the typical reaction. The looseness of body vanished. My muscles regained vigour, and I had an ambition again, if only to draw him to me, but he shoved me back down and ordered me to be still.
The pleasure of before convinced me to obey. I let him take his hands to my chest, to touch muscle and flesh, nipples that were almost too sensitive, my arms that had gone tense. I was certain he would work back down again, and he did. Even when he changed position and settled between my legs, I didn’t think. I just let him touch me where he willed.
Cool oil drizzled on my shaft, provoked a shock of enormous pleasure. He grasped me with an assurance only an experienced whore or a man can have, and I bucked on the mattresses. Gentle pushes shoved my knees up, and then he had my balls in his grip as well. I almost shot my load, but a harsh clamp on the base of my shaft stopped me. His voice was a gentle noose that stilled the urge.
“No. Don’t release. Not yet. Hold it in.”
And so I held it in. He worked me again after a short time, and I thought I’d rupture my heart before he let me release.
“Not yet,” he said again, only minutes later.
Creation! When?
“Not yet. Shh. Trust me.”
I didn’t feel I had a choice and lay there, panting and burning, wanting and yet not taking, and waited for the urge to subside. But the next time he lit into me, his fingers lowered below my sac and brushed at the hole between my legs.
I was definitely going to burst my heart.
“Shh. Shh. Relax.”
I was trying. I was.
“Don’t try. Relax. Breathe. Just breathe.”
I breathed, and his fingers kept circling the skin of my hole, and it felt good, but my shaft went limp all at once. I wanted my heart to burst from embarrassment, but it wasn’t cooperating. That had never happened before. Ever. What the fuck was the matter with me?
“Shh. Stop thinking,” he murmured.
I tossed expectations away, and it became a strange massage, a massage of one small point, and I discovered a slow pleasure building from it. Once the thinking had gone, it was good, all good. My erection returned, as hard as before, and his fingers did their magic, and I started shaking again, ready to spend on my stomach.
“No,” he said once more. I lay there gasping, holding it in while he almost murdered the base of my shaft stopping me.
“When?” I cried.
“Soon. Trust me.”
“Ah, Creation! You kill me with my trust!”
The massage ceased, and I released a noise of protest, but his body came up over me, his lips settled on mine, cut my breath off and made me dizzy. Ah! Ah, Creation! He tasted so good. His tongue! His tongue was paradise. Better than paradise.
“Shh,” he said after. “It gets better, but you have to trust me.”
“Do it! Whatever you are planning to do, do it!”
Mirth filled the atmosphere of the cabin, though he didn’t make a sound. It just bounced into my skin, tickled me, forced a smile, and I relaxed again in spite of everything.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
The rubbing began again. It was the most generous torture I had ever suffered, and it became exquisite torment when his finger at last shoved into my hole. I was loose enough by then that he followed immediately with a second. Once more, I almost lost it, but this time, when his grip squeezed my base, I held my breath and struggled with my oncoming orgasm without coaching. I mastered the urge, and his hands began moving again.
The hard grip up and down my shaft, the occasionally slow circle of his palm on the head, and his fingers deep in my hole, three of them now, rubbing where it began for a man: I knew this time, when I reached the pinnacle, he’d let me topple over to the other side.
Things were happening in my entire body. The limbs he’d massaged were no longer relaxed but shooting with energy, inside and out. A blue pulse of light raced from head to toe and back. My lips, my face, I made expressions with them that couldn’t have been pretty, but I couldn’t stop myself. I felt so fucked, and fucked, and I just wanted more of it, his fingers hard into me, harder, and that grip on my shaft going faster.
“Unh! Now! Fuck me now!” I cried, and his fingers pressed into my root just so.
“Fly,” he whispered.
Explosion. The waves that went through me. The orgasm took my entire body, shot up and down and back again. It wasn’t just my shaft and my seed this time. It was all of me. Then it was beyond me.
I flew. Not as my dragon self. Just me. I flew. The pleasure lofted me high, and despite the black of night, I knew the ship, the sea, the land I had destroyed. I felt coastline and settlements inland, plants and people and animals. I felt sky and atmosphere. And, heavens, oh, heavens, home. I felt home like I hadn’t in so long. The ages, I had forgotten the scent of it. The ether.
Shh, he whispered. Shh. Enough for now.
The settling back into me was as glorious as the launch, but it was different, softer, a coming together that felt more whole than when I had departed. I returned to my body, loose on the mattress, exhausted and yet stronger. He was still between my legs, his hands still where they had pleased me.
“Shh,” he said again and slipped his fingers free. I almost wept. “Shh. It’s all right. You’re all right.”
A mortal encouraged me, a god who had lived an eternity compared to him, and yet I needed his support, more than I had needed anything, for I wept and could not stop. He lay beside me, clasped my body in his arms, and set his forehead to mine. He stayed with me like that until I’d ceased grieving. For what I grieved, I did not know, but I did grieve.
Eventually, when I was relaxed and feeling sleepy, he shifted away. I was too tired to ask him where he went, and the trust was too strong to let me worry.
I hadn’t a need to worry. He merely set about clearing away the oils and then washed me, helped me to a lower bunk that still possessed a mattress. He tucked me in, and afterward worked to get the other mattresses back in place and the bunks made up.
“Why four bunks?” I asked, softly, lazily, almost too sleepy to listen to the response.
“I chose this ship for speed, not comfort,” he said. “It’s a working ship, not fitted out for my rank.”
“Oh.” He must have acted quickly when he’d finally decided to stop waiting and instead search for my son.
I went to sleep directly after, and it was morning when I saw him again. And I was so in love with him I wanted to murder my son and Vaal to keep him.