Chapter Fourteen #5
sigh, he buried his face in the fur of her chest, rubbing his cheeks through
the fluffy hair. He could not believe how soft she was, beneath the armor and
steel. The interplay of muscle and fat was endlessly fascinating. It seemed
almost impossible that someone like her could feel so luxurious, so pleasant,
so rich in delicacy.
He took
a deep breath.
It
occurred to him that, in some way, he was starting to deeply enjoy the way she
smelled. Now that she had washed herself, it was a subtle and layered aroma,
bathed in the natural complexions of her body. He could study it like he
studied her fur.
But,
instead, as he often did, he became aware that her hands were on his back,
mindlessly scratching at the skin. Their presence sent worry piercing through
his thoughts.
Had he
done well?
Had he
gone hard enough for her?
Had
there been some technique he could’ve employed to improve the experience?
Worst
of all, the idea occurred to him that she had, indeed, fucked someone else
before, and that sent him careening over a cliff of comparisons, worrying about
his performance, worrying about an unknown rival, worrying. . . .
“Isaac.”
Her
fingers burrowed beneath his chin, lifting his head up towards hers. He did not
feel ready to face her. Just when Isaac was about to apologize, just when he
thought he needed to explain his failures, she kissed him.
He
froze in surprise as her tongue moved past his lips, slithering passed his
teeth, coiling around his own muscle, seeking and batting. On complete
instinct, he closed his eyes, pressing his lips against her muzzle, pushing his
tongue back against hers. They flexed together, curling and probing, wrapping
and sliding. He could feel the slight barbs on her tongue, the ones that were
used to strip meat from bone, and he was very aware that she was only flicking
him with their points, trying her best not to hurt him. In the end, the
experience was awkward, their anatomies clearly mismatched, but there was a
tenderness to it all, and that seemed to matter the most.
Just
when he was starting to run out of air, she pulled back, still holding his
chin. Her brown eyes opened slowly, meeting his own with a smoldering gaze.
They looked at each other, silent.
She
must’ve felt how violently his heart was pounding.
Did she
know?
Did she
feel him being afraid?
“That
was great,” Zaria said, grinning.
Isaac
fumbled for a response.
Suddenly,
she sat up from the bench, moving so swiftly into an upright position that he
was nearly flung from her chest, like a stone from a catapult. Her hands
gripped his ass, keeping him in place. With a grunt, the hyena lifted Isaac by
the rear, flinging him bodily over her shoulder.
“Hey!”
“Quiet,”
she said.
“Let me
go!”
Zaria
stood up from the bench, shifting him like a heavy sack of grain.
“I will
not be treated like this!”
She
moved over to the fire. The world was upside down. As she moved, his head bounced
against her back, barely avoiding the scythe of her wagging tail. She bent to a
knee, seemingly digging through their packs. By the way her shoulder flexed, he
could only guess that she was smoothing some piece of fabric.
Isaac
cast a small flame into his palm, holding it out backwards for her to see.
“I dare
you to,” she replied.
He
ended the cast, letting his limbs hang listlessly. In a dying fit of rebellion,
he grabbed a handful of her ass.
“Don’t
be cheeky, squire.”
He
slapped her ass.
Without
warning, the world flipped, and he landed hard on his back. She had created a
bed out of their sleeping rolls and blankets, layering the fabrics so deeply
that it was actually somewhat comfortable to lie on. The lichen fire was warm
at his side, and the shadows danced across the calm surface of the pool. He
felt ready to fall asleep at once.
Zaria
pounced on him.
The
impact knocked the breath from his chest, and she used the opportunity to pin
him against the pile of bedding, enveloping him in a mountain of fur. She
scoured his face with licks. Wherever she licked, she also rubbed, kneading her
furry cheeks against his skin, grinding her scent deep inside. At times, the
cold tip of her nose pressed into his neck. She inhaled greedily, a pleased
growl rumbling from her chest.
Isaac
lay still, letting her do as she pleased. He imagined a wildebeest being eaten
alive on a prairie.
Finally,
she stopped, rose above him, let her tongue hang low, and dragged it along his
face, wide and heavy and hot. She was forced to pin him down halfway through.
By the end, there was a gash of wet, hot skin running diagonally along his
head. A hundred baths might not have cleansed him of the experience. With her
mission complete, she shifted her body down, her head resting against his
chest, her arms wrapping around his back, adjusting the angle of his body like
one might fluff a pillow. Slowly, she relaxed against him. With the nearby
fire, and the layers of bedding beneath, he felt surprisingly snug.
Even
still, Zaria was very heavy. Isaac was able to breathe beneath her, but it was
a trying experience, and he was reluctant to expand his chest while she was
using it as a pillow. He remembered reading about executions where the victim
was pressed between two heavy boulders of stone, and he began to feel
immeasurable sympathy.
Not for
the first time, Isaac wondered what he’d gotten himself into.
“Are we
not going to clean up?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“Why
not?”
“I like
to let it marinate.”
He made
a disgusted sound. She snorted. For a time, Isaac gazed up into the eroded
stone ceiling, listening to the lichen fire pop and sizzle. He closed his eyes
and opened them again. After a moment, he said: “Zaria?”
“Hm?”
“I
think you’ve ruined my sexual tastes forever.”
She
melted into giggles. “Oh, ‘twas always my plan.”
Her
cheek nuzzled into his chest. Her breathing slowed. He could feel their
heartbeats mingling through the flesh, almost syncing into rhythm.
Sleep
called to him. The day had been long, and he couldn’t say that this was not the
most comfortable he’d felt since the start of his journey. But, through the
haze of their coupling, he felt his uncertainties rise again.
The
necromancer. His father.
What
they had just done.
What it
meant. What he was doing.
The
future.
Her ear
twitched. “What’s the matter?”
“What?”
“Heart’s
beatin’ fast.”
“What
do you like about me?” he asked, suddenly.
She
shifted her head, as if opening her eyes. His heartbeat only went faster.
“Won’t
answer that.”
“Why
not?”
“Isaac,
my intention toward you ain’t really subtle. Don’t think too hard.”
“I know
that—”
“Are
you not enjoying this?”
He was
covered in saliva, sweat, half a carpet’s worth of her rubbed off fur, and
several drying smears of cum, donated by both their bodies. Her own body was
soft, warm, and crushing.
“I am,”
he said.
“Then
why are you thinking your way out of it?”
“I—I
can’t help it. I’ve always had to. . . .”
He’d
always been struck for wrong behavior.
He had
to know.
“Fine,”
she said. “I’ll indulge you, just the once. I expect no more of this in the
future. It’s not healthy thinkin’, and I won’t abide it.”
“Sorry.”
“Shut
up. How’re we gonna split the treasure?”
“What?”
The question completely surprised him. “Evenly, I thought.”
“I’m
talking mechanics. You know, physical split. We gonna count it by hand? Draw
straws for the goblets and such?”
“Oh. Um
. . . no. I’ll do a survey, and I’ll bring it back with my main report to the
Diet collegium. When they send an expedition team,
they’ll bring minting officials to appraise the horde, carry it back to
civilization, convert it to modern currency, and hold it in trust for us, like
a bank.”
“Sounds
perfect,” she said.
“It is
a well-regulated process.”
“I
don’t mean that in a good way, love. To me, perfect is suspicious.”
“Suspicious?”
“Aye,”
she said. “For example, your robed ledger keepers’ll just give it all to an
outlaw, like myself? Won’t pull some wordy legal
nonsense to steal it, will they?”
“It’s
rightful discovery. Anyway, I’ll make sure to—”
“I
suppose,” she continued, interrupting, “you’ll have me sign a bunch of
contracts, which I can’t read, to get the coin back, won’t I?”
“Well,
yes, but—”
“No
chance all your magic men just burn me to cinders, neither?”
“Hey,
no—”
“You realize,”
Zaria said, “that we still gotta get back to your wizarding world, in the first
place. Soren weren’t the end of my pursuit. Half the ships of the desert will
be combin’ for me. The second I walk from this place, I’m a target again.”
“I have
to walk back, too,” Isaac said. “We can go together. I can . . . protect you,
with my magic. You’ve seen how I handled—”
“And
you’ll still honor our deal, despite you already gettin’ your father out of
it?”
“Well .
. . yes?”
“You
think he will honor our deal?”
“. . .
why wouldn’t he?”
“Isaac,”
Zaria said, “I’ve been cheated all my life. Had my father sell me for coin. Had
my pirate mates taking everything I couldn’t steal myself. Had more cunts than I can count betray a deal just ‘cause it was
cheaper to do so.” Her cold nose rested on his pectoral. “Suffice to say that I
wouldn’t trust an innkeep to toss me an ale that wasn’t watered down, and, now,
here you are, telling me that you’re gonna go out your way to split an ancient
treasure, barely a day after I was threatening your life for it.”
In the
silence, a fire crackled and danced.
“I’m
not sure,” Isaac said, “how I can convince you otherwise.”
“Don’t
have to,” Zaria replied. “Not a doubt in my mind that you don’t mean what
you’re saying.”
“. . .
really?”
“Aye. I
hear it in your voice. The fact that you clearly hadn’t considered any of this
just seals it further. And that’s the first thing I like, because I don’t trust
many others, as you’ve seen.”
He
didn’t answer.
“Speaking
of threatening your life,” she continued. “First time I saw you, you were dying
of thirst, barely able to stand. You had no chance against me, and you still
went down swinging. In the chapel, with my dagger at your neck, you had this
fire of defiance in your eye. I’ve had a blade to my throat more than once, and
I was never that strong about it. I mean, fuck me, we just had a dragon come
screaming out the earth in front of us, and your first instinct was to run
forward and scream right back.”
“It’s
what I was trained for.”
“Oh,
aye, speaking of that, too—you’ve got a rather cutting edge to your words, sir
mage. Some half-decent wit, if I can be the judge.”
“I use
it to hide my massive cock.”
“Fuck
off,” she said. “How’s it work, exactly? Someone who’s been smacked like a dog
all his life, grows up so quarrelsome? Thought your uncle would’ve beaten that
out of you.”
“He
tried,” Isaac said. “But he could only punish my words, not my thoughts. No
matter what he did, I always had my mind. That was my refuge. I promised myself
that my mind would always be free and wild.” He paused. “It’s not as rebellious
as I’m making it sound.”
“Not at
all. To me, sounds like you kept your principles,
despite everything you’d ever known trying to rob them away.”
“Essentially.”
“I
think we’re very alike in that regard.”
He
listened to the fire crack and sizzle.
“Also,”
Zaria said, “your tongue’s just perfect for licking cunts.”
“Alright,
that’s enough.”
“I’m
being serious, now. You feel free to do so again.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You
don’t gotta ask, even. Just the sight of you on your knees will send my heart
aflutter.”
“I’m
quite sure of that.”
“Think
of how mad the sorceress’ll get. Think of all the fury she’ll spit from her grave,
knowin’ that no one’s suckin’ her clunge like you are me. It’ll drive her
reckless. She’ll make a blunder in her rage. Really, in the end, you licking me
is a tactical decision.”
“Well,”
he said, pretending to be impressed by her logic. “I suppose I have to, then.
If it’s for the mission.”
“Aye.
Dutiful, you are. Couldn’t ask for better.”
He
stared up into the craggy ceiling. He had a certain feeling in his chest,
separate from the strain of her crushing weight. He could not identify what it
was.
It was
not unpleasant.
“That
good enough for you?” she asked.
“Yes.
I—um—” He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
“Don’t
thank a lass after fucking her, Isaac.”
“N-no,
I mean—thank you for . . . I’ve never had . . . m-my uncle would always—”
“I know
what you mean. Just teasing.”
“Right,”
he said, blushing.
“Oh,
you’re cute.”
“Shut
up.”
She
settled her head against his chest. As the conversation drifted away, he became
aware of the thicker tufts of fur brushing against his stomach. Her legs
mingled with his own. With his eyes, he traced the mohawk running down her neck
and upper back, noting the difference in texture with the surrounding fur.
He
wanted to stroke it.
His
fingers curled on the rough stone, daring to lift.
He
thought of her rejecting his touch. He thought of her shoving him off. He
thought of her standing up, moving away, and never looking at him again.
But he
wanted to, and he dared to try. He settled his hands on her upper back—with
one, he stroked through the long hairs on her neck, and with the other, he
scratched around the fading wounds on her upper back, through the divots and
trenches of muscle. Her response was a quiet note of surprise. She shifted
herself, leaning into his touch. He kept his efforts gentle enough that they
might aid her in sleep. After a moment, she gave a long, blowing sigh, as if it
was the first time she had relaxed in quite a long time.
“Isaac?”
“Hm?”
“I’m
glad it was you that blew up my ship.”
There
was a pause.
“I
could’ve met a worse pirate,” he said.
Her
breathing slowed and lengthened. He never stopped scratching. Eventually, she
began to snore.
He fell
asleep with a smile still on his face.