Doppelbänger

Chapter 42

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

GOOD AUGUST

LAY YOUR HANDS ON ME

The property we’ve found ourselves on is enormous, and by the time we find the stables, the sky is turning a worrying shade of orange. It’s happening again. We’re running out of time, and it feels like we just arrived.

We must be on the grounds of some pretty impressive landed gentry, because the stables are about fifty times the size of my London flat. We can only hope no one’s coming to bring the horses in soon. Maybe they’ll leave them out to graze all night.

We wind our way to the back of the stables, where we discover a ladder leading up to a hayloft. One by one, we make it up into the comparatively warm and sunny space, even if the sunlight now… it’s almost textured. Its rays are thick and warm in a way I’ve never experienced.

August takes his sweater off, his shirt too, and lays them out on a hay bale to dry, so I do the same.

Jon offers me his shirt, and it does look warm. But the smell of him feels wrong. There’s only one man I want to be wrapped up in. Shashi and Amber, on the other hand, happily accept Jon and Assassin August’s warm and dry clothes before laying their own out in the sun to dry too.

It must be somewhere in the mid-afternoon. We started the day on bread and beer, witnessed an execution, walked miles, got shot at and chased, and now we all just sit here, exhausted and stupefied, while we wait for this world to die around us.

Assassin August is the first to speak after a long silence. “If you all want to rest, I’ll keep watch. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

“You have a sleep too,” says Jon. “I’ll do it.

” He’s sporting the sort of dark shadows under his eyes that, last week, would have given him a breakdown before a show.

It’s so unlike him to be the one making the sacrifice.

He’s used to the world dancing to his tune.

But he doesn’t even give August time to argue.

He flips the hatch in the roof and climbs out to watch the sun sicken and fail.

Assassin August stares at the wooden floorboards for all of three seconds before he chases after him, two sets of boots meeting on the roof over our heads.

“I’ll take that offer,” says Shashi. She and Amber stumble to the edge of the barn and arrange some hay bales to make a sort of wall, then disappear on the other side of it, talking quietly.

That leaves August and me alone, somewhat, in our own corner of the hayloft, with one little wooden window cut into the wall to look out on this strange world.

Shadows lengthen across the meadow, the sun setting too fast, or the air not carrying the shadows as they should.

August’s busy making us a little den. It doesn’t look remotely comfortable, but I don’t care.

His efforts are sweet and thoughtful, and when he lies down, he takes the brunt of the scratchy hay against his naked back, holding out an arm for me to lie my head on his chest.

It’s an offer I positively scramble to accept.

We lie there for a while, watching dust float in the orange haze.

I can’t sleep. All I can think about is once it’s dark, how will we know the world is fading?

Is there a full moon coming? Would the dimming of the stars alert us in here?

Has that already happened? Can Jon and August stay awake up there?

Time passes slowly, anxiety throbbing through me, and after maybe half an hour, or an hour, I hear Shashi’s sigh, her telling Amber she can’t sleep either, and the two of them going up on the roof with August and Jon.

August’s head tilts, and he drops a kiss on my forehead. I’d hoped he at least was getting some rest. I run a hand up to his cheek, stroke his something-o’clock shadow.

When will we ever shave again? Wash again? Eat again? The food he packed must have gotten lost in the river. Though I guess we did technically get washed in the stream, more or less.

August’s skin is still cool, even in the soft sunlight, and a little shiver ripples over him. I shift my hand to his biceps to warm him, stretching my arms over his chest as widely as possible so I can be his blanket.

Another kiss falls on my hair. Then another. I tilt my head up to catch the next. Soft. Gentle. Loving. Then lengthening. Just his lips at first, small pecks.

But I don’t want to stop.

And he doesn’t stop.

Kisses and more kisses until I’m not cold anymore. Until I feel my strength returning, wanting more of him.

My tongue sweeps his lower lip once, then again to be met by his.

The caress of his hand on my stomach is tentative at first, a trail of fingertips, like he needs the touch but isn’t sure I do too.

I lean into him, giving him the message.

His hand splays out over the muscles of my abdomen, massaging over every one, crushingly reverent.

His hand wanders down and down, and just when I think he’s about to finally put it where I really need it, he sweeps fingertips featherlight along my firm shaft, then onto my thigh.

I grind against his hip, seeking the friction he won’t give me, while he grins against my lips.

“Don’t be cruel,” I whisper.

His tongue lashes against mine. “I’d say I like it when you’re needy, but I don’t think you’ve ever gone long enough.”

“It feels like years,” I complain, bucking forward against him again.

“Shhhhh,” he whispers, kissing a tiny trail over my hungry lower lip. “If you make any noise, they’ll all be down here.” I bite my lip when he takes a firm hold of my dick. “Then I’ll have to stop.”

“No.” The sound is petulant on my lips, begging.

He pulls back, pausing the movement of his hand, pinning me with those dark and piercing eyes of his. “Do you think you can be good?”

Slamming my lips shut, I nod my head vigorously.

“Not a sound?”

I shake my head.

His hand recommences, slow and tortuous. “Because I’ve heard the noises you make, August.”

His kisses move from my lips, along my cheek to my neck, where his hot breath curls around my ear. “And I love them.”

Completely beyond my control, a small whimper ekes out of me. He squeezes my dick in response, biting down on my neck simultaneously, and I slap a hand over my mouth to control it.

He’s climbing on top of me, easing his legs between mine, kissing his way down the centre line of my chest, stroking my cock, watching me writhe with my finger jammed between my teeth. I know what’s coming. And I’ve never been able to keep from screaming with him.

Down and down, kisses and kisses, until his hands wrap around my underwear.

He eases it off, then settles back between my legs, kissing his way up my thigh, his eyes taking in every inch of me.

He drops his head for one glancing lick of my cock, right from the base to the tip, but just when I think he’s about to sink it in his mouth, he leans forward, arms straddling me. “Do you know how gorgeous you are?”

He takes a kiss, the taste of salty precum on his lips. “Only when I’m with you.”

His teeth fall on my nipple, and my hips buck forward when he bites, sucks. My teeth sink sharp into my finger to avoid the groan that wants to rip out of me.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispers, his hand moving to my other nipple. He pinches while he bites again, and I’m already falling apart. My breaths suck in and out, harsh.

“Shhh, Slayer,” he hisses. “I’m just getting started with you.”

I feel it bubbling up, that familiar refrain. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

The sky’s darkening, scarlet skin on scarlet skin. If it’s not sunset, I don’t want to know any better.

He’s kissing my thighs, his hands sliding beneath me, digging into the muscles of my ass, kissing all around my cock while it throbs desperately for him.

He pulls me up, rests my ass on his thighs, then runs hands up the deep cuts of my hard-earned V-line, scrunching fingers into my hips.

“Stretch out long for me, Slayer. Grab that beam.”

It’s a heady feeling, someone wanting to see all of me. Someone getting off just by looking at me. He makes me feel beautiful. I want to show him. I want to show off for him. So I stretch out long, fingers seeking the beam I didn’t even know was there, and I flex my muscles when I grip it.

“Fucking hell,” he purrs. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“I believe it,” I whisper back. “Because you’re me.”

A sweet, satisfied smile lights his face, then in one swift movement, he wrenches my ass up, leans down, and sinks his tongue into my hole.

Fucking hell.

Fuck. Fuck. I was not prepared for that. Fuck.

I can’t keep silent. I can’t. I curl my toes, squeeze my eyes tight, and bury my face in my arm.

He licks a trail up, then over my balls to the base of my dick. Then he’s back down again, enjoying my hole like it belongs to him.

I can’t get enough air, have to hold this beam so hard to try to calm the waves of pleasure, to keep silent.

A gasp escapes. An audible gasp.

I press my fingers into the pole, trying to keep control, praying he won’t stop. Up and over my balls again, the base of my dick, playing with me, enjoying the way my body seizes in expectation every time, then shatters when he tongue fucks me all over again.

He’s driving me wild—the tastes of intensity, the building urge for him to touch my dick, the tension and desperation caught up inside me like a tornado in a matchbox, ready to tear me all apart, inside and out.

He keeps going, like he can’t get enough of me, like he’s crossed a thousand universes with the sole purpose of arriving here today to eat my ass. Like this is all any of it has ever been leading to. He uses me until I’m ragged, until I can’t stop the words. “Please, August. Please.”

“Shhhhhh, Slayer. You promised.”

“No. I can’t. Please—”

“You can.” He pushes two spit-slicked fingers in as he says it. My body rises up, and he catches me, kneeling tall against me as I arch my back, my feet pressing against his chest.

A hand slips from the pole, into my mouth, and I bite down to catch the scream.

“That’s it, Slayer. Take it. Take it.”

He pushes into me, and my body turns taut trying to keep it all inside. I want to scream. I want to tell him how much I love him. I want him to know what he’s doing to me, and it feels like I’ll explode if I can’t get it out.

He doesn’t care.

He’s locked me in here with this overwhelming pleasure, and he has no sympathy for my predicament. He only bangs me harder with his two perfect fingers, so I’m using every ounce of strength I have to hold back the cries.

“Good work,” he whispers. “You’re doing so well.”

Maybe he does care. A little.

He must, because finally, his hand wraps around my dick, and sweet relief floods me.

His touch is divine, the perfect pressure, stroking over me, gorgeous.

Then he clamps my cock down, twists his other hand, shoving another finger deep, all the way until I feel his palm cup my balls.

He curls his fingers, squeezes my dick, my eyes roll back and my world turns white.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck,” I hiss. And I’m trying so hard, really I am. But… “Fuck!”

His hand pulls back. “You broke your promise.”

“I’m so sorry, please don’t sto—fuck!”

He slams it back into me, and I’m beginning to think he’s not as concerned about my silence as he makes out.

He pounds me with his fingers, deep and hard, giving my cock the barest attention, working me into a frenzy like I’ve never experienced before.

I want him. I need him. He’s the only thought in my overwrought mind. August. August. August.

Faster, firmer. When he pushes the fourth finger in, I lose the power of speech entirely. I can’t even beg him anymore. I can barely form a cohesive thought.

The pulsing of light when he fucks me has become so much a part of me now that it takes me a while to even realise it’s happening.

That the red’s deepening to purple, expanding to green, closing blue on me and on August, rejuvenating in magenta.

It’s at my lips. “Don’t stop. August, please don’t stop. ”

I’ve never begged anyone like this before. It’s as if something primal takes over every time I’m with him. Like there’s something just out of sight, something beautiful, if only I had that little bit more…

He slams his hand into me, curls fingers, cups balls, sinks me deep into his hot and abiding mouth, and that’s it.

The room explodes, blinding light, and we rip the next world open, a desperate cry wrecking me, a flood of pleasure choking me, August drinking me, hand fucking me, owning me, making me his until I fall to pieces on the floor, pulling him to me, sweaty and needy, desperate for his kiss, to have him in my arms, wishing I could pull him into me whole.

“I can’t stop,” I rasp. “I can’t. I want more of you. I need you.”

The roof hatch slams open, silencing us. He lunges for my underwear, as if there’s any sort of decency to be had here. My head slams back against the floor in frustration.

It’s not enough. It’s not.

Every piece of me is screaming for more of him.

Now. Right now.

But the world’s ending. Our clothes land in a pile on top of us, thrown by the group, who are grumbling that we might have warned them, clomping their wet boots back on.

I pull my things on, half in a dream. I feel like most of me isn’t here.

He’s all I can think about.

The flash of his chest before his shirt falls over it, his belt pulling his pants closed for good, his hair mussed, and his fingers so fucking capable.

“August,” I whisper. “I need more.”

He laughs my desperation off. “In the next world.”

“No, you don’t understand…” But the hay bales come away. Darkness falls through the window, complete and horrifying. The world dies a step behind me as August lifts me, takes my hand, and pulls me towards the rift.

But all I can think about is that all-consuming craving.

I need him.

I need him.

I need him.