Chapter 8 The Many #3
Meryt dragged his hands through those beads of liquid, all the way up, over his dancer’s top, and brought his fingers to his lips to taste the salt.
Show off, I thought, but I knew he was only just beginning.
He spun once more, and without stopping the undulations of his hips, he faced Osiris. “May my lord be unwrapped?” he asked.
“I may.” Osiris fingered the linen across his chest, his expression so neutral that the only hint of his arousal was the brighter bronze in his cheeks. “These are only a symbol now. I am as whole as I once was.”
I had no doubt.
Meryt tugged on one of the strips and an end immediately loosened, allowing the unravelling to begin. Dancing all around Osiris with constant circling and twirls, Meryt expertly gathered the cloth into his hands, eventually able to use much of it as added scarves in accompaniment.
The more Osiris was revealed, the more Meryt flung the wrappings that had ended to seek out new ends to tug, and when he found them, he grazed his fingers over the smooth, statue-like muscles and sinuous curves of the green god.
Only Osiris wasn’t all green. He may as well have been made of metal, for along the seams where Seth would have dismembered him was bright gold or bronze, like a broken pot repaired with something finer than its creation, highlighting its flaws rather than pretending its cracks had never been formed.
The contrast was beautiful, and knowing the painstaking work it had been for Osiris’s wife made it lovelier still.
By the time no wrappings remained and Meryt unhooked Osiris’s belt to remove his loincloth, the god’s arousal was clear, thick length at attention, with its own line of gold around its base. Even what dripped from his tip shimmered like gold.
“I can do anything, my lord, and not offend you?” Meryt asked.
“All choices are yours.” Osiris nodded. “And so am I.”
I felt my own length thicken as Meryt returned his gaze to me while pulling Osiris to the end of the bed. “Then let us show you our love by making you part of it.”
He sat Osiris down and fell once more into the dance, so similar to that night with General Paser that I had to assume it was on purpose. A reminder of where we started, but a promise that the ending could be ours.
I took that as my cue, for Meryt kept eye contact with me whenever he faced me, dancing over Osiris’s lap. I swayed, arched and rolled and twirled, letting the music move me as Meryt had, surrendering more and more to the beat.
As he lowered his hips into Osiris’s lap, nearly brushing the god’s upright prick, Meryt reached to either side of him to seek Osiris’s hands and placed them upon his hips.
He coaxed the god of the underworld to feel up his stomach and chest, and Osiris groped him with eager earnestness, though not quite possessiveness, which I enjoyed watching enough that I had to touch myself too.
“May I?” I asked, making it clear what I wanted by how tightly my fingers were digging into my thighs. For once, it wasn’t a master I needed permission from, only a partner whose preferences were top of my mind.
“Do it,” Meryt said. “Show me.”
Wanting to reach beneath my loincloth—but not yet, not yet—I first ran my hands up my stomach and chest like Osiris had done to Meryt, then further up my neck and into my hair.
I repeated it all back down again, but waited once I returned to my hips, waited, and only after Meryt drew Osiris’s hands beneath his blue, did I grip myself beneath my red.
“Meryt!”
“Oh, Nakht!”
We had never been allowed to cry out each other’s names while with another before.
As Osiris played with Meryt beneath his loincloth and I touched myself beneath mine, Meryt lowered his hips again, nearly brushing Osiris’s prick once more, but danced upright suddenly, knocking Osiris’s hands from him, and spun about to face the god directly.
In answer, Osiris parted his knees, and Meryt danced between them, arcing his arms up and over Osiris’s head to drop his hands behind it.
He cradled him, pulled Osiris toward him, and so suddenly did the next word leave me as Meryt leaned down to meet their lips together that I barely registered I had spoken.
“No. Not that.”
MERYT
I hovered, near enough to Osiris’s mouth to almost taste him, but I allowed no closer meeting than the puffs of his breath. I tilted my head back toward Nakht.
He had stopped dancing, stopped touching himself, and looked startled by his own exclamation.
I wasn’t. I rarely kissed others unless bidden to and had anticipated his disruption.
“I do not like your mouth on another’s,” Nakht admitted. “I would have you kiss only me. If you also agree. And I will kiss no other again either.”
Unwinding one of my arms from behind Osiris’s head, I outstretched it toward Nakht, beckoning him closer. “Then come and claim the lips that are yours.”
Nakht moved swiftly, but as he reached us, he slowed enough to remember to feel the music, swaying his hips and trying to be patient. He finished his trek to us with the grace he often denied he had and grasped my chin to tilt my head up for a kiss.
Osiris smelled like cool metal and incense, but Nakht carried the scent and taste of the dew at dawn.
When we parted, we both continued to move with the music, but less of a dance now and more gyrations as we climbed together into Osiris’s lap, me to the left and Nakht the right as we straddled his thighs.
He tipped backward but supported us with ease.
“May I kiss other things?” I asked Nakht coyly.
“Yes.” He chuckled and looked at Osiris with the wonder a god deserved.
He felt down Osiris’s neck over the golden sealant there, then circled his pecs, which were bisected down the middle with a similar line, and finished in a figure eight over his nipples.
“Our lord is beautiful. Masterful in your recreation. Remade in love without hiding your imperfections but glorifying them.”
Yes. How poetically Nakht said it, and all so true.
“As love should be,” Osiris agreed.
“Perfect in its imperfectness,” I said. “I like that.” I touched the god too, following the same path that Nakht had, only starting with the other side.
Where our hands met in the center of Osiris’s chest, we laced our fingers together, turned to each other, and kissed as ravenously as if we had only just reunited.
I heard the increased panting from Osiris while he watched us, enjoying how we writhed atop him amidst our locked lips.
Our hard cocks kept bumping into his hips through our red and blue fabrics, but neither met his length between us yet.
As we kissed, licking lewdly into each other’s mouths now, purposely messy and frantic, I reached with my free hand to trace lower down Osiris’s stomach and felt him suck in a breath.
I peeked at Nakht, finding him also peeking at me, and then his eyes darted to my drifting touch, where I feathered my fingers around Osiris’s navel. Nakht mimicked the motion, forever my twin when it came to dancing or seduction, whether I moved first or he did.
It was such a strange texture for skin, truly as if Osiris was made of polished metal or marble or maybe even delicate ceramic. Yet despite the filled-in cracks where he had once been in pieces, I knew we could not break him.
“Pull us against you, my lord,” I said, tearing my mouth from Nakht’s at last, and quickly brushing the fall of our loincloths out of the way.
Osiris did as asked, arms encircling us and tugging us close enough upon his lap that our cocks finally touched. To feel him and that same strange texture, while also feeling Nakht—my Nakht, my dawn, hot and familiar—sent inspiration flowing through me, and I remembered the music.
This was a different dance, but to me, it was all always dance, the roll of my hips and arch of my neck, telling my watchers, my partners, just how much I wanted their passion, and for them to witness mine.
Soon, we were all achingly hard and starting to grind wherever we could find purchase, and Osiris—
“Ah!”
“Ohhh!”
Nakht and I overlapped with our mewling as the dribble of Osiris’s prerelease mixed with ours. It didn’t only look like molten gold, it felt like it too, like the spill of hot wax or oil, further spurring us to grind harder into his heat.
If we didn’t move things along, I was going to make a mess all over Osiris’s lap.
I took Nakht’s hand in mine and brought it down behind me, up under the back of my loincloth for him to feel the soft mounds of my backside and the tempting crease between.
“You want me inside you?” he asked, already teasing his fingers closer to my opening.
“Yes… and me inside Osiris.”
“Yes,” Nakht echoed with a flash of his bronze eyes. “But I would also have—”
Something glinted near the head of the bed, and when we looked…
It was us!
So startled, I nearly tipped backward, but Osiris had me, had us both, and easily kept hold. The image behind the bed was us, but not true copies. It was simply the clearest reflecting surface I had ever laid eyes on, like the stillest water or smoothest metal.
“Yes,” Nakht said again, for this was apparently what he had been about to request, “but how—”
“All choices are yours,” Osiris reminded us, voice rasping but steady. “Manifest here what you will.”
Nakht met my eyes in the reflection, then in reality with a turn of his head. “I have all I could ever want.”
He moved off of Osiris, and I followed. Together we helped the gleaming god up the bed and laid him back, constantly casting glances up at our…
selves. I was glad for Nakht’s request, and started to remember that I had seen something like this before when watching him with Thoth.
The more time I spent as this true, present-day me, the more those interludes were returning in full to my mind.
Nakht had indeed given me quite the performances.
But I was glad for the reflecting glass because it meant, even in the position I had planned, I would still be able to see Nakht while he took me.