20. Sébastien #3
Slowly, I orbit the far end of the farm table—watching Frank go increasingly slack beneath Tin-tin and Loulu as they grind against each other.
Their gyrating reaches a fever pitch as Quentin lets out a muffled cry between Louise’s breasts as she locks his key-cock inside her, her whole body shuddering as she bears down on him, the whites of her eyes catching the moonlight as she loses herself to the pleasure of it.
The three of them balance in this delicate pulsing, panting, whimpering mess as I pump out a glass of cold water for myself, my cock twitching lazily—not quite able to rally again so soon through my exhaustion and dehydration.
Suddenly their small tower lists forward—and I drop my metal cup into the basin—rushing to steady Q and Loulu before they topple off of Frank, finally exhausted, their eyes already nearly shut.
Frank looks relieved as Tin-tin eases forward—Frank’s knot’s finally gone down enough to release him from the clutches of Tin-tin’s tightness.
Louise and Quentin still fit together like a pair of drowsy puzzle pieces; his cock locked deep inside her sigma pussy—Frank’s cum dripping from between Q’s sculpted glutes as I help guide the two of them—Louise clinging to him like a leaf in the storm as he carries her into the bedsheet bower, collapsing into the nest just behind Caz, his soft snores mingling with the sound of Quentin and Louise’s slowing pants.
Cock soft, hanging between his spread thighs, Frank slumps against the table and gives me a wicked grin, reaching behind himself on the table to grab a dishcloth.
“You gonna keep gawking at my dick, Sebby, or you gonna grab me a glass of water?” he grunts out barely above a whisper, swabbing at himself clumsily with the ironically rooster printed tea towel.
“Pfft, for once, neither of us is in shape to make good on anything.” I blow a raspberry through my lips and pass him my metal cup with the remainder of the water I poured for myself, turning away from his laughter, stooping to pull a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from my jacket—still where I left it on the floor earlier this afternoon—flopping down on the bench beside Frank.
“Speak for yourself, frog legs,” he scoffs, smacking his lips after slugging down the remainder of the water, groaning slightly under his breath as he rocks up onto his feet and shuffles to the water pump, treating me to a spectacular view of his sculpted ass, his muscular thighs and exquisitely carved back.
I snort a laugh at myself and shake it off, turning away from the glorious sight as I place a cigarette between my lips and light it.
“After a little more rehydration, a piss, a bogie—and I’ll be ready to make any one of you little sluts scream for me again.
“ Frank winks at me over his shoulder as he fills his cup—and I contemplate taking him up on the offer, but haven’t bottomed in what feels like an age—so I decide against it, even if I am due to have my prostate milked like a— mon dieu , am I already getting hard again?
As if reading my mind, Frank chuffs a laugh and slams down an entire metal mug of well water before hurriedly pumping himself another, and returning to his seat beside me on the bench.
“Really though, you were right—I’m fucking beat,” he admits—the ragged exhaustion creeping in at the edges of his stone rasp voice.
“A sigma and an omega in double heat are not for the faint of heart, that is certain.” I cluck my tongue, passing Frank a cigarette and a lighter as he drains the mug a final time before offering it to me as a temporary ash receptacle.
“Amen, brother. If I had thought Q was a handful during heat—Louise Penny made sure it was all hands on deck.” He shakes his head, flicking the spark wheel back on his lighter with a dry laugh.
There’s a moment of silence as we sit beside one another, smoking in the near darkness, watching Caz, Quentin, and Louise sleeping in the nest Tin-tin made, and suddenly I am reminded of ‘Unidentified Marker 42’ and the discoveries of this morning—a lifetime ago, it seems.
Their soft breathing, the smell of our intermingled scents along with the baked, animal smell of sex running throughout; the way the dim golden glow of the twinkle lights illuminates the leagues of bare skin of Louise and Q’s still joined bodies—the low glimmer of Caz’s close-cropped blond buzz cut on the pillow beside them—their chests slowly rising and falling with the gentle breath of sleep.
Fated mates.
I let the words sink in. Even though I said them to Caz in the laboratory—it seemed so academic. So far removed from the reality of us—the Saints and our Lucifer. Such star-crossed lovers seemed the purview of storybooks, celebrities, or royal bloodlines—not the likes of us.
Faced with the reality of it—the way our bodies seemed to just know, I’m struck hard and fast by the consuming sensory memory of Louise’s cunt locking Quentin inside her against my knot—how it really does start to stoke my guttering libido, my cock bobbing up to half mast.
It seems too big a truth to share right now, and for reasons I can’t quite untangle—the idea of telling Frank without telling Quentin, too, feels… wrong.
He sits beside me—expression completely impenetrable; those dark steel blues of his almost black in the low light as he eyes the three of them hungrily, like a wolf considering which animal to pick off from the pack for his dinner.
If I’m right, and I’m nearly certain that I am—then our predicament will become obvious to all in time. Even now, it seems embarrassingly obvious to me; everything has been flashing signs and screaming sirens from our very first exchange of blows in the Diamond Center.
How the rest of the pack will receive the news remains to be seen.