by C Z Edwards
“All right,” I said. “Then how do I know you taste of salted honey with a hint of vinegar? Do you spend much time directly tasting yourself?”
That made her not just hold her tongue, but stop short. “Bloody wisdom, you’re going to get spoiled being right. In fact, I have never tasted myself directly, I’m not sure I’m capable of doing so, and the flavor I perceive on another’s mouth is... benzoin or amber resin. With a hint of metal.”
“You’ll have to include that in your monograph,” I said, and tugged her back into walking. We were almost to the bedding.
“Under no circumstances,” she said. “I’d probably kill half my review board with shock.”
I considered what I recalled of her memories, and the last time I recalled the stress of examination. Hers had come with a more than a little contempt and exasperation. “If they’re like your last review board, no great loss,” I said.
“You’re terrible for my moral development, you know.”
“Agreed,” I said. “My point remains. I have perceived your body completely differently from how you perceive it. If our shared dreams were merely a transfer of your knowledge to me, and the reverse, my perception of you would be yours. Which is not true for either of us.”
“Your flavor did change,” she said thoughtfully. “Middle of spring. That’s when you started eating bomull seed, yes?”
“Yes, and I have never tasted myself, either.” It had never occurred to me to try. In dreams, we’ve certainly tasted each other. “That’s what you mean by knowing a shortcut?”
“One of them.”
We’d reached the bedding, the moon was just breaking above the trees, and I heard two short notes of distant whistling, then another three beats, and two longs and a short. Bran, and his query, was I safe? That’s why I love my family. “Cover your ears,” I suggested. I put down our fondal, stuck my fingers in my mouth, and returned my two beats, then my confirmation. I got back good night, and sent my own.
“Your secret communication is whistles,” Kya said sarcastically. “So very secret.”
“You don’t know the code yet,” I said. “For all you know, I just told him to come snipe from cover.”
“You didn’t,” she said.
“You’ll know when either we sleep tomorrow night, or you die in my arms,” I teased.
There was a hand on my staff, and it wasn’t mine. It was warm, and not mine. And lips on my mouth.
Ah, that’s how it is. You’ll just keep talking to distract us both, unless I lead?
I nodded, and just drank in her mouth. And the sensation of someone else, doing what I liked. She knew I wanted a slow touch, a light grasp and just a little twist. She knew my rhythm, as if I’d taught her, because I had. The way I knew that she’d want —
Kya caught my hand before I even touched her hip. No, not this time. Let me lead. Tell me to stop if I go too fast.
She pushed me down onto the felted mattress almost without breaking the kiss. I was awkward, but she anticipated where I was going and made sure I didn’t fall. That’s when I completely realized that she may be stronger than I am, and certainly has more endurance. She worked at her grace and strength in a way that I didn’t.
I think perhaps she had too many hands, or maybe she wass faster than I realized, or she was a Transposer like Quin, but both pillows were under my head and she was kneeling over me when we stopped moving in the vertical and I didn’t need my hands anymore to keep me from breaking a bone or tearing something. But I still hesitated.
Permission to touch was granted. Just not there, not yet. We’re busy with other matters. Stop trying to do too much at once.
Her back, first, and all of those muscles. But so smooth and lively, every fiber dancing.
I was starved for touching when I ran from the Chapterhouse. In the ten years since, I’ve touched a lot more clothed bodies than skin. There’s a sensuality to warm, living skin, more intense —
She swallowed me, and my entire universe contracted to her hot, wet mouth engulfing my staff, her hand massaging my jewels, and her breast filling my palm. The sensation in our shared dreams was always delicious, but less present. Less immediate.
“You — stop — or —” It was too late before I got the words out. She sucked that shatter out of me. I had no control as I arched into her. Every nerve set itself on fire at once. The universe got even smaller, until it was just Kya and my jewels straining to be empty.
I’d never felt such relief. I don’t think I realized how utterly overstimulated I’d gotten, but the world shifted mostly into the black for a long few moments, and my sense of reality grew very quiet and calm.
“I’m sorry,” I finally said, when Kya was stretched out beside me, one leg draped over my hip, her left hand in my right, my right cradling her face.
“I’m not,” she said, sounding content. “Now I recognize the sound of you. You’ve been so noisy, all afternoon.”
“What?” I asked. “I wasn’t babbling that much.”
“No,” she said. “Your head. I’m not much of a Perceptive or an Impath. One or both always goes with Evocata. Talk to Darav about it if you want details. He can explain it better than I can. For me, I live with a very dull hum of other people’s thoughts and feelings. Most of the time, I don’t even hear words or voices, just that people are around. I have to work at it if I need more. It’s like... some people’s ears always ring when they’re in a quiet room.”
“All right,” I said slowly. I’d gotten used to what I knew of Rien’s ingeniae. I knew by then that she was more limited than she let on, and how carefully she preserved that secret. Reading minds isn’t nearly as easy as most Perceptives are content to let the rest of us believe, but it was exceptionally hard for her. On the other hand, I knew I could never lie to her, because she can hear a lie without expending any effort. And I’ve lived with Quin, who is a very minor Impath. Even a decade later, it can still be disquieting to know that someone is close enough to hear what I’m thinking or feeling. Kya and I share more. Souls, if she was correct. I kept my eyes up, on the sky. I spent years knowing I would die if someone knew what was in my head. It can still be uncomfortable.
“Ced, can you look at me?” she asked.
I turned to her and pulled away. I’d have to roll well off the bedding to get her completely in focus, but I could make her merely blurry instead of just shapeless.
She looked puzzled, then let out a breath. “You’re short-sighted. You wear spectacles.”
I nodded. “For close work. I didn’t need them today.”
“That explains that,” she said. “No wonder I never saw much.”
“I don’t dream in images,” I said and shrugged. “I’m looking at you.”
“I’m sorry I can’t just simply block you out. I’m sorry you don’t get to choose. And I’m sorry if I crossed a boundary. I needed you calm, or at least, not so distracted. You were... roaring. Like something badly burning, and not far away, but not close enough to stop it. Now, you’re not. As I hoped. Please don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.”
“I just... I need...” On this, she was right. I lacked experience. “I think I need recovery time. At least, I always have before. But you’re splendid, so maybe not. Thank you. I had no idea. I almost still don’t.” I nearly couldn’t remember it, it was so intense. It wasn’t the first time I’d shattered with another person near, nor the first time I’d experienced it with her, but she was right. There’s body memory as well as mind memory. Which I would not admit, quite yet.
I did know how to kiss her. So I rolled towards her, and did. Breast to chest, belly to belly, legs tangled. She tasted a bit different, a little salty and very slightly bitter. My flavor, on her mouth.
That made me want to know. Salted honey and vinegar on my tongue, warm musk and crushed greenery in my nose, according to my dreams. Right now,
the skin of her throat tasted more of mineral water than the salt of her sweat, but her sweat was still there, and the hollow between her breasts was full of it.
Her sweat makes me hard. That was truth, and may always be so. At least, the scent of her got me started again, sooner than expected. Her nipple hardened under my palm. In dreams, she wanted to be sucked, massaged. She’d given me permission, and as I kissed down her tummy, she rolled onto her back and opened around me. Her pelt tickled my scars, but then the core of her was right beneath me, and she smelled so good. Sweet, like honey, and acidic, like vinegar, and so much of that warm scent that’s not like any wood or animal musk or incense. The one that can’t be named.
Her breath hitched a bit on each inhale and caught on the exhale as I came closer. We had this time, and probably wouldn’t have much more, or much privacy in the coming quarter year. I didn’t even know where we were going to put her, or Laarens. Probably Kya with Nekane, who still had her own room. The only other free bed was with Marli, so there would be shuffling of some sort, though I didn’t know who or how. But since Kya and I had this time, I was going to enjoy it, relish it.
I don’t have chest hair — the scarring took care of whatever I might have once had. Fanik is the only one of us who wears a beard year round; the rest of us shave in the summers, most mornings. But I do wear a beard in winter, and her pelt had some of the same texture — a little stiff, a bit curly. And like a beard, it parted just fine when I smoothed it away from the nub I sort of knew was supposed to be there.
That also caught her breath and her hips rose just a little. The texture of her skin there was almost more alive than the rest of her, more warm, more wet, more vividly present.
And yes, salted honey, a little vinegar. Like excellent mead, or a very good summer beer made with over-ripe peaches or apricots in the mash. She wasn’t a mouthful, just a perfect bite. Two little wings against my bottom lip, like the attachment points of a fresh oyster. A valley to run my tongue up and down, like scraping out the delicious meat of lobster claw. Except nothing like a fish or a shellfish. And not like meat, or fruit.
It wasn’t not like eating at all. It’s better.
Right there, like that, she said into my head, as her breath turned into little pants with tiny moans. Or maybe squeaks.
“Use your words,” I said into her nub, then went back to sucking, licking, tasting her.
Can’t, she said. Her mental voice didn’t have much inflection for me, but her audible voice was indeed quite busy. Two fingers, palm up, inside. Stroke the roof. You’ll feel the difference.
I’m happy to be instructed, especially when I could see her fingers digging into the bedding and felt her hips tilting up to me, and her thighs parting around my head.
She was right. There was a soft place where my fingers just... fit. Another feeling like an intentional pair of wings, and when I stroked it, she keened. I was nearly certain that was a good sign, and she smelled so good. This was a form of magic, and I knew how it worked. Not precisely, but I knew enough, and I could hear when I got something right.
In our dreams, her shatters feel like they stop her mind for a moment. They’re comprehensive, a full body spasm.
She was a lot stronger than me. She tightened around my fingers, and her thighs pressed into my head. She had a climber’s muscles. If she wanted to kill me, I’d be no challenge.
What I didn’t know from our dreams is her shatter came with a sense of triumph for me. Getting this strong, clever, beautiful woman into this state? It was a privilege, and a reward, and in that moment, I knew. Not only was I willing to make partnership work because I didn’t have any other choice for contentment, I wanted it to work because we’d be joyous together. I liked making her happy and also not arguing. Not that I didn’t enjoy the arguments — I did, I felt like I finally had a nearly perfect intellectual match — but there was more trust between us in that moment than perhaps Quin and I had built in a decade. I only told him about breaking open the cubilatas in the spring. I’d kept that in my head for almost thirteen years. This trust, this sensation of her skin on and around me, this was what I’d been craving for at least four years.
I couldn’t acknowledge her goddess, I couldn’t make choices for children we didn’t yet have, and I wouldn’t betray my family, or my monarch and mentor and friend, but anything else Kya asked? I’d crawl through broken glass.
If I’d needed to kill her, that would have been the moment to do it, too. Truly perfect trust.
We fit together so well. When she let me go, I crawled up and nestled in, back into the tangle of limbs and the feel of skin on skin. I stroked every bit I could touch, especially the shelf of her ribs and the hollow right under her breastbone, the slightly damp arc under her breasts and the long curve of hip, waist and chest.
“That’ll do,” she purred. “Thank you. It’s been too long.”
“Happy I did well,” I said. “How long, though? I thought we — ” It had been a couple of nights, but not that long.
“Only in dreams since... ” she trailed off and turned so we were face to face again. “All summer. I have not been alone since just before First Summer’s Night.” She nuzzled in. “It was worse than having a toddling little. You cannot leave Laarens alone for even an hour. I went out to fill my medicaments box. When I got back, he and Pols were... somewhere between tumbling and fucking.”
That was... actually shocking. Rien had told me quite a lot about her cousin and lawful brother. She seemed to believe — and had evidence — that he tumbled with women. According to Pols himself, in at least once instance. I knew Pols would tumble anyone old enough to not get laughed out of a tavern, be they male, female, or somewhere in between, but a Prenceps? “Laarens is turnabout?”
She nodded against my neck. “He claims half, if pressed, but far more than he thinks or admits.”
“Did you tell Rien?” I asked.
“No,” she said, puzzled. “Should I?”
“Can we satisfy my curiosity?” I asked. “It doesn’t matter that much right now, since we’ll all be here for at least several tendays. I’d like to see how long it takes her to figure it out on her own.” I wondered briefly how much I should tell Kya, then realized there was a good chance she’s get it from my mind, one way or the other. “Rien’s.... she’s oddly oblivious to affection. Most especially her own, but almost everyone. She barely understands romance at all. She’s going to be Razia, which means those of us around her have to provide what she can’t. For the good of the country, and for her.”
She shrugged. “I have no reason to tell her, it’s not my interest. But... he did propose to me. Conditionally.”
Which I hadn’t actually done yet. “Is this an accommodation we need to reach?”
“I refused,” she said. “I would have anyway. I am fond of him, truly, and he’s improved significantly in the past few tendays, but I could not live with him. He was mostly interested in acquiring a Prazia, which I can’t be as a Wisdomian, and an heir. On the principle that since I’ve shared my vitality twice with souls for my faith, he thought he could request one, for my country.”
“Well, that’s... pragmatic,” I said dubiously. “By the way, Kya, will you marry me?”
She didn’t answer with words in that moment, but we were intertwined. I was covered in her scent, had been caressing her for the last quarter-hour, and we now had enough almost full moon above the trees that we were both bathed in blue light. What started with inhaling the scent over her heart was now fully returned, and ready for a second go. Perhaps I would have preferred a few tendays of progressive practice, but we’d had six years of that.
She ground her hips into me and pulled back until she was almost in focus. “Shall we try?”
I knew she would accept my choice if I said I needed more time. Ideally, I would have liked to, but I also knew we didn’t have it. “Yes,” I said, and lean
ed forward to kiss her, then pulled her atop me. I knew what she preferred, and it seemed like it would be best for learning.
I don’t know that I’ll ever be tired of kissing Kya. She fitted herself above me, stretched just enough that I was fully firm and trapped between our bodies, with her mouth on mine and her forearms on either side of my head. She threaded her fingers through my braid and my world lost a little bit of focus with a surge of lust I didn’t know was in me. “Oi, yes.”
That was the moment. I wanted her, I was ready. And she wanted me. She got up on her knees and the moonlight glowed off of her breasts and all of the complex muscles of her shoulders and belly. As she came up, so did I, seeking the sanctuary she offered. You can always tell me to stop, she reminded me as she reached down and positioned us for a union.
“I won’t,” I said. I was glad she’d swallowed me. I still felt like I might be on a delicate balance, but the sensation of her pelt against the tip of my staff didn’t make me shatter, and an hour ago, it would have. I loved the sight of her kneeling over me, and the sensation of her strong hand wrapped around me, and of entrance, and then she engulfed me.
A part of me was inside another person. All the way, and I wanted to go deeper. Like being engulfed in living water.
Then she shifted, all of those glorious muscles roiling into a pattern somewhere between dance and riding. She reached for my hands and put them on her hips, then began a slow roll.
She was of course entirely right. It was overwhelming and it just kept getting better. She rode me, almost using me, but also teaching me how to match everything my flesh said with the memory and dream experience.
We’ll have to be quiet later, she said as she started speeding up. But now, use your voice. Let me know I’m getting this right.
I didn’t want to separate, not even for the delight of being engulfed again. I wanted to stay within her, held in her thrall. When she rose, I followed, and when she came down, I tried to go deeper. I let myself pant, and when her eyes glazed and she ground herself into me, I reached in and circled her nub.