by Ana Mardoll
"Down you go, Rose," Lavender murmurs, her lips at my ear. She nips gently at my skin, bringing me near to a yelp again, and I duck instinctively away from her teasing teeth, my movement sliding me down onto him.
He's cool and warm at the same time, hard and soft in equal measure. Clarent's hands fly up to grip my hips, his eyes wide and his mouth open as he pants quietly for breath. "Oh, god, Rose," he whispers, his hips moving slowly under me, unable to hold still. The motion drags another soft moan from my lips, and I have to bite my hand to keep quiet.
I'm moving on him and I remember how to do this. I must have done it before, because this isn't like anything I'd experienced in the otherworld. My hips rise and fall as I drag slowly over him and then slide easily back down. Each time I do, a raw stab of pleasure shoots through me. I can feel my knees trembling beneath me from the intensity of what I'm doing to him, of what he's doing to me with his tiny, gentle movements.
Lavender nestles close behind me, cupping me with her warm body. She moves with me, up and then back down again, undulating with me like a wave. Her hands reach around to slide over my legs, over my thighs, and over the back of Clarent's hands, drawing a fresh gasp of pleasure from him. Then her fingers are moving up, over my hips, over my stomach, trailing pleasure as she cups the curve of my breasts.
I hold my breath, embarrassed all over again to be touched this way while being watched by Clarent's soft eyes, but her fingers feel so good. Her thumb reaches up, sliding over the round curves to caress my nipple. Electricity arcs through me, causing my body to clench tightly.
"Oh, do that again," Clarent begs, gazing up at Lavender like a supplicant.
She grins at him from over my shoulder. "Do what, Clarent?" she teases softly, her eyes flashing wickedly. "Do this?" Her thumb strokes me again, and again I shudder from the intense pleasure of it.
"Yes, god, that," Clarent pants, his cool hands caressing my hips as he moves faster. "Rose, please can she do it again?" he asks, his silver eyes wide as he looks up at me.
"If she does it again," I gasp, my throat dry and raw from the effort not to cry out, "I think I might explode."
Lavender leans in towards my ear again, her eyes dancing. "That's the idea, Ravs," she whispers wickedly. A single green thumb flicks over my nipple a third time, even as its companion slides back down to caress the tiny button just above where Clarent slides in and out of me.
I tilt my head back, pleasure overwhelming my senses in a steady relentless beat as she works. Lavender leans over my shoulder to nibble gently at my neck, murmuring words I can't hear and smelling sweeter than I could ever imagine. As the world explodes from her touch and the hard fullness of Clarent inside me, I have just enough sense remaining to stuff my fist in my mouth, muffling the cries of pleasure that I can't hold back as I careen over the edge.
Clarent holds still as I buck against him, his hands steadying me gently. When I come back to myself, the room is somehow brighter than before. I'm leaning over him, my hands on the sheets on either side of his chest. He smiles up at me, even as Lavender pats my hair gently and trails soothing kisses down my spine. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, his eyes full of warm hope.
I can't help but laugh, my voice shaky. "Yes. Yes, Clarent. I'm better than okay. Thank you." I feel a fresh burn creep into my cheeks as I realize that though he's stopped, he's still hard inside me. I'm sore and embarrassed and not at all sure what to do about that, when Lavender taps me sternly on the shoulder. I look back at her, not knowing what she wants.
"Scoot forward, greedy-guts," she scolds, grinning wildly. "My turn."
My eyes widen at her, unsure if she's serious, but I'm too far gone to argue. Carefully I slide off of him, scooting forward a few feet to straddle his stomach. Behind me, Lavender moves against my skin, and I can see the breath leave him when she envelops him in a single easy motion.
He's so beautiful. I reach forward to touch his cheek, and he closes his eyes in an expression of pure bliss as she rides him. She moves faster than I did, her fingers wrapped around my waist for support as she rocks.
I lean back into her, content just to be held and hugged, feeling her rising pleasure as though it were mine all over again. "You felt so good," I whisper softly back to her. The angle is awkward, but I reach behind me to touch her legs, her hips, anything I can reach as she moves against me. "You feel so good right now. I love the feeling of your skin on mine. Lavender, why did we wait so long to do this? I'm so sorry."
I don't know if my soft babble is for myself or her. I want her to be pleased. I don't know how to use my fingers on her the way she does, how to be gentle without hurting her with my hard nails, but I'm determined to learn after this. I do know how to tell her that I like this, that I'm happy; I want her to know that she's made me feel so much better than I'd have ever thought possible. "Thank you for this, Lavs," I whisper, wishing so much that I could kiss her. But this is good too, I think; maybe this can be enough.
She comes as she grips my hips, pulling me against her in a tight hug as she buries her face in my neck. Little sobbing cries muffle against my body and tears fall wet upon my skin. I caress Clarent's face and chest, coaxing him over the edge with her, leading him there with the pleasure in my fingertips. He almost cries out, my fingers stopping his lips just in time as his cool body bucks under me and Lavender.
When they are both still again, I flop onto the sheets next to him. Lavender lies behind me, spooning me close, her arm draped over me to rest on Clarent's chest. I can feel her breath in my hair, and for the first time in my known life I feel content. I'm safe here, with Clarent's cool solidity beside me and Lavender warming me from behind. Everything is as good as I could hope for, I think as I snuggle closer to them both.
Then my eyes fly open in a sudden flash of guilt. "Dakota is gonna kill us," I realize, my eyes taking in the tussle of sheets and blankets beneath us.
Chapter 21
I can't doze after that, my guilt over dirtied linens too great for me to relax. Irrational, perhaps, but it's easier to grapple with than my sudden and unexpected decision not to live a life of repentant chastity.
I ought to be happy; I have Lavender and Clarent, without giving up my best chance to protect us and help others in our community. Yet I feel unsatisfied and anxious, depression gnawing at the corners of my mind. I still can't safely kiss Lavender despite dearly wanting to, and I'm terrified that if I become accustomed to kissing Clarent I might forget myself in the middle of lovemaking and end up hurting her. This hypothetical scenario twists my stomach into painful knots.
Lavender seems equally restless, and though I can only guess at the thoughts in her head I smell the soft worry that permeates the room. Is she worried for me or about me? Whatever is bothering her, I'm too cowardly to ask and she doesn't volunteer an explanation.
Eventually we come to a silent agreement to give up any attempt at sleep and instead drink the water and devour the cold sandwiches she brought up earlier. Clarent partakes in a relaxed fashion, seeming content in the post-coital silence. I don't think he's failed to notice how anxious we both are; his calm seems like a conscious decision, anchoring the three of us through the storm of scented emotions that whirl through the room.
After eating, there is washing following by the conundrum of dressing. The clothes I'd so carefully picked out a few hours before are now ruined; there's no way to salvage them. Lavender and Clarent aren't much better off than me, their clothes coated with blood and grass stains that I don't expect will come out in the wash. "Your lovely suit!" I can't help but lament to Clarent, mourning the destruction of the beautiful outfit Mina had given him.
He nods in a sympathetic way. "At least Celia brought me more," he says, producing a weathered duffel bag from under the bed. He draws out fresh jeans and a soft sleeveless undershirt. "She said she scrounged them from her hand-me-down stash. I feel more comfortable in these, anyway," he admits bashfully.
Celia must have brought the clothes knowing s
he would see him again today, I realize, and stuffed the bag under the bed when I was unconscious. I wonder if he guesses that she probably bought the clothes specially for him on the way over, rather than 'finding' more from a bottomless closet. Of course, she had no way to know that Lavender and I would need extra outfits after an unexpected fight with a hunter, and so we are forced to dig through Dakota's closet with the expectation of paying him back later.
The clothes in the guest room seem like older outfits he's put into storage, and some of them appear completely unworn: gifts from Celia, maybe, or from other community members. I eventually find a short spring dress; it's not as pretty as the one I lost and a little more businesslike than I'd have chosen, but soft and comfortable. Most importantly, it fits. "Zip me up the back?" I ask Lavs, pulling my hair to the side so that the zipper won't catch.
She turns to me and immediately giggles. "You just had to pick the most delicate outfit in the closet," she teases. Zipping me up easily, she surprises me with a soft kiss on the back of my neck, just above the collar. "There. All done."
I can feel my cheeks burning, and I busy myself with looking through Dakota's shoes until the blush fades. Unfortunately, I quickly come to realize that his feet are half a size too small. I'll have to wear my bloodstained shoes until we get home again.
When I turn back, Lavender has found a thin long-sleeved shirt and cotton shorts for herself. She's wearing pajamas, and they look like pajamas. I raise an eyebrow at her. "Really?"
She laughs. "I just got backhanded by a magical hunter made of fire, Rose," she says, sticking her tongue out at me. "I'm allowed comfort-clothes for a day. It's no worse than what the college kids wear to your bookstore. C'mon, you know they're waiting downstairs for us."
I take a deep breath, allowing her to grasp my hand. Clarent smiles gently at us both and wraps his arms around us. "Ready?" he says softly, and we head downstairs together.
The ground floor is bright and cheery, the late morning sunlight streaming in through open blinds. Elric and Celia stand near the staircase, and by the sound of his cheery voice and her tight one, they are actively engaged in one of his inexhaustible supply of arguments.
He's leaning against the dark wooden banister when we approach, perfectly dressed and insouciantly smiling, the picture of blond beauty. He whirls at the sound of our step on the stairs, a flash of genuine solicitous concern crossing his handsome face for the briefest of moments.
He then takes one look at our borrowed clothes, my bashful smile, and Clarent's arms wrapped protectively around our shoulders, before he explodes in a tantrum. "I haven't had any for forty-eight hours, dealing with all this newbie nonsense, and silver-boy here has been rolling around in orgies! Dammit, Celia, I'm going home for a week and I don't want to be called for any reason at all."
She ignores his outburst. "Ah, there you are," she says to us, her voice a study in unruffled calm. "Rose, Elric was worried about you. I had to ask him not to barge upstairs while you three were resting."
He makes an exasperated face at this. "Well, Celia acted like you were at death's door," he grumbles. "Again." He gives me an arch look. "She didn't say anything about you fornicating with undocumented immigrants. Who are now, thanks to me, sufficiently documented enough to take out on the town. You're welcome."
He pulls out a file folder which he clutches under one arm, shoving a handful of papers at Clarent. "You're going to need to read over these and memorize everything," Elric says tartly. "Your new name is Clarence Smith, which is an obvious improvement on Flower Fucktoy."
Celia levels a stern look at Elric. "Clarence Smith?" she says, not entirely happy. "That's awfully Anglo-Saxon. Did you not get my text? Lily confirmed he's Hispanic; probably Latino."
"Yes, yes. But he was adopted as a baby by a stuffy old English couple," Elric counters airily, waving his hand dismissively. "Like the kiddo. I thought we had a whole adoption theme going."
Clarent's honeyed voice cuts through the gathering storm. "It's a fine name," he says, and although his back tenses a little his tone is still gentle. "Thank you. Is that all? Just memorize the papers?"
Elric looks a little deflated to see the fight end before it can properly start. "No, that's not all. There's more to follow once I put everything else together. I'll have to catch up with Lily and create a list of previous residences, family names, credit history; stuff like that. Maybe a childhood injury or two, just to round out the profile. Then you'll need to sign some stuff. Nothing difficult. But the folder has what you need for walking around."
Dakota takes this moment to stick his head in from the kitchen. There's an open archway at the end of the hall, and now that I'm distracted from Elric's antics I can see little Tox at the kitchen table, shrouded in bright yellow robes and playing with crayons. Despite having acquired a child overnight Dakota seems perfectly calm, with a peaceful smile on his lips that fades only a little at being forced to interact with Elric. Even the soft golden faery-glow that permeates his skin at all times seems a little brighter than I remember.
He gives Elric a look which suggests no love is lost between the two men. "Since you're handing out papers now, I'll take what you've drafted for Tox," he says, holding out a hand in expectation.
"Oh, yeah, sure; I've got you covered," Elric drawls, handing over a second file full of papers. The corner of his mouth trembles with the effort required to keep a straight face.
Dakota scans the papers quickly, his handsome brown face darkening with anger. "You named them 'Annie Orphan'?" he all but yells. Tox's head swivels up and around to us, their dark eyes full of curiosity. Celia frowns, snatching the papers from Dakota to scan them herself.
Elric smirks at the outrage. "Well, Celia said we weren't calling them an orphan in the general sense, but I think you'll agree it's very endearing as a surname," he argues cheerfully. "Anyway, you'll be changing their name as part of the adoption process—"
"I'm not changing their name," Dakota interrupts, stepping closer to Elric to stare furiously into his face. "And I'm not letting you pull the same naming nonsense that you did with me. You're going to give them a good name that reflects their actual heritage, not some joke of a name that you picked to amuse yourself!"
"But I like it!"
We all turn to stare at the little child, still sitting meekly at the kitchen table. It's the first time I've heard their voice, as warm and sweet as butterscotch. A shy smile peeks out from under the soft butter-colored scarf that covers their dark hair. Dakota looks positively stricken at the pronouncement, and even Elric looks startled.
"Is it a bad name?" The child fidgets in their seat, their gaze dropping away from ours, feeling self-conscious under the force of so many stares and such heavy silence.
Dakota moves quickly to wrap his arm around their shoulders. "It's not the best name," he explains carefully. "We're going to get you a better name, but we'll find something that you like just as much. I promise." He glares at Elric, who seems genuinely at a loss for once. "You are going to fix this," Dakota orders in a low undertone. "My study. Now."
Elric makes a face. "Aw, is this going to be like your tribal directory search?" he whines. "You've been at that forever! My way is faster and it's not like Clarence complained. Okay, okay, I'm going!" He yields to Dakota's determined glare. "By the way, I'm glad you're not dead, Rose," he adds over his shoulder in a parting shot. "But, jeezus, you didn't waste any time, did you?"
I watch Dakota haul him off, shaking my head as he does so. I don't know Dakota well, but Celia mentioned once that he doesn't suffer fools gladly. I certainly hope they can come up with a better name for Tox. I glance at Lavender, but she seems lost in her own thoughts.
Clarent is preoccupied with his papers. "There's so much to remember," he murmurs, flipping through the file. I peer over his elbow to see a temporary driving license, the kind they print out on paper until the plastic card comes in the mail. "Is that what I look like, really?"
Peering at the tiny pic
ture, I twist my lips. "Elric's phone doesn't have the best camera," I observe. "Could be worse, though." Idly, I note the age and date of birth Elric has selected for him, and then my eyes stumble when I get to the current address: Elric has listed our apartment as Clarent's permanent residence. That jerk. I feel a sudden stab of kinship with Dakota.
But it's fine, really. He has to stay somewhere, and Celia and Mina are already overwhelmed. Lavender and I can make room, can't we? I feel my heart skip a beat at a sudden mental image of the three of us rooming together, watching movies and making love whenever we want. That would be a nice change of pace, wouldn't it? Something fun and easy, to balance all the fear and danger we've been living with.
"Why don't we go sit down so you can spread everything out?" I suggest, nodding at the kitchen table, hoping my thoughts don't show on my face.
Clarent nods at the suggestion. We make our way into the kitchen, tuning out the argument that drifts in short bursts from Dakota's study. Tox looks up at us shyly, offering me a tentative handshake. "I'm glad you're better," they tell me in a quiet voice, attempting a nervous smile. I realize with a pang of guilt that I've nearly died twice in front of them.
"I am, thank you," I say. I'm about to accept the handshake when I remember my magic. "Uh, can we wave instead?" I ask apologetically, wiggling my fingers in greeting instead of taking their hand. Their face falls and I rush to reassure them, "It's not you, it's me. Sorry! I have magic fingers. We're not sure yet exactly how they work."
"Rose won't hurt you," Lavender adds quickly, giving them an earnest look. "We're just being extra careful."
The child nods, accepting this explanation matter-of-factly. "Dakota explained about fae magic. I don't have it any more," they announce, choosing a green crayon and offering it to me. "Joel checked."
I take the crayon with a smile and move closer to fill in green grass on one of the drawings, pleased to be allowed to help. In human years, they're too old for crayons—maybe eleven or twelve years old, though it's difficult to be sure when they're so tiny from malnutrition—but who knows how young they were when they were taken and all the things they have missed out on. Celia nods at me and moves away from the table, giving us more room to work while she coaxes Dakota's coffee maker into starting a fresh batch.