Childermass slipped his finger out of her as she panted atop Segundus. It was glistening with her wetness. He touched it to Segundus's lip and Segundus let it penetrate his mouth, sucking the taste of Miss Absalom off of it. He saw Childermass's breath shudder as he did so, Childermass's eyes drawn magnetically towards his lips. He released the finger with a filthy wet sound.
"Please," he said. "Please, I'm so close, tell me what you— what you want; I want to give you anything you want, anything—"
Childermass kissed him again. It was a long, slightly aggressive kiss. It was sweet, lingering, hungry, but with a hint of violence. "You will wait," he said, "to give me what I want. Won't you?"
"Oh," Segundus breathed out. Then: "Oh!" As Miss Absalom shifted off him. He had to close his eyes and dig his fingers into the bedsheets so as to not touch himself, so acute was his desire for release.
Cool fingers settled on his brow, in his hair. He could smell Miss Absalom, a certain post-coital aroma she had, like late sunshine and overripe lilies, the end of summer, tinged with a touch of human sweat. He turned his head towards her blindly.
"Shh," she said. "Shh. I know how good you can be for him. You want to be very good, don't you?"
"Yes. Yes." A hand touched his prick and he cried out, hips arching upwards.
Miss Absalom tugged his hair sharply. A flash of pain. He moaned. She said, "Not yet."
But Childermass was— Segundus opened his eyes hazily and saw Childermass kneeling over him, gazing at him with almost animal desire, reaching— and then—
Segundus's prick pushed just into the clenched hole of his body. The precise star of muscle where he had previously licked, the softest, hottest, most delicate skin. This was what Childermass was giving to him: his most delicate part, to hold him and enclose him, to force him with its fist-like grip towards completion. The weight of Childermass pinned him to the bed, and Segundus reached up for him blindly, grasping him at odd angles: putting hands wherever he could reach. The rounds of his knees. The curve of his hips. The hot flesh of his prick. Childermass moved, rocking on him, taking him deep in his body, and Segundus made a punched-out noise.
Miss Absalom knotted her hand in his hair and pulled once more, jerking his head towards her. "Not yet," she said. "Not yet."
Segundus wanted to explain that he did not want to come yet, that he wanted to stay inside Childermass forever, pleasing him, fucking him; that he wanted to stare at Childermass exactly as he was now: kneeling as though in prayer with his dark hair in his face, naked and soft-eyed, and with Segundus's prick sliding into him, the most obscene and the most beautiful sight Segundus could imagine. He wanted to explain that he did not want to, but that he did not know how to not do it, with Childermass's body against his body and Miss Absalom's hand in his hair. But he could not manage to say it. He could only moan in fits and starts as Childermass moved on him. He entirely lost track of the world but for the hot plunge of flesh into flesh, and from time to time the sharp pain of Miss Absalom reining him in, forcing him back from the edge. He was aware of Childermass working himself fast, his breath stuttering in huffs, and Childermass's eyes burning down at him, and he said something inarticulable— the sort of thing you can only say in dreams, because if you said it in the waking world it would not make any sense. Then he was crying out and climaxing unstoppably.
Childermass continued riding him for a few long moments before giving a sort of startled sigh and opening his eyes very wide and shoving down hard and spending himself on Segundus's chest.
Childermass was still moving softly. Segundus was still holding onto his hips. He felt a great sense of peace that he had not known before. He raised his hand and Childermass caught hold of it, and they stared at each other, shivering a little.
Miss Absalom yawned and stretched and pulled Segundus to her, making room for Childermass on the other side of him. Childermass eased himself off of Segundus and into that space. Segundus, caught between them like a pearl cradled between two rough oyster halves, sighed comfortably and drew them both closer. Their bodies were warm. He pressed his face to Childermass's shoulder and felt Miss Absalom mold herself against his back. She stroked his arm. Childermass ran a hand through his hair, then let his palm rest at the back of Segundus's neck.
"Mm," Segundus said drowsily, wriggling slightly in satisfaction. "I could sleep like this. Only I do not wish to sleep, for I am already asleep, and I wish to stay here forever."
There was a short silence. Childermass said, "Your logic is dubious, as ever."
"You are mistaken," Segundus informed him. "But I will permit you to remain in my bed, because I am a generous person."
"It is my bed," Miss Absalom said. "But I suppose I do not mind if both of you stay."
"That is gracious of you," Segundus said gravely.
Childermass appeared close to sleep, which was very endearing. His hand had grown heavy on Segundus's neck. When Segundus risked a glance up, his eyes were drifting closed. He did not go to sleep, though; he wrinkled his nose and said vaguely, "What is that noise?"
Segundus made a questioning sound, a sort of mmph?
"That— noise, that bird noise. You must hear it."
"No," Segundus said, by which he did not mean, No, I do not hear it, for he could hear it now, if only faintly— like birds from a very long way off, possibly miles— but rather a more general refusal to acknowledge the interruption. He buried himself further into Childermass's shoulder, tugging Miss Absalom's arm tightly around him. "No," he said again, for emphasis.
Miss Absalom muttered something exasperated-sounding against his back. Segundus was about to ask her if she could quiet the birds, for they seemed to be drawing closer and he wished to rest, but even as he thought this he became aware that the noise would wake him. He clung to the last vestiges of the dream with drowsy hands— the feel of Miss Absalom's breath warm against his shoulder, Childermass's soft prick pressed against his leg, the faint smell of sex, damp and overripe and fecund, a lazy, salacious, flowering scent... but it was no use. Sleep was unspooling from him, and before he knew it, he was waking in his own bed.
FILL: John Segundus/Maria Absalom, Dream Seduction (10/?)
"Please," he said. "Please, I'm so close, tell me what you— what you want; I want to give you anything you want, anything—"
Childermass kissed him again. It was a long, slightly aggressive kiss. It was sweet, lingering, hungry, but with a hint of violence. "You will wait," he said, "to give me what I want. Won't you?"
"Oh," Segundus breathed out. Then: "Oh!" As Miss Absalom shifted off him. He had to close his eyes and dig his fingers into the bedsheets so as to not touch himself, so acute was his desire for release.
Cool fingers settled on his brow, in his hair. He could smell Miss Absalom, a certain post-coital aroma she had, like late sunshine and overripe lilies, the end of summer, tinged with a touch of human sweat. He turned his head towards her blindly.
"Shh," she said. "Shh. I know how good you can be for him. You want to be very good, don't you?"
"Yes. Yes." A hand touched his prick and he cried out, hips arching upwards.
Miss Absalom tugged his hair sharply. A flash of pain. He moaned. She said, "Not yet."
But Childermass was— Segundus opened his eyes hazily and saw Childermass kneeling over him, gazing at him with almost animal desire, reaching— and then—
Segundus's prick pushed just into the clenched hole of his body. The precise star of muscle where he had previously licked, the softest, hottest, most delicate skin. This was what Childermass was giving to him: his most delicate part, to hold him and enclose him, to force him with its fist-like grip towards completion. The weight of Childermass pinned him to the bed, and Segundus reached up for him blindly, grasping him at odd angles: putting hands wherever he could reach. The rounds of his knees. The curve of his hips. The hot flesh of his prick. Childermass moved, rocking on him, taking him deep in his body, and Segundus made a punched-out noise.
Miss Absalom knotted her hand in his hair and pulled once more, jerking his head towards her. "Not yet," she said. "Not yet."
Segundus wanted to explain that he did not want to come yet, that he wanted to stay inside Childermass forever, pleasing him, fucking him; that he wanted to stare at Childermass exactly as he was now: kneeling as though in prayer with his dark hair in his face, naked and soft-eyed, and with Segundus's prick sliding into him, the most obscene and the most beautiful sight Segundus could imagine. He wanted to explain that he did not want to, but that he did not know how to not do it, with Childermass's body against his body and Miss Absalom's hand in his hair. But he could not manage to say it. He could only moan in fits and starts as Childermass moved on him. He entirely lost track of the world but for the hot plunge of flesh into flesh, and from time to time the sharp pain of Miss Absalom reining him in, forcing him back from the edge. He was aware of Childermass working himself fast, his breath stuttering in huffs, and Childermass's eyes burning down at him, and he said something inarticulable— the sort of thing you can only say in dreams, because if you said it in the waking world it would not make any sense. Then he was crying out and climaxing unstoppably.
Childermass continued riding him for a few long moments before giving a sort of startled sigh and opening his eyes very wide and shoving down hard and spending himself on Segundus's chest.
Childermass was still moving softly. Segundus was still holding onto his hips. He felt a great sense of peace that he had not known before. He raised his hand and Childermass caught hold of it, and they stared at each other, shivering a little.
Miss Absalom yawned and stretched and pulled Segundus to her, making room for Childermass on the other side of him. Childermass eased himself off of Segundus and into that space. Segundus, caught between them like a pearl cradled between two rough oyster halves, sighed comfortably and drew them both closer. Their bodies were warm. He pressed his face to Childermass's shoulder and felt Miss Absalom mold herself against his back. She stroked his arm. Childermass ran a hand through his hair, then let his palm rest at the back of Segundus's neck.
"Mm," Segundus said drowsily, wriggling slightly in satisfaction. "I could sleep like this. Only I do not wish to sleep, for I am already asleep, and I wish to stay here forever."
There was a short silence. Childermass said, "Your logic is dubious, as ever."
"You are mistaken," Segundus informed him. "But I will permit you to remain in my bed, because I am a generous person."
"It is my bed," Miss Absalom said. "But I suppose I do not mind if both of you stay."
"That is gracious of you," Segundus said gravely.
Childermass appeared close to sleep, which was very endearing. His hand had grown heavy on Segundus's neck. When Segundus risked a glance up, his eyes were drifting closed. He did not go to sleep, though; he wrinkled his nose and said vaguely, "What is that noise?"
Segundus made a questioning sound, a sort of mmph?
"That— noise, that bird noise. You must hear it."
"No," Segundus said, by which he did not mean, No, I do not hear it, for he could hear it now, if only faintly— like birds from a very long way off, possibly miles— but rather a more general refusal to acknowledge the interruption. He buried himself further into Childermass's shoulder, tugging Miss Absalom's arm tightly around him. "No," he said again, for emphasis.
Miss Absalom muttered something exasperated-sounding against his back. Segundus was about to ask her if she could quiet the birds, for they seemed to be drawing closer and he wished to rest, but even as he thought this he became aware that the noise would wake him. He clung to the last vestiges of the dream with drowsy hands— the feel of Miss Absalom's breath warm against his shoulder, Childermass's soft prick pressed against his leg, the faint smell of sex, damp and overripe and fecund, a lazy, salacious, flowering scent... but it was no use. Sleep was unspooling from him, and before he knew it, he was waking in his own bed.