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The swim to the diminutive island is just a swim. Not so long to wear oneself out, but enough to feel like they’ve gone somewhere. Verso watched the team from this outcropping while Gustave had still been alive. It feels strange to bring a stranger along with him. It was his spot. But if there’s anyone he should be letting it, it’s Sciel. She cannot see the details of him, but the facade of that keeps his heart safe begins to crumble like the Curator’s face. It swells with compassion, and for a desperate need to make sure this woman will be okay. It is not his responsibility, but he wishes it was.
As they raise themselves onto the rocks, the little mosses and grasses feel soft beneath Verso’s hands. A springtime breeze caresses his naked limbs as he faces back to the main camp. Sciel undoes the back of her swimsuit, flipping her head forward to get it through the hoop around her neck.
Bashful, Verso looks away, his steely eyes fixed on the shore. They are safe from the Monolith’s watchful gaze and any prying eyes.
“What? How else are these going to dry?”
His tongue swells with the want pooling in his belly. “We’re going to have to swim back eventually.”
“Yes, eventually. You’ve gotten me this far. You can’t tell me you’ve changed your mind about our ‘adventure.’”
Verso whips around. Her bronze skin makes a perfect canvas for the pictos whose lines and curves dips across her large, dark nipples. The Continent’s cool wind puckers them to jutting points. He catches his jaw before it drops open.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
They step towards each other, skin bare to that verdant world and glimmering sky. Verso catches Sciel by the waist, pulling her close to him. Her sturdy frame feels so delicate in his hands. Fierce and independent, but also fragile. For him, however, she dismantles her walls. Something soft rests within that shell. That loneliness sees companionship in his.
Their mouths meet wetly, hot breaths mingling. He’s been alone for so long, he wonders if he ever existed at all. That he wasn’t just a specter of expeditions past. He is no one, but the fingers kneading his back and the tongue exploring his mouth are very much real in his arms.
Sciel leans back, breaking their kiss and exposing the column of her throat. Breathing heavily, he runs his mouth over the taut muscle. His fingers reach up. He brushes his thumbs against her nipples, making them bounce beneath their touches. She sighs, contented. He kisses along the tattoos until he reaches the soft peaks of her chest.
She is beautiful in a way that makes his fingers itch to compose songs about. The softness of her breasts as the flesh gives way to his fingers inspires an etude, while there should be waltzes written about her ass. She struggles to mask her own moans as he pulls her nipple into his mouth. Her fingers tangle within his curly hair. Trim nails separate the white and black strands twisted into grays.
Her moan brings him to his knees. Her nipple slips from his mouth as he kisses her ribs and stomach. He debates dragging his tongue across the jagged scar. Instead, he lets himself be drawn in by the heady scent of her arousal. It reminds him of rosemary and tarragon, succulent herbs that make his mouth water.
As his lips brush against the waistband, she catches his chin by the finger tips. Gently, she guides him back onto his feet. “I suppose I should thank you.” She kisses him wetly on the mouth.
“Oh yeah? Whatever for?” The sight of her makes his cunt ache. He’s never wanted for much, but now he yearns. One of them needs to touch the other, and soon. He’s waited long enough for another to come. He can wait a little while longer.
“The swimming lesson. For being a good…more than friend.”
This coaxes a soft smile from him. Girlfriend and boyfriend are far too whimsical words for the relationship between two people who might die as soon as the next day. No one sees the things they’ve seen on this Continent without coming out of it as something so simple as friends. Here they are, nearly naked on an island within earshot of the Expedition, enjoying this something else.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Something that requires a different kind of suit.” She hooks her thumbs and removes her swim bottom.
He follows her example. He shudders at the cold kissing his hairy cunt. The water left droplets in her pubes that reflect the starlight. As much as he hungers for her pussy, he wants her to lead even more. He’s tired of making decisions.
“Sit, spread your legs.”
Verso obeys her, sitting down upon the mossy rocks, bare ass touching the damp surface. His nub stands erect, begging to be touched. Sciel licks her fingers and brushes them against Verso’s cock. The warmth of her against him pulls a moan from deep in his throat. She pets at him, her fingertips teasing his sodden entrance. “Someone is soggy already.”
Gently, he nips are her tit. “Tasting you makes me a little excited. More so than battle.”
“More so than battle? You must really like me, then.”
If only he could tell her the full extent of it. There might be another opportunity. “You could say that. I won’t deny it.”
Her fingers flick at his clit like stroking at a pack of cards. Another fullness joins, and he looks down the hairy plane of his torso to make sure no one can see the swelling in his bladder. He can hold it.
He moans, trying to find words to get her attention. She hears his pleas, somehow. “Is something wrong?”
“No, it’s just…” He whimpers as her fingers gently feel at his opening. “I need to piss, but I don’t want you to stop.”
She pulls her fingers back, once again massaging his little cock despite his pathetic little sounds. She whispers in his ear, “We all piss, Verso. I won’t think any lesser of you for how you release. Not after everything.”
With shuddering gasps, he releases the pressure in his bladder. Water spills out beneath him, soaking the stones, gushing but not at all reaching his apex yet. Sciel has not relented. She grips his cock between her index finger and thumb and jacks it as if it were her own. His hole aches for more, pulsing as she keeps going. This same calmness and determination that makes her a force to be reckoned with will be his undoing.
There’s just the slick slapping of fingers against his flesh. The fullness returns, begging to unleashed. His clit fattens, restrained by her fingers. His head grows dizzy as the blood drains and drains into his groin.
“Sciel, I’m so close. I’m—” The orgasm slams into him, coating between his thighs with slick along with piss. He would be embarrassed if love wasn’t already so humiliating. His hips buck when she finally frees his clit.
Heat rises to his cheeks. “That was one hell of a thank you.”
“I can keep going if you’d like. I don’t just have my cards and my scythe in my cache.”
His hole clenches at her meaning.
She caresses his face. “Will you take me, mon ami?”
“I can take you.” It comes out more a breath than a whisper.
With her other hand, she conjures a belt with a phallus fitted to its collar. It reminds Verso of the detritus from the Fracture. Its slick silver reminds him of an oil spill. The elegant curve is tantalizing. Its size makes his throat dry; he’s not sure he’s taken bigger, even while testing Monoco’s entire menagerie of cocks that he collects alongside feet.
He doesn’t want her kneeling in a pool of his piss. Without saying a word, he guides them to a tree. He rests his back against it, spreading his legs as wide as they will go. The bitter scent of urine pricks the air.
“You look so precious.” Sciel smiles wickedly. “I didn’t know Verso was capable of being nervous.”
She’s going to unmake him with that weapon. “Is this the kind of dark secret you seek? Verso chickens out of sword fights.”
Sciel laughs, chewing on her bottom lip. “I want to win this duel.”
“I think you already have.” He props himself up as she presses his legs even further apart.
The phallus’s head rests against his sodden hole. He inhales deeply as he takes it. Sciel is careful, but not wasting any time. All its cold, stone centimeters rest snuggly within Verso’s pussy. He squirms around her, while she grips tight onto his sides. They will leave bruises, and he will also show no urgency in healing them. The only memento of love on his body cannot the scar bequeathed him by Renoir.
Sciel pounds into him. The rest of the Continent falls away to just the fullness in his cunt and the woman breathing heavily on top of him, dripping sweat from her full chest on his flat pecs. His eyes fill with sparks like chroma, but he doesn’t dare ask her to stop.
The expedition across the water cannot hear their rhythmic clapping of thighs against thighs, the chorus of moans, and the rise and fall of voices harmonizing the pleasure of each other’s company.