Rick and Darren are back...

[sparkindarkness]

And hopefully the healing's getting done, so I can move them out of this rut - they want to fight off the newbies, they're going to have to resolve some issues. Issues make me headachy. There also annoyingly prolific in everything I write, I'm sure a psychologist would make a meal of that, but that's their problem.

Maybe I’ll have them back to normal within a few days. Tired, but normal...




Days have passed in a blur, it seems almost impossible that the battle against my sister happened over a fortnight ago. It still hurts, I think it always will, I think I always want it to. What would I have become if the death of someone I loved so much stopped hurting? But it is soft, aching pain now, not the sharp unbearable anguish of weeks gone. I can’t help a burn of guilt at that. Two weeks is such a desperately short time to honour so wonderful a person. She was my mentor in many ways, my shield and my joy as a child, even when she knew what I was, she was willing to offer what small comforts she could. And willing to risk all to stop me falling further.

But it’s hard to grieve in Rick’s arms. Hard to find hurt in the sheer joy of his presence, and the burning heat of his touch. Two weeks of a blur of pounding flesh, strangled groans and ecstatic screams seem capable of pushing away even the worst of memories, repelling even the deepest darkness.

Rick’s still in bed, even though it’s long past noon. I can’t really blame him this time though. Between our constant love making, I have delved for peace in the lost shadows of my mind. Meditating in vain hope for some answer to the darkness.

But Rick has never rested. Thick smoke still billows around the ceiling, the air is sharp with incense, and I can still hear the echoes of strange, varied music from all corners of the globe. Symbols cover the walls and everywhere the eye looks there are strange objects, both technological and ancient, sometimes both at the same time. They’re scattered through the flat, testament to Rick’s unflinching attempt to heal the spirit world. Frankly, I’m still amazed at the amount of effort and power he’s poured into this; how driven he is. I underestimate him. Again.

I put on the coffee. Living with Rick has taught me that waking him is a Herculean task, possibly because he doesn’t always stay in his body when he sleeps. But there is one sure method, he would come back from the gates of the dead for a good espresso.

Sure enough, as the thick rich scent begins to cut through the pervasive musk of a thousand exotic scents, I hear him stir amid the tangled sheets. A few minutes later he walked through the pine door I made him put up, completely naked.

I just indulge in the sight of him for a while. Even when he’s not excited, it’s hard to keep your eyes above waist level, he is almost scarily well endowed. Dragging your eyes away may be hard but it was worth the effort. Only a thin trail of hair spread upwards from his groin, lightly dusting his stomach with it’s perfect sculpted six-pack. I follow that teasing trail of hair upwards to that string chest and well defined pectorals. Thin hair dusts across it, lightly encircling his dark nipples. Rick wasn’t a major body builder, but he you could tell he worked out, and the effort was definitely worth it. All those perfect muscles were done in perfect golden brown. With a massive effort, I raise my eyes from his body to that beautiful, strong face. High cheekbones, a strong chin and a halo of sunlight hair, suffering from terrible bed head. Even with my longer hair, he still has far more trouble controlling his golden mass than I have with my ebon sheet. It takes me several minutes to notice his mischievous grin and the confident, pleased gleam in his eyes.

“You making coffee, or just getting an eye full?” He leans back against the kitchen table, stretching to draw full attention to every inch of his body. I snap out of it and fill his morning coffee mug, a massive thing that can hold over a pint of thick espresso. I smooth the worry from my face as I turn back to him with the mug. Rick had meant the gesture to be seductive, and it was, but it also showed the toll the last few days had taken from him. Dark shadows surrounded those pale eyes, their shine was dimmed. His skin was paler than usual, it had been a long time since he laid in his sun bed. Smudged remains of runes he had painted on his skin marred his perfect body. Grease and soot was thick in his hair, making it look even wilder. Scratches and bruises spotted his skin everywhere I looked, some from my own hands, many more from the strenuous rituals he’d pushed himself through these past few days. Worse than the physical strains on his body was the slightly haunted look in his eyes, a look that said he felt cold inside. I couldn’t see the spirit world, except for the realms of the dead, shamanism and seeing weren’t two of my talents, but I knew the sights Rick saw chilled him.

He drained his cup quickly, uncaring of the scalding heat. He shivered in the warm room, then hugged himself tightly, running his hands up and down his goose-bumped skin. Even with that beautiful, strong body, he looked horribly vulnerable. I moved towards him, wanting to hug that fear away, but he was already turning away, not seeing my movement.

“I look like shit.” His voice was a weak, vain attempt at humour. “I’m going to get a shower, maybe start looking human again.” He strode out of the room, before I could speak or reach him. In a few minutes I hear the shower start.

I dither around the kitchen for a while. It was my fault he had to endure this trial, and there remained a lingering doubt as to whether he had forgiven me for it. I stared, lost, at the door he’d left through.

Ahrimadan raised his head from his freshly emptied food bowl, “Thou hast a problem?”

I nod vaguely, still debating about following him. I hear a feline sigh from my feet.

“Truly, thou confuse my senses. Thou art one of the most powerful beings on this plane, perchance, the greatest. Life and death art but whims to thee, and the fate of millions rests in thy hands. Yet, for all this power, thy constant companion is grief, angst dogs thy steps and decisiveness no more that a distant dream.” Ahrimadan leaped onto the counter and stared at me with those terrible golden eyes.

“Go, fool, thy body is his panacea. He needs another’s mind to hold the worries, another heart to support his. He hath held thy pain for too long, now the burden is thine.”

I blink, allowing the reverberating words to sink slowly into my brain. Long winded and archaic, he may be, but at times the cat’s right. I glide through the flat, stalking the sound of falling water.

I pass the bedroom, and throw my shirt onto the bed. Rick’s singing begins to sound from the closed door, the wear evident in the limit imposed on his normal dazzling range. My trousers peeled off like a second skin as my fingers brushed the door handle. By the time I opened the door, I was naked, wrapped only in the curtain of my hair, sparkling with the glinting silver of my amulets and the vibrant colours of my tattoos. I silently ghosted into the room, bare feet making no noise on the cold white tiled floor.

He stood in the shower cubicle - a large chamber of white tiles and thick steam. The shower curtain allowed tantalising views of his body in silhouette, swaying gently to his song like an erotic shadow puppet.

He turns his back, leaning on the tiled wall. I make my move. In two fluid strides I cross to the shower and pull back the curtain. Rick stood with his forehead pressed against the cool tile, thick drifts of scalding steam billowed around him, occasionally shrouding his body tantalisingly. Hot, clear water sluiced down his skin, making it glisten temptingly. His unruly, wild golden hair was plastered flat and dark against his head, falling down past his ears. The water darkened it until it looked like liquid molten gold flowing from his head. His eyes were closed, and he seemed hardly to move, beyond his lips maintaining their quiet melody.

I stepped into the shower, he still doesn't hear me. The hot, thick air beads my skin, weighs down my hair. Still he doesn’t look up. I wrap my arms around his broad, strong chest, press myself the full length of him. He tenses, and starts to stand up straight, starts to turn round. I pin him with my arms, and raise one hand to ease his head back against the wall. I hold him still and caress that firm, wondrous body. He reaches his arms back to run his fingers over my now wet skin. The position is too awkward for him to more than run his hands over my arms and shoulders, straining to reach my back. But I don’t let him turn, I hold the control.

I lick the side of his neck, feel him shudder slightly against me. I lap down his neck, to his strong broad shoulders, before working my way back with gentle nips of teeth, just teasing the skin into my mouth. I reach the nape of his neck and move up, biting, just a little harder, on his ears, his legs buckled slightly.

I return to his neck, working down his spine, biting, licking, kissing, I covered every inch with my mouth, tasted every part of that wet, slick, hot skin. Felt the strength of those firm, tight muscles. He leaned more heavily on the wall, I felt his legs shake as he bent further forwards, supporting more of his weight on the wall.

I couldn’t press my body against him anymore, he was too tall, and leaning to far outwards. Water pounded down on his back, flowed down him onto me in a cascade. But there were advantages to this position. I knelt, leaned forwards and bit that solid, muscular buttock. He tensed and nearly pulled away, but I grabbed his knee and pulled him back. The other hand I stroked across his beautiful back side. I knew he spent an unreasonable time on expensive exercise machines to create that perfect, muscular bottom. I explore every inch of it, squeezing and probing, leaning forward to bite that flesh occasionally, unable to resist. He quivers and again tries to turn, but I hold him with my hand on my knee. He stills and I slide that hand gently, slowly, up from his knee. I dance my fingers up his inner thigh, he shifts slightly, opening his legs to my touch. I can’t resist again, I lean forwards and bite again, nibbling the skin, trying to pull the skin between my front teeth. He started to shift again, but at the same moment I moved my hand up, between his legs, to cup his heavy balls. His soft blonde pubic hair brushed my hand. He froze perfectly still as I groped him and made a soft, happy sound.

I licked his buttocks, continued biting him until I reached the dark cave of his crack between those two strong, firm cheeks. Water channelled down that wonderful cave, funnelled into a heavy stream. I licked across the very edge, in long sure strokes. Then I moved down to the bottom of his backside, and licked back up that crack, against the stream of water. I had to close my eyes to stop the endless flow of hot water blinding me. Rick shuddered as I licked deeper and firmer down that crack. I probed deep until I found him, that tight entrance. In the same movement I moved my other hand from stroking his balls and seized the length of him, stretched long, wet, hard, and terrifyingly thick between his legs. I licked him, explored him, and in perfect rhythm with the movements of my tongue I stroked his hard cock. He gasped.

I increased my speed, licking faster, stroking ever faster. I licked harder, squeezed harder. He rocked backwards and forwards to the rhythm I set, moving so quickly, it was a wonder he managed to hold his balance on the slick, wet tile. He breathing quickened, became harsh and strident. I felt his cock pulse in my hand, throbbing massively in need, desperate need, for release.

I stopped.

He gasped, started to turn again, angry, desperate, hungry. Again I forced him back against the wall, and stood. My hair slapped against the wall, against the floor, ran thick and wet across his bent back. He started to rise again, I turned my head and let a wave of heavy black hair fall on his back, weighing him down again.

I stroked my own cock, felt my own need pulse inside me. The sight of that beautiful body was almost torture to me, the feel of it agonising. I lined myself up behind him, and eased myself slowly inside.

He writhed against the tiles, one hand pounding helplessly in counterpoint to the waves of hot water that still flowed from the shower above us, still surrounded us with spray and steam. I waited for him to quiet, but it soon became clear that he wouldn’t, he twitched and shook, groaned and gasped, but an underthread through it all was gently, whispered words of want, of need.

I worked my way into him, then slowly out. Every motion was painfully slowly, I felt him tense impatiently. He tried to force himself backwards, to speed up the rhythm, to force me deeper within him. It was more than my self control could take. I pushed into him, fast and hard, before the gasp had escaped his lips, I was already pulling out and plunging in again., And again. And again. Soon the splashing cascade of water was being drowned out by the pulsing percussive music of melded bodies and flesh on flesh. His quiet, soft music long since vanquished by cries of fiery lust, cold need and violent passion.

He was tight and unbelievable. I collapsed on top of him, feeling my chest slide across his wet back as my hips relentlessly maintained their assault on his back side. The tiles echoes back our cries, the water danced a counterpoint on our skin, washed away our sweat and slicked out skins into glistening, gleaming gems.

Rick’s legs collapsed under him as he released one mighty cry of ecstasy and came in a violent rush that made his every muscle tighten. He fell from under me, but I was already lost in the sweet rich rush of my own orgasm. The force of it dropped me to the floor behind Rick, I was too breathless to cry out.

Gradually the world swam back into focus as we lay on the shower floor. I was coiled around Rick, managing to spoon him despite the massive difference between out heights. Water still fell on both of us, trickling between out tightly entwined bodies. Rick stirred, lazily.

“Definitely 10 star performance.” I could feel his silly grin, even if I couldn’t see it.

“Mmmm...” coherent speech takes some time to re-learn, “wonderful. Felt like an exotic cave in some sun soaked clime under a water fall. We’ll have to do that. One day.”

Rick shifts happily against me, pushing back into me. “Yeah, one day. We have all the time in the world to do it.”

That makes me grin. I pull him even closer to me, though out flesh is already an unbroken line. All the time in the world together, that sounds perfect.

He starts to snore quietly against me, he falls into a deep peaceful sleep, perhaps for the first time in weeks. I smile, stroke his hair, and watch him breath.

Comments

[klgaffney.livejournal.com]

But there is one sure method, he would come back from the gates of the dead for a good espresso.

*giggles* well it does smell awfully good....

and the demon cat gets the good one badge this time. you fool no one, ahrimadan. especially when the advice you're dispensing leads to darren topping. guh.

[sparkindarkness.livejournal.com]

All necromancers should carry some!

Ahrimadan: *stares at badge* *badge crumbles to ash* *stares unblinkingly at Kammy*

Darren topping was a bonus. I think the kitty's confused...