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You have never seen a stranger party than the one now standing in your inn, you think to yourself.
An elf girl — petite, with a head of white hair tied back into pigtails, bearing eyes of such experience and knowledge that dwarves her impossible youthful countenance; a young human girl with a waterfall of violet tresses, prim and proper in her neat dress and cloak, a single crease not in sight. They are joined by a young man, whose brilliant, fiery locks and scar on his forehead made him a stark contrast to his companions.
Your attention, however, is drawn to the older man who lingers a few paces behind, dressed in a priest’s robes. With his loose ponytail and stubble, he too gave off an air of someone deeply experienced and knowledgeable — yet languidly mature and cautiously weary.
They are here to rest for a few nights, the human girl tells you, as you prepare the keys for their rooms. The girls will share a room together, she adds, and as for the men…
“A single room for me, please,” the priest says, before the young man can speak up. His tone is casual, but polite, and you bite back a chuckle as the latter takes a look of offence and annoyance at having been separated from the crew. You are quick to reassure him that his room will have the comforts of a larger bed and bath.
“Is that so?” the young man asks, perking up as you press the keys into his grasp. He twirls the ring around his index, making a pleasant twinkle that resounds through the wooden walls.
“Of course,” you promise, collecting the deposit from the human girl. “I make sure every guest has an unforgettable stay here.”
And all in the name of good business, of course — you keep this tidbit to yourself, but the priest, with his worldly manner, is quick to catch on.
“So we’ll never leave and you can make more money out of us?” he asks. You turn your eyes to him, and it once more rests on those stately robes — the high collar, the rich blue velvet and gold stitching. In your time operating this inn, you have seen many members of the cleric come and go; and while they were almost always polite, gentlemanly even, none of them bore the same reckless air of charisma as this one did. There is something magnetic about the nonchalant way he holds himself, as if there is nothing in the world that can frazzle or unsettle him.
“That would be most certainly ideal,” you decide to parry cleverly, dropping his keys in his proffered palm.
As his hand closes around the cool bronze, they brush ever so slightly and warmly against the underside of your fingers; the sudden contact is enough to shock you, and you withdraw your hand almost immediately — the heat of his touch having transferred to your ears as you blush profusely.
You do not mistake the slight grin that curls the corner of his lips, as if he has seen the tint that your face has taken, and knows exactly what he just did. Flustered at how he has read your expression, and your display of unprofessionalism — even if it is for an audience of one — you clear your throat and ask for their names to be written down in the ledger.
One by one, the travellers give them to you: Frieren, the elf; Fern, the human girl; Stark, the young man, and-
“Sein,” the priest tells you, while the tip of your quill hovers over the parchment. “Just Sein.”
Frieren’s party, as you expect, turns out to be a rather pleasant crew. For most part, they keep to themselves in their rooms, and you hardly interact with them save to announce that meals were ready, or if they ask for more information about the town.
They are seeking to restock their supplies, Fern and Stark tell you, and you helpfully guide them to the local emporium where they may be able to find the things they need. Frieren, meanwhile, is content with staying either in her room or in the bar, perusing over a grimoire while you busy yourself with entertaining the guests for the evening.
Which means that of the four, only one remains who will speak idly with you — something that you do not find unwelcome even as your usual customers are running all over your head demanding their orders and drinks.
“So, how did you come to run this place?” Sein asks, when you emerge from the kitchens with a pint of mead in each of your hands. You have gotten used to the way he speaks, you think — the lilt in his tone, his choice of words, how he does not let his gaze drop from you until you give him a proper answer.
You set the mugs down on the table next to his, where a trio of miners had ordered a hefty stack of reibekuchen along with apple sauce. “The inn belonged to my aunt, and I took over things when she became too old to manage the work here.”
“Then you’ve been at this for a few years?”
“Five, to be exact,” you share, giving him a smile while rapturous laughter bubbles from the farmers sitting in the corner.
“And what were you doing before this?” Sein follows, while someone calls your name from the bartop. You hold your hand up to pause your conversation and bustle over to the customer — the town’s watchmaker — for his order.
Jotting down a pint of beer and a plate of rouladen in your pad, you flit past Sein’s table on your way to the kitchen. “I was studying in a convent.”
“Oh?” Sein raises a brow, and fishes a cigarette from the folds of his coat. He produces a match from the box already on his table, and with a flick of his wrist lights the smoke. The sweet-bitter scent of tobacco swirls in a greyish tendril from his fingers as he regards you with sudden interest. “A fellow Child of the Goddess, then.”
“Aren’t we all Children of the Goddess?” is your reply, which brings a grin to his face. You do not have time to savour it, however, as your staff calls for you, and you dip between the curtain separating the bar from the kitchens.
The loud chatter and clanging of pots and pans greets you, and you dip aside as the head chef bustles past you with a tray of hot pieces. He’s a priest, for crying out loud, the logical part of your mind tells you as you check on the stews and make sure to pass your orders to the staff. By the nature of their work, these people were excellent orators, clever with their words and skilful at evoking scripture to rouse their followers. And Sein, in particular, with his fluent words and persistent questions, the way he lit his cigarette and asked for a refill of his drink, thanking you with too much care when you did so…
A talented tongue — your mind wanders south, and for a split second you are arrested by a vision of Sein between your legs, his tongue dragging along your seam as you cry out his name, your hands tangling in his roguish locks as he tastes the essence that drips from your sex. He calls out to you, silently and wordlessly, and you can almost feel the-
A sharp, burning pain drags you from the lush swamps of your reverie, and you resurface to a stinging in your fingertips, having accidentally touched a boiling lid while you were distracted. One of your staff — a young freckled girl called Gretl — rushes over with a cool cloth, which you accept with an embarrassed grimace.
“Thank you,” you say, before sucking gently on the swollen finger, reprimanding yourself for getting carried away.
Not that it was your fault , the less-than-logical part of your mind adds playfully. If only that man was not so damn tempting, nor so flirtatious every time he spoke to you; how long has it been, anyway, since you set your eyes on someone like him? More than that, how long has it been since you had been intimate with anyone? Desperate though you may appear, it is only because you were fighting against a maelstrom, the whirlpool of Sein’s presence pulling you into its depthless waters.
“It must have been such a leap for you then, to go from a convent to…” Sein waves his arm around the bar. “...whatever this is.”
It is now one in the morning, and much quieter with only a handful of stragglers remaining. You have begun closing up for the night, having counted the evening’s earnings and are drying up the washed cutlery that your staff has brought to you. At present, your lids are heavy and your limbs are sore as you fetch the cleaning rags from the stack of freshly laundered clothes; there is nothing you want more this instant than to crumple into the softness of your bed — but there are still things to be done, and Sein still shows no sign of lethargy as he lights another cigarette.
Through the glass that you are polishing, you observe as he passes his cigarette from his right to left hand so as to better turn around in his chair to look at you. Putting the cloth down, you say: “It was difficult at first, but thankfully I had the help of the staff, and everyone in town has been exceedingly kind to me.”
“Still,” Sein continues, tapping the ash off his cigarette. He reaches for his half-empty pint, and the thin layer of foam sloshes lazily as he lifts the drink to his lips. The tick of the grandfather clock is curiously loud as you wait for him to finish, and you cannot help but stare at the flash of pink as he licks the corners of his mouth, “to be a woman running a business in a place filled with men.”
He gives you a significant look, and you instantly know what he means. Indeed, things were difficult when you first took over the business. Perhaps it was the combination of an inexperienced young woman at this trade, along with the inn being a rest stop for two renowned pilgrimage sites — you have had your fair share of dealing with lecherous bandits who believed they could take a bite out of you, in all possible sense of the word; not to mention, the condescending mages nitpicking through their stay; or even the regular townsfolk with their wandering eyes and hands and distasteful remarks.
You have not made it this far without projecting some image of resilience — a capable proprietress, your hair tied perfectly without a strand out of place, your dresses always immaculate and laundered fresh with scented water behind your ears and ankles. It is a necessary facade, you learn, for the townsfolk to treat you with a modicum of respect they gave the watchmakers and tailors and tanners. And for all this, you have elected to reject any romantic advances from any potential suitor, despite being old enough for two children; indeed, there is nothing more crippling, you find, than a woman shackled by her young running around her ankles as she struggles between the hearth and the food on her table.
Skirting around the bar, you make your way towards Sein’s table, narrowly avoiding a customer drifting between the realms of inebriation and unconsciousness; you pull out the chair opposite his and sit down in it, crossing your legs as you do so.
“You know, it’s not every day that one gets to see a travelling priest.”
“Well, here’s one right before your eyes,” Sein says, tapping out his cigarette again.
The ash crumbles into the glass tray he has been steadily filling up this evening, and you count five stubs in its centre. Certainly a priest with higher morals might object to this, and as someone who has studied the scripture and once thought of donning the wimple, you ought to be appalled by this flagrant display of corruption.
But the late hour and the soreness clinging to your bones, coupled with the ambiguous manner Sein is now regarding you, makes his behaviour a little more forgiving that it should be; and against your common sense you find yourself propping your elbows on the table and leaning forward — just enough to reveal the faint crease of your cleavage over your blouse.
“You know, you haven’t told me why you’re on this journey,” you begin, tilting your head to the side.
Sein looks at you over the curved glass of his mug, and you watch it flick ever so quickly to your chest, before looking away into the distance. “Have I not?”
Taking another swig, he takes a moment before continuing: “Let’s just say I’m looking for something.”
“And what might that be?” you press. “Salvation?”
“That would be Frieren,” he corrects, setting his mug down on the wooden table with a dull thud. “Mine is much more… prosaic.”
You smile, though your heart pounds wildly in your chest as you give him a dazzling smile — the one you reserve for the most difficult of guests, though in this case there is nothing troubling about Sein at all. Rather, he matches your expression with an easy, sloppy grin of his own, and you find the words tumbling from you before you even realise: “And will I be one of those things?”
He rests his cigarette on the rim of the ashtray before leaning back on his seat, giving you a proper once over — drinking you in from your crossed legs, where your thighs are exposed by the creasing of your skirt, to the cinched waist of your bodice, and right up till your chest, where your skin glistens in the warm candlelight. Beside you, the birchwood in the fireplace continues to crack, a wonderful percussion to the tension in his gaze.
Sein opens his mouth to reply, but someone interrupts you:
“Ma’am.”
Gretl comes over to your side, and you notice, then, that the bar is completely clean and empty of any patrons. The hanging lamps have long since been extinguished, and there is not a soul in the premises save for yourself and Sein. Wrenching yourself from the heat of the moment, you rise to your feet, and turn to your staff.
“Thank you, Gretl. I’ll handle the closing.”
With reluctance, you sweep out of the bar, but not without a backward glance at the priest, who procures another light from his pocket.
By the time you are finished sending your staff for the night, and doing a final round of walks across the rooms, Sein is no longer waiting for you in the bar. Not that he is obliged to do so, given that the clock is creeping towards the third hour of the morning; it is thus with a heavy heart that you return to your room tucked in the corner of the first floor.
Sitting down in front of your dressing table, you begin to undo your hair, running your fingers through the indents in your tresses. Your thoughts are still in the hours before, the seconds when Sein had been about to reply to your question — what he had in his mind, you will never know, but the look in his gaze, and how his eyes had assumed a darker shade… You could bask in its murky, undefined depths for as long as he is willing to give it to you, though that would first require him to be by your side.
You think of the ledger that sits in the drawer where the rest of the cash box is, and how Frieren’s party has but two nights left at your inn.
Should you have made your move sooner? Would that have been untoward?
Somewhere, a part of you wonders if all the flirting had been nothing but a superficial exchange, the weightless words of a careless priest — should that be so, then you are doing nothing but making an utter fool of yourself, practically throwing your body into the arms of a man you can never have.
Your thoughts are punctuated by a knock on the door, and you sigh, thinking that it must be one of your guests.
When you open the door, however, you find Sein standing in the hallway, his face partially in shadow. That dark, glassy gaze has not lost its lustre, and you feel temptation plucking at your heartstrings.
“Are you here to absolve me of my sins, Father?” you ask without much thought.
“That depends,” he answers, showing himself into the room before you can even step aside. He closes the door behind him, and pulls the latch on the lock; suddenly your mouth runs dry, and you gulp thickly, easing the lump that has formed in your throat. “Have you done anything bad recently?”
Heat rises to your cheeks at the suggestive inflection of his words, but you turn away before he notices, returning to your dressing table and resuming the brushing of your hair. “You speak far too recklessly — people might misunderstand you.”
“I only prefer to make my words as plain as possible,” he shares, following you and confiscating the brush from you. He twirls the wood in his hand, running over the bristles with his thumb.
You lean on the dressing table, playing with your hair as you regard him. “Then, pray tell as plainly as possible, your intentions for coming to my room?”
Sein hums, placing the brush on the table; but he does not move away when he is done — rather, he puts his hand beside yours and leans forward. Up close, you see every fleck of green that reflects the candlelight; it shifts and dazzles as he cants his head to the side. You pause with curling your hair around your finger, the sudden proximity suddenly squeezing the air from your lungs and sending your heart into a race. Your gaze drops all but a second at his mouth.
Then, softly and carefully, Sein closes the distances between your lips, kissing you with slow deliberation; your lids flutter shut immediately at first contact, hand turning around to settle on his chest. He is so, so warm, and his hair tickles your cheek softly when he angles his head just slightly. The tightness in your chest seizes at this bold initiative, before relaxing when you feel his fingers on the side of your face.
“I thought priests were supposed to be celibate,” you ask, when he has stolen every last bit of your breath away. Sein’s lips are swollen, and marked with the rosy tint of your rouge.
“What makes you believe I’ve taken my vows?” he questions in return, the fumes of drink and smoke hot and heavy on his breath. It is not entirely unpleasant, unlike the drunkards and gamblers that you have had to haul from your inn. If anything, it only emphasises the sharp green accords and notes of incense that lingers all over his body, making him a little more irresistible than you will like. His touch, too, is different — the pads of his fingers are soft and gentle as he runs them across your cheek, and when you cast your gaze at his face, you find that his eyes are hazy with need.
“That’s a pity,” you remark, your hands reaching for him as Sein buries himself closer to you. “Seducing a priest has always been one of my fantasies.”
“Consider it done,” he murmurs, the slope of his nose resting into the crook of your neck as he kisses your jaw. “I’ve been thinking about you ever since the first day we arrived.”
“Is that so? How convenient,” you say, biting back a gasp when Sein ghosts over the shell of your ear. You hear every sharp draw of his breath as he takes in your scent — a long, deliberate inhale, followed by a ragged release.
“It is,” he agrees, his voice dropping to a mere whisper. “Which is why I’ve come to pay my debts.”
He nibbles on your earlobe and you gasp, grabbing blindly for him and eventually settling somewhere on the belt that holds his robes together. There is velvet beneath your fingertips, along with fine threads and linen — and further below, a warm, firm body that does not relent from yours.
Sein lets his hand fall to your front, grazing the ledge of your clavicle and leaving sparks of anticipation in his wake. He teases with the knot that holds the collar of your blouse together, before tugging on the ends and letting them fall. Your bust peeks through the open neck, and from where he lingers, he can just see the softness of your breasts curving beyond the fabric.
He takes them in his hand unabashedly, though your moans are lost to another kiss as he moves against your lips more urgently this time. Kneading the soft, supple flesh of your breast, Sein takes his time to savour the pliant form of your body as you keel to his advances; he unfastens the lace of your bodice, weaving deftly between the strings to loosen it from your body. With a yank, the stiff raiment falls from your body.
Everything else, thereafter, happens in a blur — Sein makes quick work of your blouse, pulling it over your head. Meanwhile, you help him with your skirt, unknotting the ties and pulling them over your hip; with that, you do away with your underclothes too, casting them aside.
Wordlessly, you bring yourself over to the bed, planting yourself on the mattress before sliding over to the centre. With Sein’s eyes on you as he divests himself of the clerical coat, you part your legs, revealing the wet petals of your sex; you do not tear your gaze away from him as you gather your wetness on your fingertips, using your arousal to ease a stroke up your sex.
Your cajoles yield the desired effect: Sein does not wait to undress himself completely — with his shirt still on, he pounces on you, hands all over your body as he kisses and caresses every inch of your exposed skin. You arch into his hot, open-mouth kisses, soft whines falling from you when a hot tongue laps around your nipple, circling your areola with diligent care. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you press him closer to your body, the scratchy fabric of his shirt pleasantly rough against your soft skin. After a long day of work, you cannot imagine yourself smelling like a bed of roses, but Sein does not mind as he licks and tastes the salt that gathers in the valley of your breasts.
“Such a temptress,” he murmurs over your skin. “You must know, don’t you, just exactly what you do to me — frolicking around in that dress of yours, teasing me with your smiles, beckoning me to ravish you in plain sight…”
His hands wander south, nimble and careful as he dances over the tremblingly flats of your belly — before stopping shy just over where your hips give way to the rise of your mound. He teases the sparse curls he finds there, moving back and forth as he descends slowly — your breath hitches in your throat at his teasing, and Sein flashes you a mischievous glint in his green eyes before he finally comes over the hood of your clit, giving the nub a slight pinch.
At that first, exquisite touch, your hips stutter wantonly into his hand, as if you have never felt pleasure of this kind. The corners of his lips tip into a wide grin at your response, and in the next instant, he has his mouth on you, tongue teasing you with slow licks.
“Oh, god!” you cry, though you grab a fistful of his hair to push him closer to your sex. And Sein is more than happy to oblige, flicking your clit in quick strokes; he drinks from your entrance, savouring your essence that pours freely from your depths.
The sight of Sein between your legs, his own grunts joining your moans while he draws pleasure from your core, tasting you as if he were a wanderer lost in the desert; it is something that exceeds even your wildest imaginings, the pleasure dizzying enough to send you reeling into the abyss. Your heels dig into his back as you arch into his mouth, and you cry out once more when you feel his hands join the fray, slipping a knuckle inside you.
“Sein…” you whine — he knows exactly where to touch you, that bundle of nerves that makes you curl your toes and drip all over his face. He hums into your folds, fingers scraping along your sensitive walls insistently until you see stars blinding your vision. Shutting your eyes, you bite the back of your hand to stifle your trills of pleasure, knowing that despite the inn being closed for the night, it is still likely for someone to chance upon the two of you.
With a squelch, Sein pulls himself away from you — the lower half of his face, right down to his stubble, glistens with your juices, but he does not bother to wipe himself as he kisses your inner thigh, fingers still thrusting back and forth inside your sex.
“Why are you hiding your face?” he asks, pushing himself up. His lips, still wet from your slick, kisses your palm, and you move your hand away chastely, a blush splashed across your cheeks. “I thought you said you wanted to seduce me?”
“It…” you stutter, your words drifting off as you look over to the side, suddenly feeling quite like a bride on her wedding night, “...just f-feels good…”
A soft chuckle reaches your ears, and Sein kisses you fully, with your face uncovered — you taste your arousal, sweet and musky, on him. His tongue tangles with yours, sloppily and fluidly, mirroring his hands.
Between your legs, he now brings his finger out and up your seam once more, teasing your clit; his pupils are blown wide by desire when you retreat from his kiss, and wickedly he says:
“It’s been a long time since you’ve been with a man, haven’t you? You’re so wet for me, I can come inside you with hardly any resistance…”
As if to prove his point, Sein grinds his clothed erection onto your folds, and you mewl, a high-pitch wail not unlike that of a kitten begging to be pet. Truthfully, it embarrasses you to be seen in such a state — your sex aching, your cheeks burning, and your mind robbed of its most rational faculties. But you can sense nothing in this moment but Sein, and Sein alone, and right now what you want is for him to bury his cock and empty his seed inside you.
And it is to your good fortune that he does exactly that, rising to his knees to finally remove his tunic and breeches. You watch, entranced, as he reveals the smooth, lean planes of his body, the ropes of sinew that twists and tightens as he shrugs off the shirt, and then your attention is seized as he loosens the knot on his trousers.
Your breath hitches in your throat as he reveals his appendage — eight inches, erect with a pattern of veins wrapped around its length; it is topped by a pink tip, cut and beading with a steady trickle of precum. Licking your lips and swallowing heavily, you wonder just how many women before you have been so privileged as to see him in such a primal state, beneath all those layers of clothing. To think that your lives could cross in such happenstance, and for the stars to align so that you could both bask in the heat of each other’s bodies…
“Get on your hands and knees,” Sein orders. The air of authority sends a shiver down your spine, and your sex clenches as the suddenly change in his tone. Docilely, you do as he says, turning first on your belly before heaving yourself up on all fours. Casting your head over your shoulder, you watch as Sein revels in the way your sex peeks through your thighs, a drip of wetness rolling down its length as you quiver in anticipation.
“Please, Sein,” you plead, when he chooses to palm your bottom instead of entering you, spreading your cheeks and studying how your cunt tightens around nothing.
Sein raises a brow at you. “Am I just Sein now?”
“Please, Father,” you correct yourself quickly, shoving your hips into his as he now handles his hardness, stroking himself lazily while watching you squirm before him. “I want you inside me…”
“You’re so different when you’re in bed,” he observes blithely, and you whine, a pout on your lips. The tip of his cock grazes your entrance, and Sein teases your essence to glide smoothly along your folds and nudge your clit — you hold your breath in anticipation as you feel the bed shift beneath you. “But that isn’t a bad thing at all — in fact, I quite like seeing you like this.”
Without warning, Sein sinks his cock inside you in a single thrust, and you arch your back, crying out his name. The hairs on the back of your neck stand as your sex accommodates his length, your sensitive walls wrapping around his thickness.
“Fuck,” Sein curses — one more item added to his list of corrupted behaviour, you muse. “You’re — ah! — you’re so tight…”
And with that, he begins moving along you in earnest, pulling out to his cockhead before pushing all the way into your depths once more; every rock his hip sends the curve of his cock scraping along that sensitive part of your sex, and you bring your knees together at that overwhelming sensation. This, in turn, tightens the grip your cunt has around him, and Sein braces a hand on either side of your hips, steering you to meet him more fully. Over and over again, Sein brings you to the hilt to his hardness, and you are all too happy to do his bidding, melting into the purest distillate of lust under his orchestrations.
“Don’t stop,” you entreat, when Sein takes on a faster pace in favour of a more shallow thrust. His hands wander from your hips to your mound again, and he teases your clit in time to his motions, wrenching yet another sob from you. “More, please-”
Leaning forward, you rest on the flat of your forearms, your moans drowned out by the sound of the bed creaking beneath the weight of your bodies. At this point, you do not care whether anyone can hear you; rather, you would be glad for everyone in the vicinity to know just how much you were taken by this man, and how he, too, is lost in the labyrinth of your body.
“Look at me,” Sein grits, his free hand snaking up your back to your dishevelled hair, tangling in those tresses as he turns your head to the side. You glance at him over your shoulder, and feel him tense inside you for a second as if he might release at the sight of your lewd expression; more than just the flush of your cheeks, he regales in the sight of your heavily-lidded eyes, and the small drip of spit that gathers in the corner of your mouth as you pant. “I want to see your face when you come.”
And you are so close to your peak — how can you not be, when he has teased you for so long only to withdraw at the last moment? For as long as he has been in your inn, you have dreamed of this precise moment, to be taken to the heights of your pleasure by this man. Indeed, if there was any man who can show you the light of Heaven, it can only be Sein himself, as the most indecent priest that you know.
He relents his grip on your hair and tucks them under your body, ghosting over your breasts once more — now, he has all of you in his hands: your supple flesh, your throbbing sex, and your aching depths. He plays with you all at once with the deft hands of a lyre player, finger falling to the tune of that punishing rhythm set by his hips.
It is to this passionate waltz of his that you feel the burn of your pleasure kick up in a sudden inferno, as if by the stroke of a flint on your bare, sweat-soaked skin — and it grows and grows, intensifying with the coaxing of his cock, until a final pinch of your clit sends you plunging into its fiery depths, setting every inch of your body in a brilliant cast. Your moans die on your lips in a breathless cry as you feel the scorching flames of euphoria emanate from your sex, and your thighs quiver at its unforgiving ferocity, unable to contend with the sheer force of sensations sparking through your body.
Behind you, Sein is not finished; as you struggle to keep your frame up for him, he suddenly pulls out of you. You look back at him in a daze of sorts, eyes flicking to his still-hard cock until your brain catches up with what he is about to do. Almost instantly, you paw over to his front, crouching down as low as you can while peering up at him through your lashes. It is to this sight of you — submissive, drunk on a high — that he finally spills, ropes of white barely missing your open mouth as he douses across your nose and cheeks. And you keep your eyes on him even as Sein rides out his orgasm, daring with your gaze to keep him going for as long as he can, until he is completely spent.
You wipe his cum off with your fingers and bring it to your lips, tasting him as he did before you; unlike you, his pleasure is rich and salty, the emissions of a man who has not expended himself for a long period of time. Sein watches you as you lick your fingers clean, and when you are done he sweeps you in his arms once more, your exhausted bodies falling on the bed as he peppers kisses all over your face. You giggle as his stubble tickles your jaw, hands combing through his wet hair as the afterglow of your lovemaking sets upon you both.
“If I am to go to Hell, I shall take you with me,” he murmurs against your cheek.
Closing your eyes and basking in the feeling of his hands all over your body, you answer: “Now, that won’t be so bad, wouldn’t it?”
Sein hums, a low, contented sound of agreement. “No — it’d be perfect, I think.”
A clear but polite rap on your door rouses you from sleep in the wee hours of the morning, and you sit up, still sleepy, on the bed. Beside you, Sein is sprawled across the bed, his hair falling artlessly across his face as he snores softly. You brush away a tendril of brown locks as you press a kiss to his temple, before getting up to fetch a robe.
Opening the door by a crack, you find Fern — all dressed with her hair pinned neatly from her face — standing outside. Casting a backward glance to make sure that Sein is still asleep, you slip yourself between the door and the frame.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” you ask, a ready smile on your face.
“Something’s come up, and, uhm…” Fern looks more embarrassed than troubled, but you do not press her, waiting for her to continue. “We might have to stay for a few more nights.”
“Oh,” you say simply, though your heart suddenly swells at the sudden turn of events. You will certainly not reject good business, especially when your customers are polite; and more so if one of them happens to be particularly agreeable with you.
“Will there be any problem? We can go elsewhere if-”
“Oh, no!” you interject, perhaps a little too loudly. On the bed, you hear the rustle of sheets, and you bite your lip, hoping that Fern’s hearing is not as sharp as her magical abilities — already you can see something flash in her eyes, and you finish quickly: “I’ll write make a note in the ledger tomorrow morning; you can make the payment when your stay is over.”
Fern nods. “I see. Thank you so much for accommodating us.”
“Not a problem,” you say, and with a final wave, watch as Fern takes her leave. Her footsteps falter from the hallway, and eventually you hear them totter up the stairs to the second floor, where you know you will be in the clear.
Closing the doors, you return to the bed, where Sein is now lying on his back. He mumbles something in his sleep, and you cannot help but kiss him again — now on his lips. Then, he breathes in deeply, and from the fringes of his dreams he throws his arm around you, bringing you flush against him.
“What is it?” he drolls, running his hand along the contours of your body. Already, you can feel him stiffen in the small of your back; Sein grunts when you bear down on his hips with your bottom, his grip on your waist coiling as a snake upon its prey.
“I’ll tell you when we’re done,” you tell him softly, winding yourself into his warm and tender embrace as he now rises, fully awake, to take you once more. .