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Falin is delighted to be back, of course.
After being awoken, she feels an abstract sort of joy. She is thrilled to be with her family again and surrounded by friends old and new. The stories are fantastical. A demon, Laios becoming a monster, the formation of Merini with Laios at the head of the state. Her friends eating her - the morbid fascination that still resounds in her when she considers that - and being resurrected a second time. These tales don't belong to her, but to another Falin. A Falin who had been crushed between giant teeth. She's grateful not to remember her deaths. But none of it seems concrete.
What is solid to her are the feathers and scales that pepper her body. The frustrations of navigating new predatory teeth. The amplification of manifold senses. Marcille says that her eyes are no longer hazel but gold. So many changes, minute and otherwise, and she tallies new quirks every day. She thinks a lot about the monster that she had been. Or, potentially, is. She feels monstrous either way.
Falin's time as a chimera feels strange. A childhood memory is the closest metaphor she's able to impart to Laios and Marcille. She is walking by the bakery, her mother's hand wraps around hers. Falin jams the tips of her small fingers into the bend of her mother's knuckles. Her mother is talking and releases her grip. She can smell the bread in the air mingled with the warm, buttery smell of chocolate pastries. She pokes her nose over the window board. The bakers are morphed into garbled shapes by the rippled glass windows. She gets glimpses like this from her chimera-self - memories rooted in sensation or emotion rather than visual or narrative logic.
She remembers the striking need to find and protect. She remembers fighting - acute pain from being stabbed, the resistance and then slack of crushed bodies. Anger and fear co-mingled in a heady blend. Copper blood, rustling hay, ambient cold. Hunger.
Falin had consumed something delicious while she'd been a proper monster. She tries to describe the meal to Senshi. It had been hot and soft and aromatic. It had dribbled down her chin. Her mouth waters when she dwells on it. She imagines jutting her tongue between her fangs to lave her messy fingers.
Senshi is terribly gracious to her about it. He remakes the meal that had lured her to the party. "Thistle kept you operating at a major caloric deficit. It's unlikely you had much to eat besides that meal," he reasons. Fortunately, the meal is perfect and her new senses clamor with understanding each note in a dish. But it is not the thing. He attempts rare steak shish kebab-ed between flavorful dungeon veggies and finished with a flame roast. Excellent as well - with an added benefit of being a messy meal - but still not what she wants. He cooks thick stews, risottos, a myriad of monster meats in various styles. They are each wonderful. Her big brother especially delights in this culinary quest that Falin is possessed with, because it means Senshi is experimenting lavishly. Falin regains weight and the dwarven chef declares that she's recovering from her poor dungeon diet. She finally says that a gryphon meatloaf is the most familiar, mystery solved! They celebrate.
Malcontent gnaws at her.
The reconstituted woman tries not to allow her melancholy to create distance from her friends. She is adrift, given that everyone has a role to play in this fledgling kingdom. Chilchuck has taken a firm hand in the trading sector and castle security. Senshi guides food systems in the country. Marcille steps into the role of court mage and balances Elven relations. Shuro establishes diplomatic ties with the Eastern nations. Kabru wrangles Laios and the two of them play out a ridiculous courtship that amuses Marcille to no end.
And Falin is the sister. People give her sympathetic looks. They curtsy and call her my lady and remind her that she led to the formation of Merini. Falin wants to show her teeth to these people. Some days she wishes that she could flaunt how strong she's gotten, or that her scaled sections are impenetrable by any blade that she can access. Laios would be impressed, she knows, but he's so busy it's nigh impossible to catch him in private for extended times.
"I feel like I'm losing my mind," she confesses to Marcille, while the other woman shuffles through papers at her desk. "And I'm just a burden. I don't do anything for Merini," she adds, despair and that perennial, ferocious emotion battling for dominance. She is alarmed by the split second urge to rip the papers out of Marcille's hands and throw them around the room. She controls herself, and thankfully Marcille sets them aside.
"Falin, you can't possibly be a burden to us. We love you." Marcille grasps her hands, smoothing them with her fingers. With each caress, Falin's tension eases. She is less like a beast in a cage of bone and flesh. She assumes the paper's rifling combined with her sense of hearing was the source of her irritation.
She looks at her hands, fidgeting with Marcille's where they overlap. "I'm sick of being the saint who died twice."
Marcille leans across her desk and cups Falin's face. "I know."
It's too lovely to be touched like this. She inclines her cheek into Marcille's cool hand. It calms her feverish skin. Falin inhales slowly. Marcille's hands smell like parchment and her own scent - herbaceous notes like an apothecary that blend with warm body smell. It's familiar to Falin, regardless of whether she can detect it with greater detail now. A blush riots on her cheeks and her gut twists.
"Thanks, Marci," Falin says, fleeing the touch with a breezy smile. Her hands retreat to her lap. "You're a good friend to listen."
"Anytime." Falin tries not to imagine a glimmer of regret in Marcille's eyes.
When they eat together, Falin's imagination needs special schooling. And the royal court of Merini eats together often at the behest of their king. This is something that Falin loves Laios for. It evokes good times; dining at a humble table on a homey meal with her parents. To her surprise, she's also learning to dread the event.
Because when she is seated at the royal table - which is a circle per Laios' request - she can't help but to watch Marcille eat.
The meal ritual can be broken into less and more aggravating parts.
Senshi is always a delight when he presents the meal - what makes up its parts, how it's prepared. From here, things become dicey. Falin's stress varies greatly depending on the dining experience before her. She attempts to throw herself into eating first, though Izutsumi often beats her zeal to the punchline. The others think that this is because Falin is still recovering from malnutrition, nearly a month after the fact. She knows that she's hunting for a reprieve. When the food inevitably isn't the forbidden flavor that haunts her, her eating slows and her wandering mind occupies itself.
Tonight the meal is hot pot, a bid by Senshi to slow Izutsumi's eating down and teach her intention. The aroma from the pot in complex - tangy and spicy. Senshi never fails to make a meal that will delight all the senses.
Falin might die. She prioritizes things that will cook quickly and eats furtively. She keeps her fangs tucked away behind her lips. She holds the chopsticks with care. She tries not to be bitter about how Izutsumi eats with frivolous abandon. She clings to Senshi's gentle tutoring of Izutsumi as though it is for her. Laios preens over Kabru trying one of the monster meats without flinching.
She hears Marcille groan appreciatively. She can't help herself. She looks. Marcille is wearing her hair up, which shows off her neck. The jacket she wears with her silky dress displays her collar bones. She plucks a thin slice of meat from her plate and drops it neatly into her mouth. In spite of her tidy eating, the broth drips over her lips, onto her chin and dapples her collarbone. Falin's mouth goes dry. Marcille hums and her tongue swipes out to catch the errant liquid. She uses her napkin to dab at her chest. Falin can't hear anything besides the thudding in her head. She sucks at her cheeks, rolling her tongue through her mouth sympathetically. She wants Marcille to do that again, and this time let her clear the broth away with -
Falin locks her jaw and averts her eyes. Shame settles as she realizes her groin throbs from a brief fantasy. She excuses herself to Laios and slips away from the table. She is still hungry when she heads to bed.
Most evenings, Falin accepts this as a test of will. But tonight, the itching feeling points to her hunger relentlessly. She decides to sneak into the kitchen. She pads through the hallways in her oversized shirt and a loincloth - her irritation making her thoughtless of the what-if of being caught. She spirits herself into the kitchen pantry without issue.
The challenge lies in finding things that are simple to eat. She is too restless to prepare a proper meal for herself. She collects a slice of bread, which she butters. She also finds honey, strawberries and a chocolate spread of some kind. She eats the bread listlessly. The chewing motion is at least different from this shiftlessness in her gut. She continues to rustle about the kitchen and finds some bacon. She decides that this will be as good as anything and grabs a pan from where they are hung.
She is dismayed for her late night kitchen raid to be interrupted by Marcille, wearing the silky dress from dinner, sans jacket. Falin's brain fuzzes at the low cut of it and the expanse of Marcille's creamy shoulders.
Falin shapes her mouth into a smile, willing her tone to come out normally. "Late night?" The innocuous question does not erase the poleaxed expression her companion wears. It seems she is not the only one discomfited to be caught sneaking into the kitchen.
"Yeah... I decided to compose some letters after dinner."
"You don't have to work so hard." The suggestion is folly, Falin knows, but she's determined to keep things light.
Marcille laughs bitterly. "There's so much to do for Merini. A new nation doesn't shape itself."
"Ask for help?" Falin snags a fruit on her path to the stove. "Strawberry?"
"Sure."
She imagines smudging the red fruit on Marcille's lips. Falin instead pops her strawberry into her mouth. She indicates the bowl to Marcille, who sticks out her tongue before perching on the central kitchen table to help herself.
"I do ask for help. But there are only so many qualified magic users here. We're still trying to figure out the full ramifications of what the demon did and you're -" Marcille stops.
"I'm what?" Falin asks blandly while lighting the fire. These days, she doesn't need a word for magical sparks, the element heeds her call like a submissive lover. She heats the pan. The bacon sizzles. She cooks four slices, places them on a cheesecloth to pat off the oil and removes the pan from the heat, dismissing the magical flame with a flick of her fingers.
The silence stretches long enough that Marcille stands to collect more strawberries by the time Falin turns with a slice of crisp bacon in hand. "Marcille." The blonde freezes at her name. "Please be honest with me."
Marcille's shoulders sag. "You're different," she admits, eating a fresh berry. She sits cross legged on the table and extends a conciliatory smile to Falin. "Mercurial, maybe? You seem off kilter and distant. And that's fine - what you went through was unimaginable. I'm happy to give you time. As much as you need or want."
Falin feels punctured, her "I'm fine and happy" mask floating away like the mirage it was. She quashes the perturbed growl that lumps in her throat. She rips into her bacon, shredding it. Her feathers stand at attention. She flinches when they scrape against the neck of her shirt. A sensorial nightmare. Tears crowd into the corners of her eyes. She rubs her face to banish them. She could screech, but she doesn't want to wake the castle.
"What's got you so agitated, small-fry?"
The nickname makes Falin scoff. "It's a lot," she warns.
Marcille taps the space next to her on the table. "Tell me anyway."
Falin could never resist that. She props herself next to Marcille, her skin prickling where their arm hairs brush against each other. She worries over sounding petulant, ungrateful or feral.
"I am hungry," she starts. Which is an imperfect way to state the problem, but there it is.
"So eat?" Falin shakes her head and groans.
"It's not..." she gathers her words. "You know I can still sense the dragon parts of me," she indicates the scales and feathers on her exposed thighs. "Everyone seems to want the same Falin - back from the dead and whole. Most days, I feel like a zoo animal and everyone else is just simpering sympathies at me through the bars. It's all 'That poor girl, mixed with that horrible creature, she's so strange now.' It's like school but worse, here. But Marci, I feel stronger than ever. I am powerful and it's hard to ignore the things that my senses scream at me all the time. I am hungry," and she turns to her friend, who is drizzling some honey onto a strawberry, her fingers getting sticky. Falin's swallows, impulsivity welling up from her belly. She could lick them clean, she could - she bounces away from the table. "I have so many instincts now that I can't allow myself to act on."
"Like what?"
And Falin, still in a confessional mode blurts, "Like with you and that honey!" And then her brain catches up with what she said. Her gaze darts to Marcille, who appears astounded. Falin's stomach drops. She's done it now, she's said too much and it's going to cost her oldest friend besides her big brother. She can't be alone like that right now. "Please ignore what I said," Falin implores. "It's just temporary, I'm confused, you said I need time-"
"What about me and the honey?" Marcille challenges. Her acidic eyes are sharp - the firelight undulating in their peridot depths. She doesn't break eye contact and pops the strawberry in her mouth. She cleans her fingers with fastidious care.
Falin can't parse the information before her. "It's silly," she retorts, shyness overwhelming her.
Marcille snags the honey pot and toys with the dipper. "Silly, hm?" she repeats, now with a coy smile. Marcille studies Falin before scooping a dollop of honey onto her finger and sinking her fingertip between her rosy lips. She sucks on it, closing her eyes and Falin gasps in spite of herself. Marcille's mouth quirks seductively and she opens her eyes. "Tell me anyway," Marcille coaxes, voice husky.
"I'd lick it off you," Falin announces, heart plummeting to her stomach. Marcille goes for the honey again. She rubs it ruminatively over her lips, and then licks it off languorously. Falin is rigid. Her world has become this display. She wants, so badly, to replace that tongue. "Please," she huffs, not even caring if its pathetic.
Marcille's tinkling giggle sends frissons through Falin. "Alright." Marcille's eyes crinkle and spark. She twinkles with mischievous air. Falin has never seen her friend like this and it is engrossing. Marcille replaces the honey lipstick on her bottom lip. "Come get it, then," Marcille taunts, her lips catching on the sticky substance.
Years of careful control shatter in the space of moments. Falin is across the room and on Marcille without hesitation. She maintains enough respect to knot her talons - talons? Interesting - in the table to either side of Marcille. But her mouth captures the lip and sucks at the coating of sweet honey. A sigh sails out of Marcille's mouth.
Hands nudge Falin by her jawline. She objects to this interruption. But, this could be Marcille asking her to back off, so she eases away unhappily. She is, instead, reeled into a deeper kiss, Marcille ceding more access to her. Falin takes this invitation with gusto. An overwhelming urge to requisition Marcille's mouth partners with an echo Falin can't explain. She doesn't dwell on it for long because her friend is kissing her downy neck and pulling Falin's hand towards her thighs, which are suddenly exposed. How did that happen? Falin ponders this muzzily. She realizes that a strap has also fallen off of one of Marcille's shoulders. She wants her mouth on that new territory. However, in the space it takes to contemplate her next move, she recollects her common sense.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Falin huffs, still hazy but needing a break before things spoil to regrets. She pulls Marcille from her by the shoulders. "What are we doing, Marci?"
Marcille bites her lip and it's so cute Falin could go in for round two. She drills her nails into the table to ground herself. They need to talk. Regardless of how her draconic-self wants to beat her humanoid parts into the sea, she and Marcille are friends. She won't lose that over a desire, however powerful it may be.
"Kissing?" Marcille offers between breaths, blushing. Falin delights to learn that this flush doesn't extend to just Marcille's face but also makes itself known on her shoulders and the peaks of her breasts. She looks alluring like this - and she must take a cold fucking plunge to deal with herself after this conversation.
"Obviously."
"Do you not... like it? I figured that it might help take the edge off. You seem pent up."
Something dies in Falin. Of course, Marci is doing this out of misplaced kindness. "No, I like it. But I really don't want you to kiss me out of a sense of obligation." She untangles herself, but discovers that Marcille's hands are gripping her shirt in a bid to hold her in place. Falin chooses to be caught. She enjoys being close to Marcille, even if the moment will soon pass.
"It's not just that," Marcille insists. "Falin... I went into heat."
Concern jolts through Falin and she stutters, "You're in heat right now? I'm so sorry, I should never have taken advantage -"
Marcille waves a hand as though wafting away smoke. "No, no. If I were in heat, you of all people would know. But..." She grimaces. "I really didn't know how to tell you this." Falin tilts her head and Marcille laughs. "You know, you looked at me just like that last time."
"What happened?" Falin wonders, but things are starting to slot into place between Marcille's words and her sense memories. Hot, dripping off her chin and fingers... oh, the strawberries likely paled in comparison to her reddening cheeks now.
"I didn't remember it right away," Marcille admits. "I think that Thistle did something to me and probably to you, so that we wouldn't try and find each other again. I consulted with my mother and she says that heats aren't supposed to resolve in a single session, whether the partner is a tall-man or..."
"A chimera." An insane pressure mounts behind Falin's eyes, like they want to evacuate her skull from embarrassment. Or maybe it's from how steamy a figment the idea of she and Marcille partnering like that generates. Marcille gestures in affirmation within Falin's wobbling vision.
"I became dungeon lord and my brain was flooded with it, what we had done, how it had happened. It was... impressive." Somehow Marcille's cheeks manage to get redder. "But then we saved you and it was over and you said you only remembered pieces and you were obsessed with some meal -"
"I'm realizing that was probably you. I was so certain it had to be food. You tasted..." A realization interrupts Falin's train of thought, "Wait, you're attracted to me? Enough that you wanted dragon-me during your heat?"
Marcille's demeanor slackens to comic disbelief. "I kissed you just now, didn't I?"
"Like a friend, you were just helping out," Falin mumbles.
"That makes no sense! You're supposed to be the shocked one here. Shouldn't you be bothered that I took advantage of you while you were half a beast?"
This observation forms a wrinkle in Falin's brow as she considers the perspective.
"No," she declares at last. "Seems hot, I get it. Honestly, I'm bummed you didn't share sooner." Marcille adopts Falin's flummoxed expression from before. Falin gets a chuckle out of this. "Marci, I've been in love with you for years, but I assumed you weren't interested -"
"Excuse me? I missed you so much I joined your dungeoneering party for peanuts! And then I dove back into a dungeon for you after you died, with no gear or adequate party support, ate monsters -"
"In more than one way," Falin injects, jovially.
"Oh - you -" Marcille gets well and truly flustered which Falin finds so charming that she snags Marcille for a gentle kiss.
"So it's not just pity?" Falin confirms when they separate, voice edged with vulnerability.
"No, it's not. I love you, Falin Touden. And not just in a friendly way." Marcille snags Falin's hand and kisses her knuckles. Falin feels ethereal. What a wonderful way to be told you're Loved, capitalized and clear.
A naughty thought occurs to her, "And you found me sexy as a dragon?"
"I... did." Marcille confesses, a grin twisting her face. "I actually think a lot about your dragon parts. I've been agonizing over ways to ask..."
Falin flashes Marcille her fangs and a hungry look dominates Marcille's face. "Oh have you, now?" Falin wriggles her shoulders smugly. "You like my teeth, then?"
"Yes." Falin purrs for her, sneaking close to offer dawdling kisses. "I like the softness of your feathers and scrape of your scales against my skin," Marcille adds hotly.
"What was it like?" Falin guides Marcille back towards the table with a palm to her belly. She is delighted by the ravished quality that Marcille already exudes, laid against the wood with her skirt lumped over her legs. Falin slots neatly between them, her big thighs pushing Marcille wide apart. The lace of Marcille's underwear rubs erotically above her knee. Falin admires her, tracing a line from Marcille's throat, cleavage to stomach, eliciting a sigh from kiss-swollen lips. That sound lures her right back to all that sultry skin needing her attention. She minds her fangs, careful to not hurt Marcille in her overzealousness.
"Amazing," Marcille admits. "You were... focused. And I was a mess - I'd been prepared to masturbate until I sorted myself out. But you arrived and - fuck - the heat drives you to absurdities." Her speech is spattered with panting. Falin is relentless in her kissing - ears, shoulders, tops of breasts.
Falin could envision it. The intensity of want has been clear to her for weeks. She nests herself in the base of Marcille's neck, dropping a gentle nip there. Marcille releases a shuddery "Oh," in response. Falin's attention catches on the strain of a nipple against the soft material of Marcille's dress. It's too fascinating to ignore, so she harasses the mound with her tongue, inconsiderate to the limitations of fabric. "You're a tease, chimera or not." Her partner hauls Falin back up to her lips.
Falin expects to be allowed to work at whatever pace she wants. She's enjoying drinking up these kisses like a port wine. She wants to catalogue each one - when they make Marcille hum and when they make her arc her body against Falin's. Each kiss ramps up intensity and Marcille is squirming for her. Falin begins to ease the buttons at the front of Marcille's dress open, popping them one at a time.
Marcille guides Falin by the hips forward onto the table and over her. Once this is achieved, she rolls Falin with a nudge of her thigh and straddles Falin's legs triumphantly.
"Falin Touden," Marcille chides from the high ground. She grinds her hips to Falin's which earns her a strangled reaction. Falin is simmering with desire. Another one of her draconic traits twitches and blooms for Marcille. The other woman leans in close, taking Falin's ear between her teeth and clamping down hard. The big woman rumbles - it's good to be treated viciously. The raw, honest dominance titillates her. Marcille kisses and nips at Falin, who is beginning to feel like a restocked wineskin. Falin's cock shudders. She anchors her skull against the table, willing any amount of slowness into her body.
Marcille yanks Falin by the collar, prizing her from the table. "I was pounded within an inch of my life by a chimera. I can take the heat, Falin." Marcille shoves her back and utters a guttural, single word incantation. As Falin's head strikes the wood, her clothes dissolve, mist spritzing her blazing skin. She hisses and grips Marcille's exposed legs, digging claws into thigh meat. "That's it," Marcille hisses, "Don't mask for me." She shimmies down Falin's form.
She arrives at last at Falin's groin, where her engorged erection and her aching vulva twitch in sympathetic need. Marcille pets Falin's enigmatic genitalia, causing her to jerk. "Gorgeous," Marcille flatters, her finger tips discerning the lay of the land. This is sweet agony for Falin, who has done her own surveys on how a cock has replaced her clitoris. This preparation means nothing in the wake of Marcille's exploration. Touches spill over her inner thighs, slit and member. Marcille utilizes both hands and massages every millimeter of flesh.
Falin is so fucking sensitive, it's absurd. She mewls, pathetic and alert, "Please." The utterance is coated in arousal.
"Tell me what you want," Marcille commands. Falin catches a devilish look from the other woman, who laps the air suggestively. Falin's brain latches onto that idea - yeah, that would be amazing.
"I want your mouth," she gasps, and Marcille doesn't need much encouragement to lap at Falin's pussy. Her hands move to Falin's inner thighs, worrying the base of her erection in a tantalizing rhythm. Falin rolls towards Marcille, adoring the friction between them. Her body is like a liquid changing states - boiling so hard she could evaporate. She restrains herself with the heel of her palm to her mouth, gnashing her fangs. The taste of copper blends with her moaning. She feels herself getting damper with each sweep of Marcille's tongue and shake of her hips. She leaks in desperation, she can feel her extremities getting soaked in her dew. "More," she keens, "I want you to play with my cock, Marci, please." The weakness of her own voice turns her on more, body shuddering.
"If you insist." Falin likes that Marcille is enjoying their play.
She strokes Falin's cock at an indolent pace. Her lethargy is betrayed by the way she toys with her lower lip, a behavior Falin knows well. It's the face Marcille makes when she is struggling to crack an ancient text. Falin has no doubt Marcille's mind is working fast on how best to vex her. "This is evil," Falin declares, even as her quivering sounds underscore her pleasure.
Marcille chuckles. "If only you knew." A finger creeps into Falin's pussy. She clenches around the digit as it seeks -
"Fuck." Falin bucks into Marcille's hand as she cleverly probes what Falin perceives as the root of her cock. She thinks it's likely that this is her improved g-spot; a bundle of nerves fused with her prostate. She sees little stars in her vision. She swells hard in response.
"Consider this revenge for how slowly you fucked me the last time," Marcille jokes, slipping another finger in so she can spread them inside Falin, whispering against the receptive pleasure node. Marcille's other hand picks up speed on her shaft. She presses into the divot at the head with her thumb on each stroke, swirling thick precum down to lubricate her motions.
Marcille's tongue joins the fray. She allows it to slink between the top of Falin's vulva and the base of her cock. She draws Falin's folds on her tongue, one at a time, and addresses them as though engaging in a scholarly study. Each motion is measured, recorded and diagrammed with precision. It is torture. It is bliss.
She snarls, her control shattering at last. She will not wait any longer. She reaches for Marcille's hair and tugs so that Marcille's mouth lands on her cock.
"Suck on it," Falin demands and Marcille grunts, accepting her role without pause. Her mouth is slick and willing. Falin is obsessed. The sounds of her partner sucking eagerly are utterly indecent and she wants more. She cries out when her head touches the back of Marcille's mouth. Then another delicacy - gliding past Marcille's tongue on the way out, allowing her to play with her tip. She compels Marcille back down easily, like she's a competitive apple bobber at a county fair. They're equally desperate for this. Marcille bottoms out in her throat with a satisfied spluttering before taking it again and again. All the while, she strokes Falin internally. Falin loses herself in the pattern, adding her hips into the mixture. "Good girl," she extols, over and over, gripping more of Marcille's soft tresses in her hands. This summons a memory - a whole memory - of Marcille taking an even larger cock on her hands and knees, dribbling from her pussy and shiny with sweat. Fuck, Falin loses herself in that for a moment. The decadence of memory layered over this oral adoration, past and present Marci swimming carnally together.
Falin wonders how else she can pry her memories free. Her mouth waters. It's time for her to discover her lost meal.
In a swift motion, she pulls Marcille free. There's a near-hypnotized aspect in Marci's hooded eyes. A tendril of saliva attaches her mouth and the drool down her chin to Falin's cock. Falin leads her up to her mouth, reclaiming it. Marcille sinks into her kiss, their bodies eagerly grooving together. She is attempting to say something between kisses. "Want your cock," her lament becomes clear.
"Mmm," Falin replies thoughtfully, nudging Marcille so that she straddles Falin. Marcille impatiently humps her clothed groin against Falin's exposed body, and Falin moans when her tip pokes the soaking spot between Marcille's legs. "Not yet," she says affectionately. She cajoles Marcille to move further up, which garners a plaintive whine. Marcille is allowed to stop when Falin levels with black lingerie.
"These are very pretty," she approves, wrapping her arms over Marcille's legs, so she can't misbehave. Falin uses this entrapment to nuzzle into Marcille's thigh, licking a trail as she moves along. She enjoys how aromatic her new environment is - musky and sweet and damp. She can feel her partner wriggle, as Marcille realizes that being in this position makes it difficult for her to toy with Falin in return. Marcille is trapped and all she can do is be available to Falin's whims. When Marcille relaxes into her circumstances, Falin sinks her mouth into the flesh, hard enough to puncture. Marcille squeaks, her hips thrusting forward. Falin takes advantage of this movement to apply her tongue to Marcille's shrouded folds. She's enthusiastic, Falin's saliva alone couldn't stain these panties to this degree. She can sense it now, this is what she's been pining after.
Falin spins Marcille's spell from earlier into the obstruction before her. "Exelant." She feels a wave of dizziness, elven magic taking a harsher toll. She ignores it. More important things are happening. Marcille yelps as her clothing mists away. Falin's molten tongue dives into her exposed center. Every scrap of clothing, even the ties holding her hair dissipate, allowing the blonde strands to tumble loose around her lithe body. It creates a curtain to frame the scene unfolding between her legs. Marcille studies Falin in rapt fascination.
"Falin, oh god, Falin," Marcille whimpers, dipping herself forward in a bid for harsher contact. Falin happily consumes Marcille, her nose investigating the scents around her. She would not let herself forget this time. She writes her name with her tongue into Marcille. She cock flexes in time with each sweeping arc. Marcille's clit implores for affection by prodding the tip of Falin's nose. She absorbs it with her mouth. She strokes Marcille voraciously. She makes eye contact and holds it while guzzling to her hearts content. Marcille goes soft and limp in her grasp, her eyes sliding shut in rhapsodic surrender.
She releases one of Marcille's legs and wriggles her fingers between her mouth and Marcille's pussy so that the object of her attentions wouldn't experience a break in her lascivious care. She presses her tongue around the digits, using the edge of her knuckles to grind against the nub of Marcille's clitoris. Feeling she is properly lubricated, she slips her fingers into Marcille and beckons. She follows this movement with a surge of magic, healing around her talons like in her memories. Her partner ejects a garbled sigh, her hand finding Falin's for support. Their fingers entwine as Marcille undulates. Her long hair tickles Falin's nipples when her head lolls back. She's saying some breathy, beautiful gibberish as Falin drinks in the sluicing sounds at her fingertips. What a delicacy. She could eat forever.
Free at the legs, at last, Marcille negotiates the position of her hips. She rotates so Falin can worship her pussy but gains access to her own idol. She bends forward, plying her mouth to the generous cock before her. Falin's head is tinged purple with engorgement. Marcille wraps her one hand around the base tightly while the other parts Falin and curls inside her. Falin hums into Marcille's clit, beyond ecstatic. Falin teases the mound to its own apex. Marcille shudders, dangerously close to coming Falin realizes. Her scent is shifting, and Falin is delighted that her senses can report this to her with such certainty. Greedily, she doubles her efforts.
As though getting revenge for teetering her on the edge, Marcille slams Falin's cock to the back of her throat and crams more fingers back to the sensitive prostate nested in Falin's vagina. Falin nearly slips from Marcille but latches to her in determination. It's easy to slide a third finger into Marcille's pliant pussy. Their rhythms pulsate in each other's bodies. She wonders if Marcille's clit aches as gloriously as Falin's cock. Falin's stomach flexes, but she focuses her energy away from her own mounting pleasure and on her partner. She is rewarded when Marcille tenses around her fingers and releases a small whimper around her cock. Falin tastes a flood of juices from Marcille as she comes. That's it, her mind crows victoriously, her tongue spreading wide and flat so she can absorb what she can. After a month of heartache, this feels like the first real thing to her.
In her victory, she tumbles into her own orgasm. With a spasm, she is releasing cum into Marcille's mouth. It's correct, the two of them tasting each other. Marcille releases her from her mouth and slumps, face shoved hotly against her thigh and breath tickling her vulva. As the tension eases from her own body, she absently ghosts her fingers along Marcille's entrance, loving the little shudders and gasps this earns from the woman atop her.
Marcille spasms again when her fingers dwell on her distended clitoris, stroking it with it's hood in small circles. "Falin," Marcille gasps. "Falin, I think something... Um... oh..." Falin is simply fascinated by the way Marci's pussy leaks for her again. Like a fountain, she muses. She smells a new type of redolent musk from Marcille. It's spicier and calls to her base instincts like a succubus. She inhales with her mouth open, allowing the rich scent to permeate her throat. A pleasant light-headedness drifts over her. What a lovely aphrodisiac. Her fingers pick up their movement, slipping down to pull folds aside so that she can see into Marcille's pretty hole. This slow tugging creates a sucking sound as the sides part. Drool clings to Falin's fingers and she sneaks a taste of the new concoction. Potent: even more like she remembers.
"Marci." Falin's eyes glitter with undiluted pleasure. "Are you...?"
Marcille yowls uselessly into Falin's hip and rubs herself against Falin's teasing gestures. "Someone's in heat," Falin coos in sing-song, delving inside Marcille with her fingers, who gurgles with urgency. Not that Falin could make too much fun of Marcille, she's also bouncing back with alacrity.
"Greedy," Falin purrs, as Marcille nurses her erection with her ingenious mouth. They could get stuck in a loop like this - leaking cock to mouth and mouth to sopping pussy. She could imagine it, the endless feast, this ouroboros of lust. However, as her cock hardens, a new compulsion emerges supreme. Her monstrous-half eggs her on, compiling into a fierce need. Bore into this bitch with your cock. Breed her until she reeks of your smell. Make her a worthy mate. She smells fertile. You know she fits you like she was made for you. It helpfully provides the scene, Marcille with a bulging belly and coming relentlessly.
A rumbling growl surges through Falin. "Marci, come here." Shameless and compliant, Marcille pulls herself free and rotates for Falin. As she drags her nude form across her bigger partners body, Falin notes how her figure is rapidly shifting itself to include propagation in its calculations. She looks rounder and softer, like a summer peach bursting with nectar. This process seems faster than Marcille had described it being years ago. Normally, this would intrigue Falin for academic reasons. In this moment, all she could consider was how much of Marcille's skin could she touch at once.
Heat-driven elves' breasts dip invitingly, Falin learns. Marcille's nipples are as swollen as ripe berries and present an immediate distraction from Falin's aims. She remembers picking such sweet fruit for Marcille in their school days as she collects the senseless woman to draw her bust to her mouth. Marcille sighs, clutching Falin's head against her chest. Falin sits up so Marcille kneels over her. Marcille's sloping belly hitches against Falin's body as they shift. Falin reaches between Marcille's legs. No sense in letting both of them have a break. She wants Marcille soaking when she claims her. Her fingers swirl until Marcille is slobbering from mouth and sex. Falin opens her jaw as wide as it will go and sucks Marcille's tit into her mouth hungrily. She gorges herself on the sensation of supple tissue rolling against her tongue. Marcille shudders. She's not quite dripping from every possible spot, but Falin suspects they won't be far from that point soon.
Falin marvels at the feast for the senses before her when she releases Marcille. She is a glutton's paradise: quaking, glowing, crooning, shattering in slow motion. She has a red ring around one areola, possessively branded by Falin's teeth. She's a complete mess. She's extraordinary. "Are you going to come for me again?" Falin confirms, sliding four fingers into Marcille like she's a sock puppet. "You're so sleek," Falin compliments, pride unavoidably coloring her tone. "You're a disaster, Marci. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Marcille shivers, lifting her arms to frame her breasts and play with her hair as she wordlessly invites Falin to delight in her figure. "Suck on me more," she begs prettily. Falin sees an opportunity for fun, even if her body wants to fuck and now. But she admonishes herself. Delaying pleasure always pays off. She battles the thrill of Marcille driving Falin's fingers deeper inside her arousal, lost in an impatient lap dance. Falin snags the chocolate spread she'd found earlier. "Fuck me," Marcille wheedles, moving as though to squeeze herself onto Falin's cock.
"Stay put," Falin asserts. She pats Marcille's fiery cheek. Marcille obeys, staying on the hand she was dealt, if pettishly. Her lips curl into a pout and she glowers adorably. Falin offers succor and braces the woman with crook of her thumb against her clit. Marcille enjoys that with a lusty groan and a wiggle of her hips. They weren't going to last long like this. "Wait for me. You're not allowed to come yet, pretty lady," she adds, her head pounding hard when Marcille whines.
She exhales heavily and steadies herself.
Falin scoops the contents of the dish with her free hand and paints Marcille's unmarred nipple with chocolate. "Clean this." Falin offers her fingers. Marcille leaps at them and consumes the treat with passionate dedication. Falin seizes the chocolate-dipped strawberry of the nipple between her lips, savoring the amalgamation of Marcille's sweat and the sugary spread. She takes her time, in spite of how choppy Marcille's movements are becoming. Marcille is a good girl, even this close to orgasm. Falin thinks she could get her to edge for a while like this. Falin is torn between relishing the moment and being magnanimous. She takes the tip of the nipple between her non-fanged teeth and tweaks it, wringing a squeak out of her lover.
"Come on, come for me," Falin mumbles, ultimately merciful and curious to see how far Marcille will allow herself to be controlled.
Marcille is tractable, and spills into Falin's hands. As her orgasm floods out, Falin draws Marcille to her mouth again and licks up the droplets of milk beading at her nipple. Falin aligns the stamp of her teeth again and Marcille jams herself pointedly against Falin's torso. Marcille collapses with a pant over the tall-man's shoulder. "Fuc-k m-e pl-ease fuck - me." Splintering, pathetic, but no recovery time is needed. She ready for the next course. Falin's appetite would oblige that.
Falin lifts Marcille and places her onto her back - thank god the kitchen table is enormous - and settles herself on top. Marcille spreads her legs, using her feet to corral Falin where she wants her. Falin breaches her pussy with a fluid motion, the sweltering sheath of her lover a decadent caress on her cock. She immediately glides against Marcille again, who is doing her best to roll her hips to meet the impulsive pace set by Falin. Neither of them has the patience left for delay. There's only the friction of their bodies. Dimly, Falin is aware that Marcille is blurting out obscene talk about how big she is, how full her cock makes her feel, how she's going to take it all. The litany drives Falin's arousal to towering heights. She'll happily drown herself in the waters of Marcille's silken core.
Hedonist that she is, Falin is succumbing to primal cravings to stretch Marcille until she can't fit anyone else. She wants to mark, possess and fill. The sounds emerging from her chest are beastly. She drapes herself over Marcille, her hips still pounding her cock smoothly in and out, and grips Marcille, disregarding where her talons sliced. Falin is discovering how to grind herself deeper, create more tension, make Marcille shudder with each jerk of her shaft. Her lover sighs uselessly, digging her heels into Falin's back. Marci once said her ears were especially sensitive. Falin was going to test that. She bites the lobe to startle Marcille back to the planet. "Tell me what you want," Falin urges.
"Breed me, fill me with come," Marcille mumbles between roughened huffs. She's blissed out, she's melting for Falin, her eyes focused on something only she could perceive. Sliding towards stupid, but present enough to know that appeasing the creature giving her this ploughing is paramount to their enjoyment. Falin is overwhelmed by the waft of pheromones from Marcille, which are legible to her like a textbook.
She leans back, grabbing Marcille's ankles for stability. Falin maintains the breakneck pace, their vocalizations creating a symphony of sound in tandem with the percussion of their body's. Marcille keeps getting wetter, enveloping Falin more with each stroke. Falin's cock throbs in response, pounding all the way into her brain. She swears it's still extending, hollowing Marcille into a vessel.
Falin arcs down, pressing Marcille's legs over her shoulders as she ruts against her partner. At this angle, she can feel Marci's clit grinding against her when she slides in. She wants to be as deep as possible when her cum releases, her animalistic need demands it. Her head finds the niche she sought and strokes the exterior of Marcille's cervix. She knows she's struck home because Marcille writhes, singing her pleasure with a choruses of "Yes!" and "More!" The sting of Marcille's nails on her biceps is the perfect pairing to the plunge of her cock into her mate. Her belly prickles. She's going to need to come soon. She's going to stain Marcille's insides.
Marcille is leaking like a cow and begs Falin to release the pressure in her tits. Falin keeps her thrusts steady and dips to sample Marcille's breast milk. She drinks deeply, the liquid sweet and totally unique in taste. With her other hand, she squeezes, enjoying the sloppiness of pouring Marci all over her hands. Her lover succumbs to the sensitivity of her nipples and twitches helplessly into Falin's hips. She's orgasming for Falin, moaning her name like a prayer.
Consuming pleasure tumbles through Falin. She keens - "Marci, I need to come."
The words are wrung from her and met with gasps of "Please, come for me, please come," from Marcille. She curls her hips upward as if to cram Falin even further inside her womb. The movement is effective. Falin bursts into her, come spilling out in generous spurts.
Falin pumps her hips more, savoring how their fluids create an even more decadent experience. Marcille's body tenses again and shudders around her, sucking at her cock needily. Another orgasm, fast of the heels of the other. Falin claims Marcille's open mouth with a kiss. Falin gathers each trembling whimper with her tongue, which only to creates more sounds for Falin to contain and savor.
At last, both their orgasms taper. Falin flops onto the trashed wooden table, scooping Marcille to rest limply on her chest. This way is right, she thinks, her cock softening between their entwined, soaked bodies. A intoxicating weight settles over her like pixie dust. Two bowls clatter to the floor, but her shoulder collides with one that she manages to rescue from disaster. It's the strawberries. She fishes one out and eats it, enjoying food wholly for the first time in a while. The cut of knowing something better is lurking out of reach doesn't strike. She regards the heaving form atop her. Marcille is absently pecking at one of Falin's nipples. It tickles.
"Strawberry?" Falin inquires, kissing the top of the blondes head. Falin's imagination illuminates a pretty picture. Marcille, splayed out atop her and blushing in all the right places, stinking of Falin and shimmering in the early morning light.
Marcille nods numbly. Falin nudges a berry against Marcille's lips. She nibbles the fruit mechanically. "Still not quite back yet, are you?" Falin asks. She swells with satisfaction and the monster in her preens.
"Nuh uh," Marcille responds, but she regains herself even as she twitches her head side to side. Her eyes lock onto Falin's. "Again," she insists, dripping cum and milk obscenely as she rallies herself to crouch over Falin.
"Again?" Falin frets that she won't have the fortitude to carry on like this. Marcille prowls up and licks her from breast to lips. Heat flows through Falin like the explosion of a lava flow. Perhaps with Marcille in this state, she didn't need to worry, she considers dreamily. She was part dragon, after all, plenty to go around. Marcille grabs the bowl of strawberries and tosses them aside.
"You'll like it," Marcille promises with a savage kiss that plasters Falin against the hard table.
She's sure she will.
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The next day, Senshi declares the kitchens closed, "For the ah - foreseeable future. For now we'll have to make do with some outdoor grillin'." Laios sees this announcement as an exciting opportunity. He also takes Senshi's suggestion that they set up guards around the perimeter to ensure that none of Senshi's more valuable ingredients are disturbed while he's working afield.
Unlike Laios, Kabru is not so easily satisfied. He sends the equally suspicious Chilchuck to investigate on his behalf while Kabru continues his quest of being their king's common sense.
Chilchuck evades the guards with ease. In establishing the security of the castle, he's also set up a warren of hidey holes and escape passages to suit his own devices. One such pathway winds very close to the kitchens. He'd tucked a cache of high quality herbs there to gift to Senshi at the opportune moment.
He is irked to find the herb cache gone - damn dwarf and his nose for fine foods. Masonry never could keep it's secrets for dwarves either, he groans mentally. He creeps forward to the door leading to the kitchen, where he hears a grating sound like furniture being dragged paired with throaty moaning. He is about to peer through the key hole when Senshi pounces. For someone as un-catlike as him, he can be surprisingly stealthy when the mood suits him.
"Now young man," he scolds, body blocking access to the door like he's suppressing a hoard of demons within. The noises might corroborate that. "I already sent Izutsumi on her way. Don't think I won't do the same t'you."
"I've told you a thousand times, I am not a damn young man. What the hell is going on in there?" Chilchuck demands, wet slapping drifting to his ears bordered with sighs like a tide.
Senshi blushes, and throws his arm over Chilchuck's shoulders. "Y'see young'un, you remember the conversation we had in the dungeon about flowers?"
Chilchuck wishes he could purify his brain with lye. It would be a kinder fate. Senshi kindly explains that Marcille and Falin are expressing to each other how much they love one another by planting a garden. Senshi is giving them time, because they were so busy "gardening" that they didn't even notice Senshi walk into the kitchens that morning. They haven't stopped expressing their affections for several hours by his account.
"I'm sure this will run it's course in time," he announces cheerfully to Chilchuck's disgusted gasp.
"Fuck, I need a beer," Chilchuck decides, "Or maybe fifteen."
He hopes that will be enough.