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Neteyam has always loved the feeling of muscles stretching as he works through familiar motions, his skin hot and covered in a salty sheen of sweat, the cool sea breeze blowing through the thick, curved trunks of the palm trees sticking to him, tickling the bare expanse of his back, his sides and underarms.
If he ignores the scent it brings to him – marine and blue, brine and rotting seaweeds – he can almost pretend he is back home, surrounded by the lush foliage that nested his people for millennia. And if he closes his eyes, he can see it, the forest in all of its thriving, dangerous beauty, and then the colder, rigid caves and tunnels of the sacred mountains, with their infinite scale of greys and pulsing, green-purple moss, echoes of voices and machines bouncing off every wall, both disorienting and reassuring.
He doesn’t close his eyes, keeps his focus trained ahead – or attempts so.
His ears, almost against his own volition but not quite, keep flicking backwards, searching for and catching his muntxate’s breathing, the quiet, mechanical sounds that signal the filters of her exo-mask are functioning, that they are breaking down the pandoran air so that she can breathe it in with no danger. Neteyam is extremely grateful for that mask, and yet deeply hates what it represents, all the things it forbids her, cuts her off from. Its plastic and glass, cold and unnatural and harsh. Colourless.
He pauses, lets himself listen in to River’s slow breaths a while longer, his insides twisting pleasantly, warmly, when he feels her eyes scan his back, linger on him like they’ve done from time to time – and then often, all the more often – ever since they’ve quietly settled in that secluded part of the island palm grove, him to keep his archery skills honed and her to finish a weaving work she stubbornly refuses to show him, much to his amusement.
Neteyam is profoundly grateful for those (rare) moments, when it’s just the two of them keeping each other company and no one else is around. Away from the colourful liveliness of the village, his long mornings and afternoons spent at sea with the Metkayina fishers and his brother, hers busy with weaving and painting and helping around however she can.
Coming back to their shared marui in the evenings feels much like breaking the blue surface of the ocean after a long dive, and then making supper together and feeling her smaller body curl up against him during the night, falling into a routine they’re slowly, gradually building with each passing day, but it’s those occasions where they can both escape their duties he really looks forward to, that he cherishes the most, rushing to the Spirit Tree as soon as he can to entrust those precious memories to the Great Mother.
Sometimes they spend those calm, uneventful hours with his family or their friends – others with their elderly neighbours, too –, but there are times (most of them) where a look is all they need to retreat to that palm grove, disappear in those greens and pinks and browns that aren’t quite those of their forest, but that are starting to feel familiar, safe, much the same way. Hold memories and a sense of home.
With a deep inhale through the nose, Neteyam briefly brushes with the calloused pad of his thumb the familiar coarseness of the bow, grounds himself in its weight, then takes another arrow, adjusts his position and, with a swift, fluid motion, raises the bow and draws the string up to his face, then releases the tension in his fingers.
Just as he finally lets out his breath and relaxes, the arrow flies with a low hiss across the greenish air of the palm grove, its long shaft vibrating violently when it plants itself almost to the feathered fletching in the thick target Lo’ak has helped him braid with dried algae some months ago.
Almost a perfect hit, but for mere inches – he clicks his tongue, and slowly lowers the carved bow at his side.
River is looking at him again, he can feel the familiar weight of her dark gaze linger on his shoulders, slowly roll down the strong line of his back. His heart starts humming in response to her quiet attention, his tail vibrating with excitement, before he forces it into stillness, then a languid swaying as he goes to retrieve the arrow, his steps swift and silent on the dry, ridged soil of the grove.
‘What is it, my beloved?’
‘Mh?’ He doesn’t need to see, to know she has flinched in surprise at his sudden question, at the sound of his voice disrupting the rustling quiet, nor does River need to see his face to know he’s pleased with the attention and most likely fighting a smile – one of those rare, boyish grins of his that promise mischief.
She wants to roll her eyes, but is too embarrassed at having been caught red-handed as she ogled shamelessly at her own muntxatan, and then she finds herself transfixed once again by him. The lazy lilt of his braided kuru as he walks, the muscles of his back and arm flexing and springing as he forces the arrow out.
He’s always been of a bigger build than the rest of the forest Na’vi his age, but his new life on the island, all that fishing and swimming, has been further chiselling his forms – his shoulders broader, his legs firmer. It has been months since they’ve become Mates, they have explored each other many times, she falls asleep with him being the last thing she sees and wakes to the feeling of his arms wrapped around her, or his lips peppering faint, sloppy kisses to her shoulders, and yet River’s heart still jumps in a frenzy, near to a panic, at the sight of him. At the thought that he is her muntxatan.
‘You have been staring.’ He briefly looks at her from over his shoulders, his amber eyes bright, twinkling with something that is both amusement and exhilaration and that has River flush all over. ‘I could feel your eyes on me.’
‘Oh. Oh, I-’ But the reply seemingly gets stuck in her throat and she doesn’t even attempt at expressing the jumble of thoughts crowding her head – most of which are just him. And he knows already (perfectly well), she is sure of it. She can tell from the way his voice has lowered, words dragging with a hint of playfulness.
And Neteyam can’t help the little smirk tugging lightly at his lips when he turns and fully meets her flustered expression, notices the way her dark brown eyes trace the front of his body a breath longer, before she is quickly diverting her attention elsewhere, to her closed fists nervously resting on her lap. His skin warms and buzzes upon noticing the effect he has on her, at knowing she’s affected by the sight of him, his attention, just as much as he is affected by hers.
Humans are secretive creatures, hard to read and interpret, with their lack of tail and syuratan, their ears small and rounded and unmoving, but, with time, Neteyam has learned there are other ways to see, that they can be even more expressive than the People. And, in any case, he only cares about being able to understand only one human.
Her quirks and nervous tics and fleeting expressions; he’s been drinking them all in since they were kids, and are now as clear and familiar as a flick of the ears or the dimming of a syuratan.
‘You look agitated, ma River.’ He observes, openly teasing, now.
‘Shut up.’ A small mumble, a defensive regression to her native tongue that has his grin spread, carefully prop his wooden bow against the closest palm, before making his way to the fallen log River is comfortably sitting on, feet dangling some centimetres from the ground.
She is swift to hide her gift further into one of her closed hands, heart making a leap right for her throat when she sees him approach her with slow, calculated strides, now close enough she can hear the soft, wooden jingle of his braided beads as they click together, follow his feline steps. The sunlight that filters through the large palm fronds brushes his sweaty skin in hints of gold, pools in the dips and creases of his bones and muscles, accentuating every line of him, and she needs to look away, or she fears she will burst into flames – or lunge at him like a starved thing.
His eyes fall to the way she bites her lower lip as he crouches down before her, his hands slowly sneaking around her knees, bending and lowering further so that he can meet her downcast eyes. Damning that mask for impeding their breaths to meet as they are meant to, a glass barrier that doesn’t allow their foreheads to touch, them to kiss like they’d been wishing in so long.
‘What is it, beloved?’ He repeats, softer this time, his voice quiet enough that it becomes all too easy to pretend they are the only two living beings in the whole of Pandora, the edges of the words swallowed by the distant sounds of the sea, the rising tide.
He cocks his head to the side, a tender smile softening the edges of his boyish grin when she unfolds one fist to start playing with the intricate leather designs of his arm bracer, tracing its dyed scales and plant spikes with a sudden, great interest. Everything, but meeting his eyes.
And part of it is due to his sudden, warm proximity, to the intensity with which he is studying her, drinking her traits, leaning closer, inch by inch, with each breath of his, but it’s not all and he seems to have realized it, too. He waits, gives her time, a smile still tugging his lips upwards, scrunching his nose a little.
She takes in a deep breath of filtered air, the scent of him only a faint, lingering impression that somehow manages to pass through the mask filters. Briny with the ocean and sweat, warm with woodsmoke and the leather of his archery garments.
‘I made something for you.’ She says in the end, lightly tugging her knees open, so he can better fit himself between her legs, press closer.
An invitation Neteyam gladly takes, his hands now sliding further up her legs, moving from her knees to the softness of her thighs, stopping just at the frayed edge of her shorts.
He feels the maddening impulse of just sneaking his fingers beneath the worn fabric and keep trailing her pliable, bronze skin – up and up –, when he catches the way her breath itches for a moment, her scent now heavier, sweet and warm and primal. Its dampness calling him to her, his pupils bigger and darker, hungry. His proximity clearly affecting her just as much as hers does him.
But curiosity still has a stronger hold on him (for now at least), and he glances down at her still tightly closed fist, before meeting her eyes again, ears perked up in interest.
‘What is it, my River?’ There’s a strain in his voice none of them can ignore, and River hesitates for a moment, two, her eyes dropping towards his hands, to the way he is now mindlessly tracing circles onto her skin. Soothing, teasing, she cannot tell, nor does she want him to stop.
Nerves tensing, making her hand shake, she timidly offers her fist to him, biting into her cheek as she finally relaxes her fingers open.
An intricately braided armband, the leather cords woven with chevron motifs and dyed in shades of green, brown and yellow, is resting, curled, on her palm, and Neteyam can only stare at it for a moment, breath stuck in his lungs.
‘I- I tried to copy Kilvan’s colours, but… uhm… I’m still not very good at dyeing hide. It’s all messy, I’m sorry.’ She is rambling and she is aware of it, but Neteyam still isn’t saying anything and she doesn’t know how to interpret his silence, in her growing agitation.
‘You made this for me.’ He almost chokes out, eyes finally leaving the thin, braided band to meet hers, his fingers now still, curled gently around her thighs. There’s a strange tension buzzing through them, River can feel it seep into her own skin.
‘You don’t like it?’ She whispers in a small voice, shame and disappointment flushing her neck and cheeks. But, when she starts to lower her offering hand, Neteyam swiftly puts one of his underneath, guiding it back towards his face.
‘I do. Of course I do.’ How can she even think otherwise? When her unexpected, precious gift has his chest flood with warmth, all coherent thoughts dissolved from his mind? He scrunches his nose in a fond smile at her insecurity and lets go of her other thigh to tuck a rebel strand of hair behind her ear, lightly brushing the side of her neck in doing so. His smile widens when he sees goosebumps rise on her dark skin, chase his touch. ‘It is beautiful, River.’
‘Yeah?’ Her voice takes on a higher, hopeful lilt, her plump mouth curling upwards as well. Timidly.
He gently closes her fingers back around the coiled armband, and presses his smile to her knuckles, briefly switching to English too. ‘Yeah.’
River realizes she’d been tensing up only when she feels her shoulders drop as she lets out a soft giggle, sliding further towards the edge of the log, the inside of her knees pressed tight to his upper arms, caging him in to her. ‘It’s not as good as the ones you make for me-’
‘It is perfect.’ He cuts her off, nudging against her fist with the flat of his nose, before sitting a little back, gazing at her with such intense love and happiness, River has to look away, press the button of her mask for some fresh air. Then he’s letting go of her, making quick work with unfastening the decorative band he’s currently wearing and tucking it away in the little beaded sachet he has wrapped to his loincloth, close to the hunting knife. ‘Tie it on me?’ A request close to a plea, his tail curling at his back in wait.
And Neteyam fears his heart might actually burst out of his chest when she gives a small nod, moves closer with her woven gift held in both hands, now, its carefully braided design on full display.
The colours haven’t perfectly blended in with the strings, patches of the warm brown of the leather poking from the dye here and there, but that makes it all the more invaluable to him. Because he can picture her, his beautiful muntxate, focused and frowning over the pots of natural tints, asking Kiri or Tsireya for advice, spending hours and hours secretly working on it. Her gift for him – her first gift for him. Simple and flawed and perfect. It holds the forest, the reef and Kilvan, and Neteyam eagerly turns to the side, offering her his now bare left arm.
Her hands shake a little as she quietly ties the braided armband around his bicep and he feels his skin electric when her calloused fingers linger there, timidly follow the defined lines of his muscles. It still feels so new, touching like that. So easily and freely, just giving into it, if (whenever) they wished so.
Once she’s done, a timid and yet elated expression brightening her face, he touches the band with the tip of his fingers, just admires for a moment how the woven greens and yellows look against the dark blue of his striped skin, then he’s suddenly sitting on the dry ground and pushing further between her legs, pressing his forehead against her bare stomach with a small breath.
River lets out a small giggle at the tickling, humid warmth of his sigh. ‘It tickles.’
And she can feel the way his mouth spreads in an open smile against her skin at her words, but her giggle is soon turning into a soft, strangled sound when he leaves a quick kiss to her navel, and then a next, slightly lower, lingering close to the rim of her shorts.
‘Come here.’ He is helping her down the log and into his lap before she’s even given any time to react.
Neteyam’s ears flatten against his skull at the familiar, relishing feeling of her soft weight on him, their clothed cores pressing together, warmth spreading and seeping, but he still manages to breathe out a low chuckle when he meets her eyes, round with surprise, and lets her straddle him more comfortably.
‘Neteyam…’
‘Mh?’ Bending forward, he nuzzles the gentle curve between her neck and shoulder, then drags the flat of his nose, his parted lips, up her throat, leaves a small peck on the thin skin behind her ear, before pushing back towards her neck. He knows that whatever she was about to say, is now lost.
‘You always do that.’ She notices instead in a breathless whisper, fingers now digging into the firmness of his shoulders, searching for balance. She can already feel heat coiling in her belly at the teasing drag of his mouth on her throat, at the feeling of his length stirring and hardening beneath his loincloth. She barely notices the way the carved hilt of his knife digs into her side, taken as she is by all other sensations. By him.
‘Do I?’
‘Mh-mh.’
‘I like the way your scent lingers here.’ He admits, something almost bashful lowering his voice in a murmur of his own. ‘I… like how it mixes with mine.’ And then he can’t help it any longer. He gently nibbles at her, presses his canines to her thin skin, something hot and pleasant shooting through his spine when he feels her pulse jump beneath his lips, the rush of blood turning her smell pungent, warm. It makes him moan mutely, close his eyes as he starts dragging his mouth all along her throat with more urgency, messily, as if on the verge of losing himself to that feeling.
‘Neteyam… are you marking me?’ Liquid warmth ripples from the top of her head down to the tip of her toes, one hand grazing the back of his neck as a part of her mutely begs him to please, please mark her throat – again and again. Wishes her nose was sensitive enough to catch it, the merging of their scents, the roots of his pheromones closing around. Possessive, protective.
‘Maybe.’ It is no longer a common practice among the People, but Neteyam finds it reassuring, finding his scent on her, knowing that others will be able to detect it, too. A material – albeit subtle – evidence that she is his, and he is hers, that they belong with, to each other – Mates. Sometimes it still has his head spin dizzily, thinking of them with such term, realizing he is not dreaming of it, not anymore.
She trembles at the vibration of his admission pressing right onto her skin, and it takes most of her will to gently detach herself, cup his face with both hands, the tips of her thumbs brushing his cheeks. Loving the way his skin flushes a faint purple under her touch, but feeling weak in the knees when she sees his pupils enlarge, their wild black devouring most of his yellow-green irises, his lips still parted and slightly swollen from his kisses.
‘I really want to kiss you.’ She follows the plump curve of his lower lip, smiling softly, sadly, when he takes the chance of leaving a small peck on the callus of her thumb. Reassuring.
‘One day.’ His words firm despite the intimate whisper he says them with. ‘One day, we will find a way.’
‘Promise?’
He turns his head just enough to quickly kiss the palm of her hand, breathing in the scent of salty sweat and leather, dye and sour milk, sticking to the creases and callouses of her skin. Entirely human, and yet so familiar. Not the smell of an alien, but that of home, of half his soul. ‘I promise you. And when that day comes, I will kiss you so much that you will get tired of it.’
‘Doubt it.’ She blurts out in a mumble, flushing at the image, her lips tingling as if he were already kissing them, over and over.
‘Yeah?’ He pushes his cheek closer to her palm, to the point she can feel the chiselled bone beneath his smooth skin. With the way he’s looking at her, she wouldn’t be able to escape his gaze even if she wanted. ‘Good.’
‘Maybe… maybe you’ll be the one who gets tired of it.’ She’s only half teasing, the other half (paranoid and insecure and human) no longer referring to their future, improbable kisses, but thinking of how he will be double her height in a matter of years, her aging process cruelly quicker than his, forcing her to grow old and die long before he’s even reached the second half of his life.
But Neteyam is quickly shaking his head, as if somehow knowing where her thoughts are spiralling into. ‘No.’ He says simply, resting one hand on the long column of her neck, scratching the back delicately, soothingly, with his warm fingers, as his thumb presses with extreme gentleness against her pulse point, as if she were something frail that could easily crumble beneath his touch. ‘Never. I would kiss you until I could no longer breathe and I would live with you until Eywa allows. Never, I will never tire of you, my River.’
She closes her eyes for a moment, fearing she might start crying were she to sustain the intensity of his gaze, the promise latched onto his words, a breath longer, but snaps them open when she feels a gentle thud against the curved surface of her exo-mask, lets out a soft chuckle when she sees Neteyam pressing his forehead to where hers is beneath the glass barrier.
She cups his cheeks again and he gives a low, appreciative hum when she idly grazes the tight skin beneath his eyes, moves to sit further against him, drags her inner thigh over his arousal. ‘I love you too.’
And the simplicity of those words, the weight they carry underneath their smooth, liquid lilt, has him press closer to her with a small chuckle – heart ablaze.
Neteyam knows that to her, that small word – love – holds so much more than its Na’vi counterpart would ever, that she feels it just as deeply and totally as he feels his kin’s I see you, and that she doesn’t pronounce it lightly.
Although it’s not the first time she tells him that, River still flushes at her own confession, her heartbeat stuttering at the loving look he gives her, his syuratan flaring briefly in a beautiful shade of argent-blue.
At first without really realizing it, then with growing confidence and purpose, she traces with the tip of her finger the starry markings that gently curve beneath his eyes, idly moving up, towards the thin, darker stripe that curiously resembles an eyebrow, and then further to the side, towards the faint hollow of his temple. His ear gives an involuntary flick when she moves too close to it, and River can’t help a small, amused smile. He lightly moves away from her mask, looks at her with a frown.
‘What are you doing?’ He asks, when she decides to leave his ear alone to follow the tight roots of his braids instead, still damp with sweat and marine water, gently drawing the thick, crisp azure stripes of his forehead, the way they elegantly dip down towards the tall bones of his brows. His voice is reduced to a deep, breathy whisper that has something in her lower belly squeeze and pleasantly flood with heat.
‘Admiring my Mate.’
‘Feels nice.’ He admits, closing his eyes with a small, shaky sigh when she follows the faint hump of his nose, his nostrils flaring as he breathes her scent in.
She touches his smile, smiling back when he pecks her fingers and looks back at her, then moves towards the roundness of his chin, down his throat. His heartbeat seems to be echoing hers, loud and fast, the skin of his throat flushed a warm mauve, making the two lines of bioluminescence that sink down towards his chest appear brighter, faintly pulsing.
Wordlessly, he turns the both of them away from the log and lowers her on the loose, dry ground, careful to swipe away all fallen fronds and decaying pieces of palm bark that might prickle at her back.
Heaving out a sigh at the familiar, pleasant sensation of his weight pressing down on her, caging her in, River playfully taps the colourful beads now dangling close to his jawline, letting them click and jingle back into silence, before letting herself grow bolder and sink both her hands in the black coarseness of his hair, softly guides him closer to her, until their chests are pressing flush together, his heart beating right against hers.
Neteyam lets out a small, silent hiss when one of her hands moves further within his long braids, her fingers slowly, sensually dragging from the base of his neck to the bottom of his head, nails scratching his scalp in a way that has him shiver, his hips give a faint, shallow thrust that catches her next breath, until she is taking hold of the base of his kuru, lightly tugs at it – him.
He buckles above her, eyes squeezing shut for a moment, just letting the now familiar, tingling sensation submerge him entirely. He knows that it’s the fact that it’s her doing it, rather than the act itself, that affects him so much. And the thrill of the power he’s so easily willing to let her have over him only amplifies that feeling.
A low growl echoes from his chest directly to hers when she starts dragging her fingers up and down the long, thick braid, letting her nails catch onto the tightly woven strands of black hair, teasing open the very end of it, just enough for the bare, writhing and unfurling tendrils underneath to brush her hand, seemingly seeking her out.
A momentary jolt of regret and guilt has her heart cloud over and lose a beat, Neteyam’s kuru nearly slipping from her hold. They are pursuing for something she cannot give, a connection that will forever remain incomplete.
In her moment of distraction, the nerve endings hungrily latch onto one of her fingers, glossy and delicate, a static feeling passing through her hand, a pleasant tingling sensation that tears her from her darkening thoughts with a gasp of surprise.
It’s the first time the tendrils touch her skin directly, and she flinches, amazed by how warm and slick they feel, the same moment Neteyam nearly crushes onto her with a jagged whimper, the hand that isn’t barely sustaining the whole of his weight digging into her hip. He’s pressing his forehead to her mask, now, pupils entirely blown out, his syuratan flaring and pulsing a bright argent.
Breathless, he tries to relax his vice-like grip on her side, feeling light, half-moon indentations when he soothingly brushes her flesh there – marks of his nails, of the startling, hot shock that just went across his body whole at that new touch.
His head is filled with a pleasant hum, a strange, indescribable sensation of probing without finding, an electric current shivering down his spine, touching each of his nerve endings and setting them alight.
It’s not tsaheylu, but he still finds himself whimpering for the loss when River carefully detaches herself from the distressed, crazed tendrils, cupping his cheek with a shaky hand.
‘Are you okay? Neteyam… are you okay?’ She props herself on her elbows when he doesn’t answer immediately, studies his face for any trace of pain, but finding none. Only astonishment and flushed pleasure.
He pants out a laugh, breathy and strained. ‘That was… unexpected.’
‘Did it hurt?’
He only shakes his head no, faint shivers still rippling through him, and lets go of her hip to cover her hand still cupping his cheek, rubs it reassuringly as his eyes finally seem to focus back, meet hers.
‘Let me feel it again… please.’ There is no coyness in his begging, only need, raw and open. A consuming longing he unashamedly puts on display for her to pick at, do with it – with him – what she wishes.
And it has her blood sing with excitement, the pure, utter control he’s trusting into her hands. Not only to touch his most sensitive and sacred part, but to play with it, let it latch onto her skin. She feels overwhelmed, her vision briefly blurring with tears.
‘Teyam-’ A small, voiceless whisper, the rest of her sentence lost in the way he presses their cores together, in the tender want burning at the bottom of his blown-out pupils.
‘Please… please, I want to feel you again.’
But before she can truly realize what he has said, the weight of such pleading words spoken by a warrior of the Omatikaya, Neteyam begins a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses down the side of her neck, her shoulder, along her collarbone, and then dipping down, down her sternum, biting a grunt into the edge of her breastband when she gently, carefully dares to caress the very tips of the flaring tendrils with her thumb, but without letting them wrap around her fingers like before, like he’s begged for.
‘Do not tease me, River.’ He warns, looking at her from beneath his long eyelashes, his gaze twinkling with mischief – prostration.
‘You’re the one that always teases me.’ She reasons with a little smile, the tip of her fingers still not quite touching where her muntxatan so desperately wants her to. She will give in soon enough, of course, but she feels she deserves this little payback for all the times he edged her to the point of whimpering shamelessly for him, dragging things out until they both felt like losing their minds.
‘I have never heard you complain.’
River huffs loudly at that, but all retorts dissolve into a broken sigh when he gently nibbles at her breast through the thin, woven cloth wrapping it, the tip of his tongue flicking right over her hardening nipple.
‘I still hear no complaints.’ He mutters, his breath hot and wet.
She weakly slaps his shoulder with a breathy laugh. ‘Moron.’ Still, one leg wraps around his hips, presses him down as her middle chases his with a small roll. Her underwear dampening and sticking to her with each hint of friction, blood burning when he pushes back to meet her hunger.
Her skin tingles pleasantly at the low groan escaping his lips as she squeezes his kuru just a little tighter, whispering his name when he retaliates by hurriedly getting rid of her breastband, leaving no time for the cool breeze blowing from the sea to make her shiver.
She arches her back, pushes closer to him, the irresistible warmth of his mouth, his acidic saliva stinging pleasingly on her sensitive, humming skin, and slides her fingers over the tendrils of his kuru, gently brushes through them like she would his braids. With a pleasant bite that is almost electric, they tangle like vines around her offering.
Neteyam’s thick lashes tickle her as he immediately squeezes his eyes shut, moaning lowly against her breast, the movements of his tongue and mouth growing frantic, restless.
And then he violently shots up, nearly knocking against the lower edge of her mask, when she lightly pinches one of the tendrils between thumb and forefinger, his whole body shaking, throbbing with feverish heat.
His breathing loud, jagged, he blindly wraps his fingers around her wrist and weakly pulls her away from the kuru, before all but collapsing on top of her, limbs shivering with violent, spasmodic tremors, his lungs hiccupping, gasping for air.
Concern flares up, momentarily burning through her growing arousal, clearing her thoughts. He’s too heavy, like that, it feels like his weight is bruising her ribs, preventing her from breathing in properly with each passing second, but River barely notices those things, all her growing worry focused on him. ‘Teyam? Neteyam?’
‘I am… I am alright, beloved.’ He hoarsely reassures her, slowly dragging himself back on his elbows, visibly straining to lift himself just enough so that he’s no longer crushing all air out of her lungs.
But said air leaves River in a small gasp when she sees the state he is in. He looks absolutely… wrecked.
A sheen of sweat glinting all over him, one braid messily dangling in front of his face. His eyes dark and glazed over, slightly unfocused, as if he has yet to fully come back to his senses, to reality. A metamorphosis that has taken place in a matter of seconds, a mere pinch of her fingers.
Neteyam lets out a strangled chuckle, weakly shaking his head with something akin to disbelief and thrill. ‘I think- I believe it is best if we put this off for the time being, beloved. Or I will be finished before we have even started.’
River can feel her face and neck prickle with heat at the explicit implications of his words, at how close to breaking and losing all control he seems in the moment. So utterly devastated and beautiful.
She wants to grab his tendrils again, admire him as he comes undone before her eyes, but Neteyam has already taken hold of his neural plait, pushed it behind his shoulders, out of reach, leaving her with nothing but tucking his dishevelled braid away from his face. He smiles softly, weakly at her, turning his face just enough to leave a lingering kiss to her wrist.
His lips, warmer and swollen – he must have bitten into them –, have a tingling sensation bloom on the thin skin over her veins. It seeps into her blood, spreads towards every edge and ending of her being, before plummeting inside her core, where a liquid throbbing is building and building, begging for release, for him.
His breathing is still ragged, shattered, his chest quickly heaving up and down, but already he appears more stable on his arms, the tremors of his muscles subduing into a slight trembling from time to time – but this could very well depend on him trying to rein in his desire.
‘I am sorry. Did I hurt you?’ His gaze, now completely cleared and present, suddenly brushes her front, guiltily, as if expecting to find bruises, but River is quick to reassure him with a small shake of her head, both hands sneaking towards the back of his neck, drawing gentle circles onto the hard tension stiffening his muscles and tendons.
Beneath her touch, his skin is hot and clammy, and she can feel the way he reflexively pushes into her, gently dropping his forehead against her shoulder so that she can reach for his neck more easily, bare it to her completely.
She turns her face slightly, pretending its her cheek pressing against his temple, and not the cold glass of her mask.
‘It feels good.’ He mutters after a moment or two where none of them said anything nor moved an inch. His voice is still deeper than usual, draggy, but it no longer sounds strained, on the verge of breaking like a frayed rope.
‘What?’
‘The mask. It felt like I had flames on my skin, and your mask is… soothing. It is nice.’
River says nothing to that, only wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing him closer to her, his chest warm and firm, familiar, against the softness of her breasts. His slow, content sigh tickles her throat, and then the gentle brush of his lips over her pulse has her blood sizzle, sing for him.
It’s a strange calm, the one that is gradually descending over them, a quiet drape that muffles their breaths, subdues the liquid echoes of the sea and the green rustling of leaves and vines all around. They’re not quite grounded in their reality, anymore, right on the verge of falling in a small universe of their own, where they are just two small planets orbiting around a star that is both bright with a sense of belonging, proximity, and boiling and bursting with the heat of desire and craving.
With a little breath, River drags one hand from his shoulders to the back of his head, his braids coiling and rearranging around her fingers when she sinks into them, lightly scratching his scalp, before just resting her hand there. A smile blooming on her lips when she feels Neteyam stir above her, blindly moving for the back of his head, too, the hot, calloused palm of his hand pressing on top of hers, his thumb briefly brushing over her knuckles.
He hums in satisfaction, hiding further in the gentle curve of her neck, leaving sloppy, lazy kisses on her inviting skin when she mindlessly starts curling and twisting one of his braids around her forefinger – gentle tugs that have him smile, sag more into her, into her scent now so perfectly mixed with his.
It doesn’t last long, of course, that quiet in-between, not when their blood is still hot and buzzing, their centres pressing slightly, a titillating drag and friction, with each breath and heartbeat.
And she feels so soft and pliable, beneath him, so small and warm, her dark skin glinting with hints of bronze when the light filtering through the palms foliage kisses her sweaty form, that Neteyam feels he might just combust, his heart jolting into his throat as a hot knot tightly winds at the base of his navel, his throbbing length rubbing unpleasantly against the restraint of his loincloth.
It is maddening indeed, feeling her damp heat drag against him through layers of fabric and woven fibers.
A silent gasp escapes her mouth when he unconsciously nips at her throat, the sound shooting straight into his lower abdomen, ripping a low groan from him.
‘River.’ His voice has dropped into something thick and strained, a gravelly, breathy mutter that he barely recognizes as his own and that has River’s heart lose a beat (then another), plummet down towards her stomach.
It’s a whisper that tickles like a slow caress, dense with unspoken promises that make her flush and press to him, until it feels like not even the ghost of a breath could pass through their joined bodies. But, even like this, they don’t feel close enough – it’s not enough.
‘Mh?’
‘I want to touch you.’ He murmurs against the shell of her ear, nuzzling with his jaw where her temple would be, if not for the mask.
‘You already- you already are, Teyam...’
A small smirk, a small nibble at her collarbone. ‘Not like this.’
Any other moment, River would probably be embarrassed at the whine leaving her when he detaches himself, slides off of her, but then he is swiftly moving down and down, until he is kneeling close to her feet, bending low so that her propped knees are brushing his ears.
And, despite the coil of heat and nerves twisting almost painfully in her venter, a light, breathy giggle escapes her lips at the sight of him now perching his chin atop one of her knees, looking down at her with a soft smile of his own.
She feels a light pressure on her ankle, Neteyam's long, calloused fingers wrapping around the whole of it, slowly brushing his thumb up and down, over and over, along her shin, then slightly twisting his hand to reach the curved top of her foot. With the way he’s staring at her, seemingly drinking her in, River barely feels the tickling of his light touch.
‘What are you doing?’ She breathes out, her heart thumping violently, too loud, in her ears. She can barely hear herself speak.
‘Admiring my Mate.’ He simply replies, calling back on the exact same words she’d used as she was tracing the feline, elegant lines of his face.
She sucks on her cheek, but finds she can’t divert her gaze – nor she really wishes to.
‘Let us take these off, mh?’ Neteyam is suddenly nudging the side of her knee, sliding further between her legs to hook his fingers beneath the rim of her shorts and, River notices with an electric jolt that has every single hair on her body stand, the underwear right below.
Distantly, very far away, she can feel the thud of his tail as it slashes against the ground behind him, the rest of his body forced into absolute stillness as he looks at her, waits for her permission to continue or for her to push away, overwhelmed and timid.
And she is, both overcome by the intensity of him, his utter, unadulterated need for her, and shy at the thought of being completely bare and spread out like an offering for him to feast upon, but that very last image has her clench achingly around his absence, and she realizes she wants it, she needs it. She needs him just as much, just as intensely and desperately.
‘Please… please, touch me.’
His ears sharply press back at her breathless plea, something that is both whimper and snarl rippling through his flushed expression, and then he’s nearly ripping the last of her covering away from her, blindly tossing them to the side, somewhere in the thick of the logs and ferns none of them seems to particularly care about.
However, Neteyam doesn’t plunge for her like every single cell of his body is screaming, begging him to, sinking on his hands and knees to reach for the roundness of her scarred knee instead, slowly, tenderly lapping at the jagged edge of the old wound, the skin there thin and tender, a darker shade of brown than the rest of her body.
And, with the way River tries to writhe away with a gasp, it must be incredibly sensitive, too.
He smiles, flicks his tongue more carefully, before peppering the scar in small kisses, dragging his parted lips over its uneven outlines and bumps and dipping lower, beyond the side of her knee, where the creases in her supple flesh hold the distinctive scent of human sweat, both sweet and sour, like spoiled milk and rotting flowers.
He mindlessly blows away bits and pieces of dry mud and sand clinging to her clammy skin, before going back to savouring her, his hips thrusting briefly into nothing, chasing a relief from the tightness the taste of her, her breathless sighs, are causing him.
He wants to get rid of his loincloth, he wants to climb over her body and claim her completely, until she’s clawing at his back and hoarsely whimpering his name, and he needs to pause for a moment to restrain those images that have his blood boil (reach with one hand for the knots keeping his tewng in place), regain some semblance of control. If he were to take her like this, he’d hurt her, there is no way around it. He is inexorably outgrowing her and they are both too wound up and wired for the fit – the last thing he wants is to injure her because he has become too eager and impatient.
And so, Neteyam drops his hand away from the strings of his loincloth, takes in a deep inhale of her scent that has him tremble in his whole body, and presses a new, open-mouthed kiss to the side of her knee. And then a next – more and more, until she becomes all he feels and tastes. All he wishes to feel and taste.
Every muscle of her lower belly seems to tighten in anticipation as his slow, humid trail of kisses and small bites moves closer and closer to her inner thigh.
Still, when his nose nudges the crease of her groin, her old hesitation and deeply human shame at laying bare like that in front of another briefly takes hold, and River makes to hurriedly close her legs on instinct, his larger body the only thing preventing her to.
Without raising his head, Neteyam gently puts a hand on her knee, guides it away until she is spread out before him once again. ‘Open for me, my River. Please, let me taste you.’
When she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to hide again, he goes back to lavishing her inner thigh with slow, deliberate kisses. His mouth open, a ghost of a prickle as the sharp tips of his fangs lightly drag over her sensitive skin.
‘Ma Neteyam…’
‘Yes, beloved?’ He’s slowly moving towards the rounded mound of her pelvis. Maddeningly close to where she’s begging for him the most, her arousal soaking the back of her thighs and the ground beneath, but barely grazing it with each drag of his lips.
She wants to tell him to just stop teasing her again, but she can only manage a feeble ‘Teasing…’, the back of her head falling with a little thud against the palm grove dry and yielding ground, when he presses a firmer kiss to her mound, his mouth lowering further.
Buried as he is between her legs, River cannot see his face, but she can feel a smirk slowly stretch on his lips, press against her.
He breathes a humid chuckle right onto her throbbing nub and the sensation is so sudden, so total, that she’s violently arching into him, begging for more, barely registering his delighted retort. ‘I know.’
And then he is pushing fully against her, takes her throbbing, most sensitive part into his lips and – after lightly flicking the tip of his tongue against its protective hood in one, last teasing act – sucks onto the small pearl underneath as if starved, the smooth front of his teeth slightly pressing against the fleshy nerves with the urgency of it all.
A strangled gasp leaves through her parted lips while her hips jerk forward, breath already coming out in pants, every inch of skin tight and tensed, as if unable to contain the surges of pleasure washing over her with each hungry, eager slide and drag of his coarse tongue.
It should feel familiar, by now, expected, it shouldn’t affect her to the point she already feels close to the brink, all thoughts spinning out of control, out of reach, until Neteyam is the only thing filling her mind, until every inch of her body is screaming for him.
But it does.
He has learned her body well, knows how to play and control her rushes of pleasure, how to teasingly edge her and how to steadily guide her to the brim of the cliff once she can’t take it anymore.
Even now, through the fog clouding her head, River can feel the attentive flick of his ears against her inner thighs as he listens in to every small sound of hers, adjusts his pace, the weight of his tongue, to her needs.
And when he finally prods at her entrance with the tip of his tongue, she frantically, blindly reaches with one hand, grabs desperate fists of his braids, her other hand flying towards her mouth for her to bite into it, try to mitigate her pants, remembering too late she’s wearing that damned mask, her shaky fingers smacking helplessly against the unforgiving glass, before falling to the ground, holding limply to its dryness.
Neteyam closes his eyes with a groan, losing himself in the slick and saltiness filling his mouth, soaking deep into his famished tongue.
Blindly, he moves his hands to her inner thighs, blunt nails digging into the supple flesh there to hold her open, give himself some more space to move and work her up. It’s a little uncomfortable, the position he’s forcing himself into, making himself smaller to fit her more minute frame, and he can already feel the muscles of his back and legs pull, burning with the growing tension, but he doesn’t care. He could stay like this for entire lunar cycles, if she were to beg him for it – or perhaps he would be the one begging.
He flicks his tongue inside her again, his heart thumping violently and deafeningly in his ears, the throb inside his loincloth now close to be painful, and, distantly, he knows he’s leaving a new set of half-moon marks onto her skin with how desperately he’s gripping her, both to control himself and to keep her from squirming away when he licks the whole of her throbbing core in one, agonizingly slow stroke with the flat of his tongue. And then again and again, addicted to her shattering whimpers, the wetness coating his mouth, sticky and hot on his chin and lips.
River opens her mouth in a mute plea, grinding shallowly against his face, gripping the back of his head more firmly to stop herself from floating away, press him closer to her. She lets go of the ground to bring her other hand to the back of his head, clinging shakily to his plaited kuru.
He grunts and nearly loses it when she tugs helplessly at his braid, twisting it between her shaky fingers with force, and his hot breath tickling her pulsing heat, the way the sound seems to reverberate straight through her, has her toes curl, scorching shivers touching her lower back.
He works her open, chases her pleasure with deliberate laps and flicks along her soaking slit, and when he latches his mouth back around the maddened throb of her clit, seals it with his swollen lips, he knows the heat coiling inside her is about to snap, that it will take nothing, now, to push her over the edge.
He can’t help the little, proud smile despite his own ache, amplified with the way she’s holding onto his kuru seemingly for dear life.
He presses a small, soft kiss to her nub – and then he sucks. Relentlessly, hungrily.
He wraps his arms around her middle, slightly lifts her lower half up from the ground as he hugs her to his face, buries himself further into her, grunting when he feels her snap, at last.
River’s whole body seemingly barrels right into him, shaking and trembling violently, waves and waves of a hot prickling spreading from her core to every other nerve ending in her body, making her shudder violently and cry out for his name, letting go of his hair to cling to his shoulders, feel the heat of his skin, the firmness of his muscles. Searching desperately for something to ground herself into, before the intensity of her pleasure washes her away.
Her frantic hold claws at him, it stings and marks, but Neteyam barely notices the bruising sensation, as he keeps kissing at her core, her inner thighs, then back to her core, gently – and yet, in a way, greedily – guiding her through it, humming and sighing at the way she’s shattering beneath his lips and tongue – because of his lips and tongue –, murmuring his name again and again.
He’s close to coming undone and forgo all restraints and worries, and he hasn’t even been touched.
After the aftershocks of her climax have subdued a little, he carefully settles her back to the ground and climbs above her, slowly stroking up the side of her clammy neck with the back of his hand, making her hips jolt up at the warm tingles spreading through her lower back.
She immediately clings once more to the tight muscles of his shoulders, her body sticky and hot, as she still struggles to ground herself, come down from the high, her knees like mud, shaking to the point Neteyam has to help her legs to lie down against the dry soil, before nesting himself between them.
His lips are wet and glistening and, with a warm, violent clench, she stares as the tip of his tongue darts out to lick his mouth clean, his pupils blown out and burning.
‘Are you still with me, my beloved?’ His voice his hoarse, deeper than River has ever heard it, a gravelly, predatory edge to it that has her limply squirm beneath him.
She feels like her whole body is one, big raw nerve, where even the cool, light brush of the marine breeze is enough to make her jolt and shudder, her breaths loud and uneven, fogging the curved glass of her mask. But her mind is too sloppy, her tongue too big inside her mouth, to even attempt at telling him any of it. ‘Mh-mh…’
‘Mh-mh?’ He parrots with a smug smile, before pressing down to leave a chaste kiss to the rounded shell of her ear. And then one more, making his way back to her throat, kissing again and again, until there’s nothing chaste about those pecks and nips anymore and she’s trembling and shivering all over. ‘Are you tired? Do you wish to take a break?’ His tone is softer, now, its teasing edge bevelled.
River can only give a feeble shake of the head, one hand weakly sliding down his back to keep him pressed to her, the other moving beneath his braids, searching for the base of his neural queue.
He silently offers it to her, guides her shaky fingers along its braided strands of black hair, before going back at lavishing with kisses her neck and shoulders, her collarbones and swollen breasts.
‘You are so addictive, my River. I want to taste you forever.’ He moves back towards one of her ears, lightly nips at the lobe, his voice lower than a whisper. ‘I wish to make you mine. If you would allow me, I would never let you go, beloved.’
‘Don’t.’ She can feel his breath itch at her shaky plea, his body pressing more and more against hers, the carved sheath of his hunting knife digging slightly into her side. ‘Don’t let me go, ever. Please, Neteyam. Please… please…’ She’s not sure what she’s begging for, exactly, her thoughts, her senses, tuned on him and him only. She wants him, that’s all she can think about. Him, him, him.
He doesn’t answer with words, this time, merely pressing a searing, sealing kiss to the gentle curve of her jaw, as close to it as her exo-mask allows, before unfastening the ties of his loincloth, fingers steadier than he would have expected himself, given the utter turmoil of need and emotions he’s finding himself in.
He does not even deign to look where he tosses his only piece of garment (he couldn’t care less, in that moment), his eyes are on her, solely on her, her flushed skin, the little gasp leaving her mouth when she props herself up on her elbows and looks at him, her pupils growing bigger, ravenous.
It’s harder to tell, with her small, dark irises, but when Neteyam notices the physical effects the sight of him bare has on her… his restraint slips, her heated attention rippling pleasantly through him, making him twitch and leak.
He sighs shakily when she cups his face, pulls him to her as she slowly, still a little dizzily, lies back down on the ground, smiling softly up at him when he pillows her head with one of his hands, tangling his fingers into her long, dishevelled curls.
His other hand slowly sprawls over his stomach, a silent hiss leaving through his teeth as he drags his fingers down, body taut as he grabs himself, and he’s so coiled with want and raw, shameless need, that the feverish warmth of his own skin is enough to make him ache, his hips pushing helplessly forward.
He forces himself into stillness, breathing deeply through his nose, a feeble grin curling his lips upwards when River smiles at him reassuringly.
‘You won’t hurt me, Teyam. It’s not our first and we know our bodies well, now. I can take it, you know I can.’
‘River…’ His voice is close to a whimper, her words making him quiver, a hot streak of precum rolling down his thumb. He grazes at it, rolls it over his swollen head with a grunt, the rest of him, hard and heavy, already coated in a thick layer of natural slick, twitches needily in his hold. ‘I will not even get to touch you, if you keep saying things like that.’
With a winded giggle, she traces the flaring, pulsing light of the starry freckles curving beneath his eyes, drawing gentle circles onto his cheeks, still full and soft despite every part of him slowly, gradually being chiselled and sharpened by the passing years.
They fall quiet as he adjusts his position, aligns himself with her core, a small grunt leaving him when she immediately cages him between her legs, the heels of her feet digging lightly into the small of his back, pushing him closer.
‘Greedy.’ He taunts, breathless, even if a violent shudder runs through him and forces him to drop his head against the safe haven that is the crook of her neck, his instincts screaming at him to just give in, plunge in and take, claim.
‘You can be a lot worse.’
‘I can…’ He presses into the tantalizing, sweaty curve of her throat, fisting her hair in his (now shaky) fingers and using his other hand to prop her legs higher up his middle as he finally starts to push in, every part of him seemingly tight and locked with restraint, her sighs and whimpers breaking and stuttering loudly against the glass surface of her mask, driving him crazy, closer and closer to the edge.
She holds him by the upper arms, at first merely tracing the woven leather of the band she has just gifted him, the small bumps and scars littering his thick skin, faded memories of his hunts and, later, his heists and attacks against the RDA, but soon enough she finds herself digging into his taut shoulders with her nails as the stretch grows and grows.
She does her best to adjust to it, ignore the initial discomfort that always claws at her lower half, but, no matter how much she tries to hide it from him, her face scrunches with a particularly sharp stab of pain, and guilts churns at his insides at the sight.
He tries to soften the burning sensation with gentle kisses all over her throat, a small moan escaping him (or her? He can no longer tell them apart) when she arches in his arms, exposing even more of her beautiful, beautiful neck, her core taking him in a couple of inches more.
At that, River gasps both in pleasure and pain, the motion too fast, too sudden. His length throbs and rubs against her, and she feels raw and hot, close to being split open.
‘I am sorry. I am sorry, my beloved.’ He breathes against her crazed pulse, his words hot and dragging, tight with restraint. ‘Do you wish me to stop? Does it hurt too much?’
‘I’m alright, Teyam, I just… I just need a moment.’ She smiles weakly at him, the air filling her lungs not feeling enough, but she wraps her legs a little tighter around him when she feels him about to pull out, move away.
‘Relax for me, beloved. I need you to relax for me.’ He lets go of her waist, squeezes his hand in the tight space left between their bodies, and presses his thumb against her already sweeling clit, rolling his coarse pad gently into the firm, fleshy pearl. He can feel every wave of pleasure rippling through her, clenching his jaw at the way her core flutters and clamps down on him in response to his tender touch.
She completely abandons herself to the yielding ground, her hips mechanically shooting into his, holding onto his shoulders with such force and desperation, Neteyam almost expects for her to break his skin. Although he’s not sure he would really notice, as pleasure, her, consume him entirely, all else turning into a blurred bundle of colours.
They both heave out a little sigh, when she gradually relaxes and opens under the constant pressure of his thumb, allowing him to sink all the way in, still himself as much as he can to let her adjust, and starting to cautiously drag himself against her spongey, soaking walls only when she needily pushes up for him, the sharpness of his hips digging pleasantly into hers.
But, even as they move slowly, carefully, once they give in to each other, surrender one to the touch of the other, there’s always a sense of desperation and urgency in their clinging and thrusting, for they both know well their possibilities to be together like this are limited, that he’ll soon outgrow her, making their bodies incompatible, forcing them to find other ways to be physically close.
And so, fearing he might lose himself in the sensation and crush into her again, hurting her with his larger frame – and all too aware that he is unable to kiss her freely like this –, Neteyam gently turns them around until she is on top of him, straddles his lap with a surprised gasp, and has to bite onto his lower lip with force not to grunt out loud at the intense feeling of her clenching down on him, his ears sharply pressing against his skull as he rests his hands around her hips, helps her find her balance, waits for her to catch her breath, accommodate to the new position.
‘You look so beautiful, like this.’ He murmurs almost to himself, unable to look away even for an instant. Her heavy chest and face flushed, eyes dark and glazed over, her long hair falling over her back, some tangled locks sticking to the sweaty skin of her shoulders and chest, grazing her hips.
‘Neteyam…’ The way she calls for his name, one hand trailing over his parted lips, has him lose control for a second, grind up into her. He squeezes his eyes with a low hiss through his teeth at the sound he draws from her, tail curling tightly around her ankle and calf because he doesn’t dare move anything else. He’s tethered to his self-control by a thin, translucid strand, and a breath too deep would be enough to snap it entirely.
And yet, he can’t help but arch his back slightly, a low whimper leaving his gritted teeth, when River gives a hesitant roll of her hips, dragging their pubic mounds together, taking him deeper with a broken exhale.
Brushing soothing circles into her sides, Neteyam tries to match her slow, tentative pace, and forces his eyes open so as not to miss a single flicker of pleasure on her face, see what she likes, what she’s seeking.
There’s still a hint of discomfort pulling at the corners of her lips, and his pupils devour the way his dragged thrusts morph it into a blissful expression, mouth parted in incoherent gasps and sighs of his name. He gives a deliberate, sharp push when he feels her about to sink back down on him, her silent cry echoing through every crevice of his body, his blood like fire, wild and burning.
He parts his lips, presses his tongue down against the bottom of his mouth to drink in their slick scents mixing together, thickening the air all around. That alone is enough to drive him crazy, make him shiver violently beneath her.
His heart stutters and jolts when he feels her fingers lightly drag along the pans of his abdomen, move towards his tensing pubic, the hinted V-line of his hips, and then up again, trace his hot skin, the flaring freckles of his syuratan, following the protruding shape of the bones crossing at the end of his ribcage, then his gasping chest, where every, loud sip of air no longer feels enough.
Drops of sweat run down her temples and cheeks and he wishes she wasn’t wearing that damned mask, so that he could gather them on his fingers, lick them away.
Fingers skimming over his collarbone, she holds his shoulders, digging her blunt nails into the firm skin there, then tugs at him feebly. One, two times. She doesn’t need to say anything, for him to understand what she’s asking for.
He smoothly lifts himself in a sitting position, peppers her flushed skin with dragging, sloppy kisses. Lets out a small, breathy whimper when she slides closer to him, when he feels himself sink deeper into her humid warmth, her body hot and throbbing with her crazed heartbeat.
And it’s not long, before River is clawing at his back with broken sighs, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pressing his head further against the crook of her neck, keeping him there, closer, closer. He eagerly obliges (take what you want, beloved. I am yours… I am yours…), circling her soft middle with one arm to press her flush to him, his other hand sneaking beneath her long hair, holding the back of her head, tugging her into him as if wishing to absorb her completely – or get swallowed into her until nothing is left of him.
With each, slow roll and thrust of their hips, jagged moans escape her mouth, fogging the curved surface of her mask, its glass warm against his skin, and setting his blood on fire. He wishes he could swallow those sounds directly from her, taste them on his tongue.
His name on her lips feels like a prayer and Neteyam soon finds himself addicted to it, pushes a little further, a little harder, just to hear it again – again and again. Still, he holds himself back, because the fear of going too fast, of thrusting too harshly, hurting her, is ever present, not matter how buried beneath pleasure and want it is.
River feels it, despite the coil of pleasure already starting to blind her, turning her thoughts into mush, she feels the wiry tightness of his muscles, the shaky exhales and stuttering of his hips when he seems on the verge of losing control, falling apart.
‘Neteyam, please… please let go. You won’t break me.’
‘River, I-’ He sounds almost desperate as he bites his words into the supple flesh of her shoulder, holds her a little closer, his thrusts slowing down to gentle, idle rolls where he’s not really pulling out to sink back in.
‘Please… I want you, all of you.’ She blindly moves one hand to cup his cheek, feels the way he clenches it under her gentle touch, the muscle darting slightly with the great tension he’s forcing himself into. ‘And I want to be yours. Completely yours.’
The sound he lets out at her last whisper leaves her aching and shivering, gasping loudly at the sharp puncture of his teeth into her shoulder, adrenaline and burning pleasure filling her mouth with a metallic taste that has her head spin, her core clench violently around him.
‘Great Mother… you will be the end of me, my beloved.’ He stutters out, a husky, warm whimper that vibrates against her heart, sips into the most recondite parts of her being. Setting her alight, feverish for him.
And then she can feel him as he starts coming undone, at last, loosening all restraint, losing himself in her completely.
His thrusts more desperate, jagged, his hips rolling and pushing against hers with an urgency she struggles to keep up with, that has her helplessly rock against his chest, cling to his shoulders and neck for balance.
He moans, loudly, uninhibited, when she finds his kuru, holds onto its base with tightening desperation, whimpering incoherently close to his ear, the slap of their skins meeting, hot and clammy with exertion, droning out what little sounds still reached them from outside their little universe. The star close to burst into a blinding supernova, its blazing heat leaving nothing of them.
She starts to writhe above him, chasing and fleeing the burning sensation in her lower belly, the all-devouring feeling of clenching and throbbing and shivering, of something coiling and engorging, too big for her to contain – too much to bear.
All it takes is the next thrust, Neteyam messily sucking the tender skin above her maddened pulse, for her to fall over the edge with a soundless cry, clinging and clenching around him with such force and desperation, his own movements stutter nearly to a stop, before he’s jerking into her one, two times with a low grunt of her name, holding her tight to him as he buries himself into her one last time, shallowly thrusting his release as a hot, ropy liquid fills her with warmth and a distant aftertaste of brine, stings her fluttering, hypersensitive core a little.
Her eyes are squeezed shut, a low buzzing sound stuffing her ears, and so she notices he has completely laid down only when the firm pressure of his body against hers shifts and changes, and she finds herself comfortably sprawled over his chest, his limp hands carefully guiding her head in the crook of his neck, before he's sinking his fingers into the damp mess that is her hair now, drawing gentle circles on her scalp.
Resting like that, River can feel his heart press right onto hers, its beat fast, stuttering, the rise and fall of his chest still wild, out of control.
She makes to weakly get up, get off of him, because surely her added, abandoned weight isn’t going to help him regain his breath, but Neteyam immediately wraps an arm around her middle, presses her back down to him. Firmly, needy. ‘Stay. Please.’
Only now she notices he is still wearing his arm bracer, its leather now as warm as his skin. She feels its intricate designs that resemble reptilian scales leave slight indentations onto the humming skin of her hips, a slight bite that grounds her further into the moment, helps her find her way back to her body.
Unsure she can currently put together a coherent sentence, she merely hums in response and tries to sneak her arms around him, smiling softly when he slightly lifts his middle to accommodate her, the full weight of him falling on her hands right after is pleasant, sticky with sweat.
She adjusts her head against his shoulder, making sure the harsh edges of her mask don’t push and dig into his skin, and then just quietly holds onto him as he holds onto her, idly playing with a curled lock of her hair.
None of them knows for how long they remain like that, quietly regaining their senses, themselves, but after some time he has completely softened inside her, their breathings slower, fuller.
He stirs, tentatively sits back up, winding his arms tightly around her back and middle to keep her pressed to him, addicted to the feeling of her heartbeat echoing inside his chest, the little, low whine as she snuggles closer to his neckline.
‘Come, beloved… let us get you cleaned, mh?’
At his gentle nudge, River huffs out a shaky laughter, leans against his shoulder to dazedly look at him from beneath heavy eyelids. ‘I can’t… feel my legs.’ Her voice is hoarse and feeble and divine. Neteyam feels his ears flick towards it, absorb every tiny lilt and shake of it.
‘Hold onto me, okay? I will carry you.’
‘I think… I think you ruined me for good, this time.’
And he can’t help but chuckle at how sloppy and sleepy she’s starting to sound, her tone thinning and dragging as exhaustion approaches, wins over her much weaker, lovingly human stamina.
A small, smug smile tugging at his lips, Neteyam rises to his feet, careful not to jolt her too much, his chest warming when she wraps her arms and legs around him on instinct, sighing with contentment.
‘Please, do it again, next time… always. Always take me like that, yes?’
He hums and presses a lingering kiss to the crown of her head, starts making his way towards the distant edge of the palm grove, the liquid-blue sound of the ocean. His tail lazily, happily swaying at his back. ‘Okay, ma River, I promise.’
‘Hug promise?’
‘Hug promise.’
༄