Persistence of Memory
folder
X-Men - Animated Series (all) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
57
Views:
7,470
Reviews:
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
X-Men - Animated Series (all) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
57
Views:
7,470
Reviews:
68
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own X-Men Evolution, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.
48
Persistence of Memory Chapter Forty Eight (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch, and Uberbeta…We had the first meeting
between Imhotep and Beauregard. Did you know cats can hit C above C? ;)
InterNutter, TC and Maxwell Pink are squishy and lovely for archiving. J ProPhile is smutmusing his way through
elsewhere but he’s still nifty in his own way, lol. Readers/Reviewers: *EXTRA
GLOMP * And in the interests of me not
going bonkers writing a too-packed chapter, this one is Amara/Lance and
Remy/Jubilee’s scenes. 49 is going to
be Jamie/Rahne, etc…
“You’re too
close,” Jubilee hissed. “Step back!”
Remy raised
an eyebrow. “You tellin’ me how ta do
my job, chere?”
“Don’t be a
bitch. Just move…I need room to
work.” Jubilee edged forward a few
inches along the eaves of the Boardinghouse, wincing as the surface beneath her
feet creaked ominously. “Shit. Fuck this.
I’m going down and around.”
“Jubilation, don’ move,” Remy
said so softly as to be mistaken for a mere exhalation.
“Don’t go
overprotective on me,” she growled, tensing her legs for her jump to the
overhanging limb of a large oak tree.
“Non, cherie…we
got comp’ny.” Remy did not move but his
voice seemed to wrap around Jubilee and pull her back from the edge.
She
followed the direction of his steady gave and felt her jaw drop. Piotr followed Mystique in her guise as ncipncipal Darkholme into the house via the front door. He carried several bags from a local outlet
mall and she held a bag of groceries.
The entire scene was oddly and twistedly domestic. “The fuck…do you think Kitty sent him, too?”
“Non,” Remy
breathed. “Not hardly.” He carefully
backed away from Jubilee, easing along the edge of the roof with all the
stealth of a shadow. “Lissen…dere a
window ‘bout ten feet down de side from here.
Gimme five minute an’ I have it open pour tu.”
“What? No!
Remy, come back here!” She reached
for him but the roof creaked again, this time longer and louder. “Okay,” she squeaked. “But if I fall to my death, I’m haunting
ti
till I’m reincarnated.”
“Dat’s fine
by me, chere,” he said, flashing her a smile.
“Five minu[1]te.”
Jubilee
nodded faintly then concentrated on her balance. I still need to dye my hair one color…which one should it
be? I like the green… She blew out a harsh breath as the roof
creaked again. Damn it. Why can’t one of ‘em fix this house up? Shit.
I’m going to fall if I don’t move…
Carefully, she made her way the suggested ten feet down the line of the
roof, a bit dismayed to see that there was nothing within grabbing distance
should she need to jump or stop herself from falling. Five minutes. He won’t fuck up. He
might be twitchy lately but he won’t leave me here to die or worse. Jubilee felt a spike of nausea and closed
her eyes. Not the time to be afraid
of heights, Lee… Come on, Remy. Hurry
up!
“Je suis
retourne!” Remy kicked the door shut behind him and strolled into the den, once
familiar and now vaguely repulsive.
“Damn…y’all let dis place go ta shit.”
Mystique,
absurdly holding a head of lettuce, stepped out of the kitchen with a confused,
then angry, expression on her face.
“What the Hell are you doing back here?”
“Man can change his mind,
oui?” He shrugged in a very Gallic
fashion and sprawled on the dusty sofa.
“So what fo’ dinner?”
“Get. Out.”
“Or
what? You gonna trow dat lettuce at
me? Go ‘head.” Idly, he flipped the Queen of Spades between
his fingers, producing it in such a way that it seemed he pulled it out of thin
air. As Mystique seethed for one silent
moment too long, he stood and smiled charmingly. “I’m gonna take my ol’ room back.”
“Remy!”
“Lissen
here, Mystique…I’m de bes’ leader dis group ever had…you ain’t got no say in
tings far as I’m concerned. Gotta here
it from Maggie himself.” His smile
became distinctly feral. “You go on an’
call ‘im. I’m goin’ ta nap.”
“You
abandoned the Brotherhood to take up with Xavier’s students. You’re a traitor
to the cause!”
Piotr hoved
into view just past Mystique. He looked
as if he were ashamed, skulking in the shadows of the kitchen. Remy bared his teeth in a mockery of his
former expression. “Like I say…man can
change his mind, oui?” He did not
exhale until he made it to the room he had directed Jubilee to. Opening the
window carefully, he leaned out and looked up.
“Chere…”
“Remy! Thank every single god I can think of! This roof is shoddy… lemme in!”
“Non, p’titGo hGo home.”
“What?” She shook her head, nearly oversetting her balance. “Kitty…”
“Kitty gonna hafta wait. Go on home an’ tell ‘em…tell ‘em it ain’t
what it look like.” He smiled at her
tightly. “Je t’aime cherie.”
Jubilee experienced a wide range of
emotions in a few seconds: amusement, disbelief, anger and finally
annoyance. “What the fuck are you
talking about, Gumbo?”
“I’m gonna stay here a bit. Go on home an tell ‘em what I say. Je t’aime.
Je t’adore…”
“Remy…”
“Go on now. Mystique comin’ an’ she armed wit rabbit
food!”
“What?”
“Je t’aime!” he said again,
shutting the window firmly between them.
Jubilee sat on the roof, stunned,
staring at the sky darkening over the neighborhood. After several minutes of shocked silence, she said to the stars,
“I’m going to kill him. Not a jury in
the land will convict me…”
“What the Hell are you wearing?”
“It’s called a tunica, this is a
toga, this is a mantle, and these are sandals,” she said as if speaking to a
simple child.[2] “Now, come.
It’s almost dark and the moon is up.
Time is important.” She turned
on one sandaled heel and strode back down the hall towards the stairs.
Lance sighed and ced ced back at
Todd, who was hunched over something spread out across his desk. “I’m in love with a crazy woman, you know.”
“Better watch it, man…those pagans
sacrifice people.”
“Ha. Ha. Tell Living Dead Girl I
borrowed her Inkubbus Sukkubus[3]
CD.” Lance grabbed his jacket and set
off after Amara, who was waiting impatiently at the bm ofm of the stairs. “Where are you taking me?”
“Tacitus,” she said sternly.
“Damn it, are you going to speak
Latin at me all night?” Amara simply
glared at him. It was cold out, far too
cold for her to be wearing her light toga and tunic. And definitely too cold for sandals. The only concession she made to the chill in the air was to pull
her mantle across her shoulders as she walked resolutely on, Lance following a
few feet behind as she crunched through damp grass and headed towards the woods
bordering the lake. Once inside the
treeline, she veered to the thick copse of pines that was deemed off limits by
Logan for reasons he never mentioned.
Lance quickly saw why. “He knew
about this…”
Amara smiled mysteriously. “I have no idea what you mean…” In the middle of the copse, where the
moonlight was filtering through dark needles, there stood a flat stone table,
the sort used for picnics and lawn decoration.
However, that was where any resemblance to what Lance recognized as
“normal” ended. The table was painted
with symbols and hues he could only stare at, a silver bowl overflowing with
rose petals graced the center of what he now recognized as an altar. The golden-bladed knife next to it was the
only sinister note of the whole scenario, brining to mind Todd’s jif a f a few
minutes before. “Tonight,” Amara said
quietly, reverently, “I’m going to banish my old memories.” She held out her arms, palm-up, and closed
her fists. “I’m going to be rid of
these scars…”
“Amara…”
“I’m not going to ask you to take
part in a ritual for a goddess you do not believe in. I just wanted you here because…because I’m not so scared right
now and it’s because you’re here.” She
closed her eyes for a moment and turned her back to him before going to the
altar.
Lance watched in strange fascination
as she went through a silent series of actions that he could only guess at,
archaic and almost frightening in their intensity. He could not name a god he
believed in but he knew, watching her and her devotion, that he felt something
inexplicable, like the air around him was trying to become electric. It was over before he knew it, Amara
producing matches and a resin rock of incense from some hidden pouch in her
tunic. As she lit the flames in the
bowl of petals, he found himself crossing to her. “And?”
“I will heal.”
“What memories did you get rid of?”
“None of them.”
“But I thought you…”
“I asked, and She told me that I
did not need to. It was my fear of the
memories making me want to be free of them.
Memories are great teachers.” Amara licked her lips in nervous anticipation
and glanced up at the moon for a moment before saying, “There is another reason
I brought you out here.”
“Oh?”
“I need to make an offering.”
Lance’s eyes went wide as they
caught sight of the golden knife in her hands.
“Like…a sacrifice?”
“Oh, for the love of…” She rolled
her eyes and made a small show of placing the knife a safe distance away on the
altar. “What you call Pagans do not
make sacrifices of human bodies. Much.”
“Much?”
“I can’t speak for certain sub
equatorial tribes I’ve read about, but you are safe from me.”
“Then what did you mean by
offering?”
“Venus is the matron of many
things,” she began patiently, pulling him to her by virtue of his belt
loops. “Gardening, marriage, love…lust…sex…” She did not break eye contact with Lance as
she unfastened first the button, then the zipper of his jeans. “I could have made the offering on my own,”
Amara said suggestively, turning them so that his back was against the altar,
then dropping to her knees. “But that
would not have been nearly as enjoyable.”
She took his quickly hardening length in her hands and ran the very tip
of her tongue along the underside, tracing the vein there. “But you have to be willing for the offering
to be made…”[4]
He gripped the edge of the cold
stone table and closed his eyes, the combination of cold air, her warm breath
and the soft slide of her tongue against him making his heart pound. “I’m willing.”
“I was hoping you were,” she
murmured before closing her mouth over the first third of his arousal.
Lance decided that a belief in a
deity was a good thing if only to have someone to thank when receiving oral
sex. It took most of his remaining will
not to push into her waiting mouth or twine his fingers in her hair to pull her
closer, to make her take more of him into her warmth. “Amara,” he said thickly after several minutes of divine
torture. “Don’t you want to…”
She rocked back on her heels,
considering. “I don’t not want
to…It took me half an hour to get my toga on, though.”
“There’s ways around that,” he
replied, sinking to the ground before her.
She did not protest as he pulled her to him roughly, plundering her
mouth with his tongue, biting her lower lip as he sought to deepen the
kiss. Her hands were at his hips,
pushing his jeans down even as he laid her back against the wet grass. Her pearl pins scattered from her hair and
lay shining in the verge like tiny stars reflected from the sky, several
catching in her hair and putting Lance in mind of one of her goddesses. She drew her knees back and apart as he
pushed her skirts up to her waist, revealing a long expanse of olive skin and a
dark thatch of hair hiding the nectar of her sex. Lance could not bring himself to make a comment, to be
suggestive. The moment seemed too
ethereal, with the altar behind them, her anachronistic appearance, the silvery
moon reflecting from her eyes and skin and the pearls in the grass. Her lips parted to say something, but he
stopped her with a kiss, not as hungry as before but just as deep. As tongues warred for dominance, he felt her
grasp him and guide him within her, her body welcoming him with a silent sigh
from both parties. She did not try to
take control as usual but rather wrapped her arms around his neck and let him
set the pace, moving within her as he pulled her legs around his waist, trying
to get as close to her as possible. Her
eyes closed, revealing a sliver of white as she gasped for breath. Amara murmured something unintelligible,
something Lance thought sounded like a prayer, tightening her grip around him,
raising her hips to meet this thrusts.
He felt her release begin before his, her center spasming around his
member, trying to keep him within her as her dewy flesh shivered with ecstatic
climax, her back arching and her eyes flying open to meet his. She grew unbearably tight around him, her
body shaking with restrained moans and sighs.
He filled her, never ceasing to move within her until she gently pushed
him away.
It took her several minutes to
gather all her pins and replace them in her hair. “You’re quiet.”
Lance shrugged. “I feel kinda weird…wasn’t that like sex in
church?”
“I wouldn’t know. It was, however, a very good offering to
Venus.”
“That’s…okay…in your religion?”
“All acts of love and pleasure are
my rituals.”[5] She stood and smoothed her toga
ineffectually. “We had best get back
before someone comes looking for us. We’re
to be in our rooms by nine.”
Lance laughed softly, struck by the
unusual turn his life was taking, and followed her back towards the
mansion. “Rogue’s gonna want to see you
tomorrow, you know.”
“I know.”
“What’re you going to say to her?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I
figure that out myself…” She paused and
frowned, turning a slow circle, her eyes searching for something Lance could
not see. “Do you ever feel like we’re
being watched?”
“It’s nothing,” he sighed. “Just delayed paranoia.”
“If you say so…”
[1] Hm. My accent marks are wonky tonight. There’s supposed to be an accent over the
last e. Means literally “I have
returned.”
[2] Not using
the Latin names here. The dictionary is
soooooooooo far away… Amara’s clothing
is an amalgam of late Empire gentry and royal styles.
[3] Hee
hee…Pagan band goes mainstream.
Interesting sidenote…their contract for concerts has a rider which
states they need X amount of space to engage in group sex. Hmmm.
Now, I’m pagan but I’ve never requested that when asking for space for
events…
[4] Um, she’s a
lot more of a touchy feely pagan than most of us, lol…
[5] I know
at least three of you know that saying.
*G *
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch, and Uberbeta…We had the first meeting
between Imhotep and Beauregard. Did you know cats can hit C above C? ;)
InterNutter, TC and Maxwell Pink are squishy and lovely for archiving. J ProPhile is smutmusing his way through
elsewhere but he’s still nifty in his own way, lol. Readers/Reviewers: *EXTRA
GLOMP * And in the interests of me not
going bonkers writing a too-packed chapter, this one is Amara/Lance and
Remy/Jubilee’s scenes. 49 is going to
be Jamie/Rahne, etc…
“You’re too
close,” Jubilee hissed. “Step back!”
Remy raised
an eyebrow. “You tellin’ me how ta do
my job, chere?”
“Don’t be a
bitch. Just move…I need room to
work.” Jubilee edged forward a few
inches along the eaves of the Boardinghouse, wincing as the surface beneath her
feet creaked ominously. “Shit. Fuck this.
I’m going down and around.”
“Jubilation, don’ move,” Remy
said so softly as to be mistaken for a mere exhalation.
“Don’t go
overprotective on me,” she growled, tensing her legs for her jump to the
overhanging limb of a large oak tree.
“Non, cherie…we
got comp’ny.” Remy did not move but his
voice seemed to wrap around Jubilee and pull her back from the edge.
She
followed the direction of his steady gave and felt her jaw drop. Piotr followed Mystique in her guise as ncipncipal Darkholme into the house via the front door. He carried several bags from a local outlet
mall and she held a bag of groceries.
The entire scene was oddly and twistedly domestic. “The fuck…do you think Kitty sent him, too?”
“Non,” Remy
breathed. “Not hardly.” He carefully
backed away from Jubilee, easing along the edge of the roof with all the
stealth of a shadow. “Lissen…dere a
window ‘bout ten feet down de side from here.
Gimme five minute an’ I have it open pour tu.”
“What? No!
Remy, come back here!” She reached
for him but the roof creaked again, this time longer and louder. “Okay,” she squeaked. “But if I fall to my death, I’m haunting
ti
till I’m reincarnated.”
“Dat’s fine
by me, chere,” he said, flashing her a smile.
“Five minu[1]te.”
Jubilee
nodded faintly then concentrated on her balance. I still need to dye my hair one color…which one should it
be? I like the green… She blew out a harsh breath as the roof
creaked again. Damn it. Why can’t one of ‘em fix this house up? Shit.
I’m going to fall if I don’t move…
Carefully, she made her way the suggested ten feet down the line of the
roof, a bit dismayed to see that there was nothing within grabbing distance
should she need to jump or stop herself from falling. Five minutes. He won’t fuck up. He
might be twitchy lately but he won’t leave me here to die or worse. Jubilee felt a spike of nausea and closed
her eyes. Not the time to be afraid
of heights, Lee… Come on, Remy. Hurry
up!
“Je suis
retourne!” Remy kicked the door shut behind him and strolled into the den, once
familiar and now vaguely repulsive.
“Damn…y’all let dis place go ta shit.”
Mystique,
absurdly holding a head of lettuce, stepped out of the kitchen with a confused,
then angry, expression on her face.
“What the Hell are you doing back here?”
“Man can change his mind,
oui?” He shrugged in a very Gallic
fashion and sprawled on the dusty sofa.
“So what fo’ dinner?”
“Get. Out.”
“Or
what? You gonna trow dat lettuce at
me? Go ‘head.” Idly, he flipped the Queen of Spades between
his fingers, producing it in such a way that it seemed he pulled it out of thin
air. As Mystique seethed for one silent
moment too long, he stood and smiled charmingly. “I’m gonna take my ol’ room back.”
“Remy!”
“Lissen
here, Mystique…I’m de bes’ leader dis group ever had…you ain’t got no say in
tings far as I’m concerned. Gotta here
it from Maggie himself.” His smile
became distinctly feral. “You go on an’
call ‘im. I’m goin’ ta nap.”
“You
abandoned the Brotherhood to take up with Xavier’s students. You’re a traitor
to the cause!”
Piotr hoved
into view just past Mystique. He looked
as if he were ashamed, skulking in the shadows of the kitchen. Remy bared his teeth in a mockery of his
former expression. “Like I say…man can
change his mind, oui?” He did not
exhale until he made it to the room he had directed Jubilee to. Opening the
window carefully, he leaned out and looked up.
“Chere…”
“Remy! Thank every single god I can think of! This roof is shoddy… lemme in!”
“Non, p’titGo hGo home.”
“What?” She shook her head, nearly oversetting her balance. “Kitty…”
“Kitty gonna hafta wait. Go on home an’ tell ‘em…tell ‘em it ain’t
what it look like.” He smiled at her
tightly. “Je t’aime cherie.”
Jubilee experienced a wide range of
emotions in a few seconds: amusement, disbelief, anger and finally
annoyance. “What the fuck are you
talking about, Gumbo?”
“I’m gonna stay here a bit. Go on home an tell ‘em what I say. Je t’aime.
Je t’adore…”
“Remy…”
“Go on now. Mystique comin’ an’ she armed wit rabbit
food!”
“What?”
“Je t’aime!” he said again,
shutting the window firmly between them.
Jubilee sat on the roof, stunned,
staring at the sky darkening over the neighborhood. After several minutes of shocked silence, she said to the stars,
“I’m going to kill him. Not a jury in
the land will convict me…”
“What the Hell are you wearing?”
“It’s called a tunica, this is a
toga, this is a mantle, and these are sandals,” she said as if speaking to a
simple child.[2] “Now, come.
It’s almost dark and the moon is up.
Time is important.” She turned
on one sandaled heel and strode back down the hall towards the stairs.
Lance sighed and ced ced back at
Todd, who was hunched over something spread out across his desk. “I’m in love with a crazy woman, you know.”
“Better watch it, man…those pagans
sacrifice people.”
“Ha. Ha. Tell Living Dead Girl I
borrowed her Inkubbus Sukkubus[3]
CD.” Lance grabbed his jacket and set
off after Amara, who was waiting impatiently at the bm ofm of the stairs. “Where are you taking me?”
“Tacitus,” she said sternly.
“Damn it, are you going to speak
Latin at me all night?” Amara simply
glared at him. It was cold out, far too
cold for her to be wearing her light toga and tunic. And definitely too cold for sandals. The only concession she made to the chill in the air was to pull
her mantle across her shoulders as she walked resolutely on, Lance following a
few feet behind as she crunched through damp grass and headed towards the woods
bordering the lake. Once inside the
treeline, she veered to the thick copse of pines that was deemed off limits by
Logan for reasons he never mentioned.
Lance quickly saw why. “He knew
about this…”
Amara smiled mysteriously. “I have no idea what you mean…” In the middle of the copse, where the
moonlight was filtering through dark needles, there stood a flat stone table,
the sort used for picnics and lawn decoration.
However, that was where any resemblance to what Lance recognized as
“normal” ended. The table was painted
with symbols and hues he could only stare at, a silver bowl overflowing with
rose petals graced the center of what he now recognized as an altar. The golden-bladed knife next to it was the
only sinister note of the whole scenario, brining to mind Todd’s jif a f a few
minutes before. “Tonight,” Amara said
quietly, reverently, “I’m going to banish my old memories.” She held out her arms, palm-up, and closed
her fists. “I’m going to be rid of
these scars…”
“Amara…”
“I’m not going to ask you to take
part in a ritual for a goddess you do not believe in. I just wanted you here because…because I’m not so scared right
now and it’s because you’re here.” She
closed her eyes for a moment and turned her back to him before going to the
altar.
Lance watched in strange fascination
as she went through a silent series of actions that he could only guess at,
archaic and almost frightening in their intensity. He could not name a god he
believed in but he knew, watching her and her devotion, that he felt something
inexplicable, like the air around him was trying to become electric. It was over before he knew it, Amara
producing matches and a resin rock of incense from some hidden pouch in her
tunic. As she lit the flames in the
bowl of petals, he found himself crossing to her. “And?”
“I will heal.”
“What memories did you get rid of?”
“None of them.”
“But I thought you…”
“I asked, and She told me that I
did not need to. It was my fear of the
memories making me want to be free of them.
Memories are great teachers.” Amara licked her lips in nervous anticipation
and glanced up at the moon for a moment before saying, “There is another reason
I brought you out here.”
“Oh?”
“I need to make an offering.”
Lance’s eyes went wide as they
caught sight of the golden knife in her hands.
“Like…a sacrifice?”
“Oh, for the love of…” She rolled
her eyes and made a small show of placing the knife a safe distance away on the
altar. “What you call Pagans do not
make sacrifices of human bodies. Much.”
“Much?”
“I can’t speak for certain sub
equatorial tribes I’ve read about, but you are safe from me.”
“Then what did you mean by
offering?”
“Venus is the matron of many
things,” she began patiently, pulling him to her by virtue of his belt
loops. “Gardening, marriage, love…lust…sex…” She did not break eye contact with Lance as
she unfastened first the button, then the zipper of his jeans. “I could have made the offering on my own,”
Amara said suggestively, turning them so that his back was against the altar,
then dropping to her knees. “But that
would not have been nearly as enjoyable.”
She took his quickly hardening length in her hands and ran the very tip
of her tongue along the underside, tracing the vein there. “But you have to be willing for the offering
to be made…”[4]
He gripped the edge of the cold
stone table and closed his eyes, the combination of cold air, her warm breath
and the soft slide of her tongue against him making his heart pound. “I’m willing.”
“I was hoping you were,” she
murmured before closing her mouth over the first third of his arousal.
Lance decided that a belief in a
deity was a good thing if only to have someone to thank when receiving oral
sex. It took most of his remaining will
not to push into her waiting mouth or twine his fingers in her hair to pull her
closer, to make her take more of him into her warmth. “Amara,” he said thickly after several minutes of divine
torture. “Don’t you want to…”
She rocked back on her heels,
considering. “I don’t not want
to…It took me half an hour to get my toga on, though.”
“There’s ways around that,” he
replied, sinking to the ground before her.
She did not protest as he pulled her to him roughly, plundering her
mouth with his tongue, biting her lower lip as he sought to deepen the
kiss. Her hands were at his hips,
pushing his jeans down even as he laid her back against the wet grass. Her pearl pins scattered from her hair and
lay shining in the verge like tiny stars reflected from the sky, several
catching in her hair and putting Lance in mind of one of her goddesses. She drew her knees back and apart as he
pushed her skirts up to her waist, revealing a long expanse of olive skin and a
dark thatch of hair hiding the nectar of her sex. Lance could not bring himself to make a comment, to be
suggestive. The moment seemed too
ethereal, with the altar behind them, her anachronistic appearance, the silvery
moon reflecting from her eyes and skin and the pearls in the grass. Her lips parted to say something, but he
stopped her with a kiss, not as hungry as before but just as deep. As tongues warred for dominance, he felt her
grasp him and guide him within her, her body welcoming him with a silent sigh
from both parties. She did not try to
take control as usual but rather wrapped her arms around his neck and let him
set the pace, moving within her as he pulled her legs around his waist, trying
to get as close to her as possible. Her
eyes closed, revealing a sliver of white as she gasped for breath. Amara murmured something unintelligible,
something Lance thought sounded like a prayer, tightening her grip around him,
raising her hips to meet this thrusts.
He felt her release begin before his, her center spasming around his
member, trying to keep him within her as her dewy flesh shivered with ecstatic
climax, her back arching and her eyes flying open to meet his. She grew unbearably tight around him, her
body shaking with restrained moans and sighs.
He filled her, never ceasing to move within her until she gently pushed
him away.
It took her several minutes to
gather all her pins and replace them in her hair. “You’re quiet.”
Lance shrugged. “I feel kinda weird…wasn’t that like sex in
church?”
“I wouldn’t know. It was, however, a very good offering to
Venus.”
“That’s…okay…in your religion?”
“All acts of love and pleasure are
my rituals.”[5] She stood and smoothed her toga
ineffectually. “We had best get back
before someone comes looking for us. We’re
to be in our rooms by nine.”
Lance laughed softly, struck by the
unusual turn his life was taking, and followed her back towards the
mansion. “Rogue’s gonna want to see you
tomorrow, you know.”
“I know.”
“What’re you going to say to her?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I
figure that out myself…” She paused and
frowned, turning a slow circle, her eyes searching for something Lance could
not see. “Do you ever feel like we’re
being watched?”
“It’s nothing,” he sighed. “Just delayed paranoia.”
“If you say so…”
[1] Hm. My accent marks are wonky tonight. There’s supposed to be an accent over the
last e. Means literally “I have
returned.”
[2] Not using
the Latin names here. The dictionary is
soooooooooo far away… Amara’s clothing
is an amalgam of late Empire gentry and royal styles.
[3] Hee
hee…Pagan band goes mainstream.
Interesting sidenote…their contract for concerts has a rider which
states they need X amount of space to engage in group sex. Hmmm.
Now, I’m pagan but I’ve never requested that when asking for space for
events…
[4] Um, she’s a
lot more of a touchy feely pagan than most of us, lol…
[5] I know
at least three of you know that saying.
*G *