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163: Surrounded By Beasts, What Occurs Between A Boy And A Girl  Post: 11.14.2009Date: 11.27.2196 Time: Night Surrounded By Beasts, What Occurs Between A Boy And A Girl
The rain is clean. It washes the blood and sweat from our bodies without
dissolving our clothes. Don’t remember the last time I felt good rain like this.
Or maybe I’m just distracted by 2-85’s mouth on mine, my head spinning with the
power and strength in his body. His fingers comb my wet strands back from my
face, the coarse ridges of his fingertips sending shivers down my cheek and
neck. I cling tighter, lost in the sheltering heat of his body.
It’s the best kiss I can remember.
When we finally break it, we’re both breathing deep.
“I’m in love with you, syl,” is his whisper in my ear.
“I’m in love with you too,” I say, trying the words on for size, shocked at how
much truth there is in them. Long journey to this point, I can’t hardly believe
it’s true. A part of me is still holding out, refusing to believe it’s possible.
“Did you bring a shelter?” 2-85 asks, raising his head to the rain.
I nod. “I was planning on spending the night out here by myself.”
“I can leave—”
I put a finger on 2-85’s lips. “No. I want you here.”
“Good. I’m under instructions not to leave you alone anyway.”
I sigh. “I know. Follow me.” I grab his hand, walking back up the slope of the
crater. The eoas part for us, giving us plenty of room. Weird. This is really
going to take some adjustment. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to be dealing with
this. It is much too much.
(not telepathic)
I have many questions for the Sphek members when I get back. They have some
explaining to do.
At the edge of the crater, I take off my backpack and drop it to the ground.
That’s when I notice that the strap on my backpack is broken. Glitch it all. I
like that backpack. Maybe somebody can sew it back together when we get back to
the others. I retrieve the shelter from the backpack. It’s a self-expanding
structure that provides a cushion to sleep on as well as a thin canopy that can
be raised over the cushion to keep rain off the cushion and whoever happens to
be lying on it. The shelter expands so that there’s enough room to have two
people using it at the same time.
I remove my cloak and lie down once the shelter is setup. 2-85 lies down next to
me. It’s still raining, but we were able to get the shelter up without getting
the cushions wet. It’s not cold. I don’t need my cloak to cover me, so I fold it
and place it beside me, pulling the sever-whip from my hip and setting it on the
cloak.
2-85 takes my hand, his fingers playing across the surface of my palm. I wonder
how I got to this point—how I found myself able to care for a wirewitch in this
way. I hated them before. The technology infecting their bodies was abhorrent to
me. Sure, shea(3)va said that I didn’t always believe that—I’d been different
before I left Athara. Still, it’s a long way to go from sympathy to love. Even
farther to go from disgust to love. And that’s exactly what I’ve done. I turn my
head, and 2-85’s just staring at me. It should be difficult to determine what a
wirewitch is looking at since their eyes don’t have pupils and retinas and
irises, but somehow I can always tell. I know his gaze is all for me. Body feels
warm when he does that to me.
I want to kiss him some more.
And with no small amount of surprise, I find that I don’t want to stop at
kissing tonight. |
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Post: 11.14.2009 Date: 11.27.2196 Time: Night A Cliff, Precarious (ii) My narrow path has brought me here, to this place. This precipice, overlooking the night-filled crater, watches the restless creatures below as if it owns them and has gathered them together for protection. Lying here, the rain plinking against the canopy, holding 2-85’s hand, I don’t know where to begin. These feelings I’m feeling haven’t been this strong since…since…glitch. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about him. Glitch him. Squeezing 2-85’s hand tighter banishes those thoughts efficiently enough, and that’s a comfort. It means I shouldn’t be concerned about the past, only about the present. “How long is this going to last?” I ask. “How long is what going to last?” His fingers are distracting, intertwined with mine. “This. You and me. Us.” “I can’t predict the future, syl. But I’m not going to be the one to end it.” I exhale hard, closing my eyes, trying to come to grips with the conflict within me. I want him. Really badly. But I’m so flawed, so damaged, so…incomplete. I’ve betrayed my friends before, hurt them deeply. “I don’t know if I can do this.” “You mean be with me.” “Yes.” I’m glad I can’t see his eyes right now. Cowardice, is all that is. “Can this really work? A wirewitch and a…Driftling?” I almost said human, but caught myself. “I’m more human than you think,” 2-85 sighs. “I know you know that. You sometimes let yourself get confused, but deep down, you know it’s true.” I want to let myself agree with him, say it out loud, reassure him, but I can’t do it. I know the extent of his infection. I know what color he bleeds. His DNA is different. “Look at me,” 2-85 commands. I open my eyes. “Not just at my skin, my hairstalk, my eyes,” he says, “but at what makes me human just like you. My heart beats like yours. My blood flows like yours. I laugh just like you. I cry just like you. And I feel just like you.” “Feel?” “I care for you, just like you care for me. You do care for me, don’t you?” “Yes,” I say, because it’s true. God help me, regardless of my hesitation, my prejudice, I find that my feelings for him are strong. It’s stronger than infatuation. It’s love, and I can’t deny it any longer. Time is too short for me to allow denial to hold me back from what I want. And what I need. “I know you love me,” 2-85 says. “When we were fighting the eoas, you…did something to me, projected your feelings, your thoughts into me. They were so strong, and they overwhelmed me. That’s what happened to me. It’s why I stumbled.” “That’s not possible,” I say. 2-85 ignores me. “It was like getting punched in the head. I couldn’t get rid of what you were sending me. I should’ve been seeing eoas, but all I could see was a cascade of images that overrode my sight.” “I told you, I’m not telepathic.” “Whether you are or aren’t doesn’t really matter to me. What matters is that you affect me so strongly. You affect all of the wirewitches. We have some connection. Maybe we don’t understand it yet, but that doesn’t really matter either. What matters is that it’s there. Look, syl, you can control eoas. With your mind! Is it really a stretch to think that you can communicate with wirewitches?” I can’t even respond. I want to rebut him with every cell in my body, but I can’t come up with anything useful to say other than I just don’t believe it. And not believing in something isn’t really an argument for it not being true. “What I want you to understand is that I know how you feel about me,” 2-85 says. “The images you sent were…um, very clear on that matter.” Oh. I swallow a mouthful of saliva. I cringe a little when I ask, “What did I send to you, exactly?” 2-85 pauses, and his voice is low when he moves his head, his whole body, closer and says, “I can tell you…or I can show you.” All around us, eoas move uneasily. Completely lost in his eyes and the sensation of a finger tracing ridges in my palm, I mouth, “Show me.” I took the red pill because I wanted this, I know that now, knew it all along. Wanted this. With him. Glitch I’m in trouble. Can’t deny it, it’s a little scary. (just like the last time) 2-85 is kissing me then, softer than you’d think a wirewitch could kiss. The circuitstreams on his lips have gone gentle against mine. A flick of a tongue, lips gliding more easily now. Being a little scared doesn’t stop me from getting aroused. It’s a thin trickle winding from my lips all the way to my thighs. It feels good. And finally, it feels right. 2-85 comes over me, covering my body with his. Supporting his weight on his arms, I’m entirely trapped beneath him. His body is solid, and I let my hands wander. His hairstalk writhes like a snake across his back. When it slithers along the inside of my calf, my breath escapes in a uncontrolled hiss. When he pushes up, straddling me, a knee on either side of my thighs, I’m breathing heavy. “syl, forgive me,” 2-85 says. “We can’t do this. It could be dangerous.” My mind’s screaming. No. No! NO! Absolutely not! It’s taken me so much effort to get this far, to be able to accept what I want and what I’m doing. Nobody’s backing out! We are doing this. I will not be denied a third time. “You’re not going to hurt me,” I say, reaching for him. “You could get pregnant.” I exhale. Relieved. So that’s all this is about. “Don’t worry about that. I won’t get pregnant.” “You might. It happened before, and—” “No, you don’t understand. I took a pill. shea(3)va gave me a few. I won’t get pregnant today.” 2-85 doesn’t move for a moment. “You took one ahead of time?” “Yes.” “Then you knew that we’d…” Glitch. I sigh, loudly. “Take your shirt off, 2-85, then come back down here and kiss me some more.” 2-85’s grey shirt comes off in one smooth move. His muscles are too tempting not to touch. Metaskin travels under my hands. His hairstalk is the only hair on his body, so his chest is smooth—if the texture of metaskin can even be described as smooth. Whatever, I like it. “syl, you need to be wearing less clothes.” I agree. I mean, I still have my glitched boots on. 2-85 moves off me while I remove my boots, tossing them over by my backpack. My belt follows. 2-85 pauses, scanning my body up and down, deciding what to do with my cov (rin). I’ve got it separated into two pieces—one for my torso, and one for my legs. I’m practiced, but 2-85 isn’t. We could be here for hours if I don’t help him. “I’m thinking about cutting you out of the rest of it,” he says. Or there’s that approach. I can only smile and pull him closer to me, inhaling the scent of him. “Let’s do it my way,” I say, going to my knees in front of him. Better to stand, but there’s no room. Close, but not touching, I feel the core of me go liquid, realizing then the true intensity of my need for this, my need for him. “Here,” I say, reaching to my shoulder, where the small metal clip is that holds the end of the cov (rin) in place. It comes loose and I begin the slow process of unwrapping my torso. 2-85 watches. His hairstalk slides across the floor, the end touching my ankle. His hands come down to my knees. His touches are tentative, and I wonder if this is his first time. He seems confident. I roll the strip of material as I pull it from my body. My arms were already bare, the lesh (writ) there a burning reminder of who I am and where I come from. My shoulders are revealed first. I’m glad the air has warmed up. Even with the rain, it’s comfortable. 2-85 leans forward, planting kisses on my shoulders, following the path of the material as it leaves my body. Back and forth across my back and my front. The kisses he drops on the rise of my breasts have me fumbling, almost dropping the roll of material. My undergarments are black. I gasp as 2-85 gets bold and traces the top edge of the one across my chest with a finger. I finish unwrapping my belly, then start on my legs. I have to rise up off my butt to do this part. It has the effect of offering my chest to 2-85. His breath hot against the exposed skin, he kisses me there through the undergarment material. His hands trace mine as I unwrap my legs. Anticipation overwhelms me as our hands ascend. Fingers frantic now, uncovering the rest of me until the cov (rin) is on the ground in two spools of material. Kneeling before my lover, his lips at my breasts, his hands at my thighs, I put my arms around his waist and hug him to me. “You’re beautiful,” he says. Can feel something at my back. Hairstalk. Then I feel the garment holding my breasts relax. Holding my breath, metaskin sliding up the outside of my thighs, then hips, then higher to pull at the garment there. It comes free, baring my breasts to the moonlight and to the gaze of my lover. He lays me back, gently on my cushion. I don’t know where to put my hands, so I leave one at my side and raise the other above my head. 2-85 kneels beside me, sliding his hands up my legs, always stopping short. Learning real quickly now where I need him to touch me. But not getting that. He’s teasing. More desperate with every cycle of movement. I can’t help but sigh each time his fingers stop, centimeters from the thin fabric that covers me there. There’s a spot there that needs attention. Not sure exactly where it is, but it’s farther up than he’s going. “Stop teasing, glitch it, and touch me,” I plead. 2-85 laughs softly, his voice full of static and grind. “So impatient.” “I need you.” My body is throbbing, raw need echoing inside it. “Get your hands on me.” Somewhere in there, the being a little scared thing got replaced with a desire to go faster. Still a little scared about whether I can do this all right, but if he doesn’t touch me more real soon I’m going to burst into flames. Just know it. I grab one of his hands and press it to my breast. It’s intense, way too glitched intense, and the yell I release into the night is half surprise, half relief. My nipple is hard under his palm. The sensation of his metaskin there is incredible. It’s almost painful, but I can only press his hand deeper into that aching, yielding flesh. His other hand comes to my other breast without any further prompting. I grab his head in both hands when he adds his tongue to the equation. The suck of his mouth is heaven. From there, he kisses downward, onto the skin of my belly, down past my bellybutton, to the soft rise of my mound. I whisper his name in a desperate plea. Feel my hips lifted, then my undergarment is gone. I’m completely naked. Can feel his breath on me down there as looks up my body at me. “Beautiful,” he repeats, his breath a soft shockwave against my most intimate parts. I should feel vulnerable, naked and exposed like this, surrounded by eoas. Don’t though. Feel safe and protected with 2-85 here. Looking down my body, I see him hovering there. I wonder what he’s going to do next, where his touch will be, where his kisses will fall. “Your markings,” 2-85 says. “I assumed they were everywhere now.” He touches my belly, where the skin is still without taint. His fingers travels to the underside of my left breast, also unblemished. “Parts of me are still pure,” I say. “Let’s see what we can do about that,” 2-85 says, his eyes stilling. His hand between my legs. They spread willingly, of their own accord, letting him, begging him to discover all my secrets. Hands claw for something to grab onto as his fingers do amazing things. That first touch, metaskin on naked, slickened flesh is so wonderful, so new, there are tears in my eyes at the wonder of it. So unlike the island, and what happened there. That was wrong; this is right. So glitched right. Sighing constantly, I don’t know where to put my hands. Want to touch him like he’s touching me. Out of reach, so I settle for putting my hand over his, trapping his hand against me, feeling the shift and glide of his fingers within me. His hairstalk slides across the cushion. I grab it with my other hand and stroke it gently. 2-85’s breathing goes uneven. Eyes closing, smiling and straining, resisting the urge to lift my hips against the delicious pressure he’s putting against me, afraid I’ll disturb his rhythm. Yes, harder, deeper, more. Please don’t stop until I tell you to. Waited so long, need this, please. Been patient, been so frustrated. Couldn’t bring myself to do it myself. Please give me what I want. 2-85 is lying beside me now. I realize he’s completely naked. Now sure how he did that without me noticing. Then again, I’m pretty distracted, all I can really focus on is that sweet spot he keeps brushing his finger over. It’s like water behind a dam. Each sweep of that finger causing more liquid to pool, increasing the pressure, moving me one step closer. This cliff—the one 2-85 is pushing me toward with his hand, that finger, his whispered words wicked in my ear, with the foreign feel of him hard against my thigh—is one I’ve been at the edge of before. Right to the edge, but never off it. The pressure is incredible. I lose track of time. Mere minutes or an hour, can’t tell how long he teases and urges me. Pull his head down to kiss me countless times, hold his head while his tongue tracks along my neck, cupped my own breast in offering as he sucks at me, all the while, the fingers inside me gently coaxing me toward the end. “Let me touch you,” I plead, desperate to do something for him. 2-85 shakes his head. “Not yet. You need to do something for me first.” “What?” I ask, looking down my body. Can see his finger disappearing into me. “syl, you need to let go,” he says, rising up, sliding an arm around my shoulders and lifting my entire upper body so I’m squished up against him. He’s impossibly strong, and I’m so impossibly pliable in his embrace. Feel like I’m melting. The hand between my legs does something then. Oh my. So this is what— The world detonates. My climax—if that’s what this is—comes out of nowhere, slamming into me with all the power of a planetary collision. I’m screaming at the top of my lungs as my body spasms uncontrollably, clenching around his fingers in pulse after pulse of hot, wet release. Fingers clutching at his shoulders, his hairstalk, eyes locked to his, sharing my pleasure with him, letting him know that every shudder that flows through me is for him, all for him. Can feel my own spittle on my chin, splattering my breast. Fingers don’t still, continuously rubbing, drawing spasm after spasm out of me. Working my hips against his hand, the pressure spins through me, out of control, warmth spreading throughout my body, could die like this, jerking and twitching in his arms. 2-85 lowers me back to the cushion, aftershocks still shaking my body. He’s not taking his hand away, keeping his fingers soft and tender, dragging the pleasure out. He’s smiling. I really like it when he does that. Even after he removes his hand from between my legs, there are muscles inside me that are still seizing. Trying to catch my breath. Tears in my eyes, I’m crying. Glitch, didn’t think I could do that anymore. 2-85 lays down beside me again, his arm draped across my stomach, his hairstalk playing at my feet. I capture his mouth with mine. “I love you,” I say, a tear sliding from my cheek to his. “I really enjoyed that.” His teeth glow in the moonlight. “So did I.” I can’t believe how good that felt. Not possible to feel that good. I must be dreaming. Drifting in the afterglow of my orgasm, my own fluids cooling between my legs, my fears from earlier return. Not sure I can give as good as I get. I look over and down at him, where the length of him is pressed against me. Surely I can figure out what to do with him. That’s when I notice that the eoas all around are making some noises that I’ve never heard them make before. Grunts and songs. It’s not unpleasant—just new. I raise up on my elbows and look around. “What is that sound?” I ask. “It’s the eoas,” 2-85 says. “I meant why are they making that sound?” 2-85 peers into the night. After a second he asks, “Did you tell them to do that?” “I didn’t tell them to do anything,” I say. I can’t make out what the eoas are doing. Not sure if it’s my eyes not focusing because I just orgasmed my brains out or if I am developing really bad night vision. “What are they doing?” “syl, they’re making those sounds because, well, it looks like they’re mating. All of them.” |
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Post: 11.14.2009 Date: 11.27.2196 Time: Night Animalistic (i) Mind always thought of eoas as male. No real good reason for that, just was. Didn’t think much about how they reproduced. Though, since the Driftlings created them, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that they were all the same sex. Guess that’s not true. 2-85 was right. I can see them, now that I know what I’m looking for. Each eoa is paired up with another. The females have their heads to the ground, tusks dug in, their front set of legs bent while their back legs are wide and extended. The males mount their mates from behind, their front and middle sets of legs resting on the backs of the females. The males are singing as they thrust. It’s surprisingly tender—not at all violent like I might have expected. Wonder how they avoid damage from the bonespikes while connected in such intimacy. There’s a certain primal, animalistic beauty to their couplings. I feel a little voyeuristic, as if I shouldn’t be watching. I lay back, returning my attention to 2-85. “Do you think I had anything to do with that?” I ask, moving my hand down my side, then across my belly, reaching for him. Heart is pounding. (do you know what you’re doing, angel, maybe you should) (quit while you’re ahead) “Yes,” 2-85 says. “You always do. You’re at the heart of everything new and wondrous, syl.” My fingers hit him at his stomach. Pushing my body up, rolling over on top of him, straddling his legs, his body is ready for me, not ready for him yet, want to touch him too. Look him straight in the eye when I take him in my hand. He appears to be having some trouble breathing. He’s impossibly hard. The metaskin there is like nowhere else on his body. The ridges of the circuitstreams are there, endless patterns and paths, but the skin is softer, smoother somehow. Had been wondering if the metaskin there would be too rough for my body to take. No need to worry, the skin there is supple. The thought of it pressed inside me sends warmth trickling. I feel lightheaded. I stroke him slowly, because it seems like that’s what I’m supposed to do. His reactions confirm that. Letting my body lower to his, his length trapped between us, pushing against me, my lips are swollen pressed against his, tasting his mouth, the rough of his tongue. Shifts of his body under me—all that metaskin rubbing all of my skin—have me writhing on top of him, wanting something more, unable to articulate exactly what that is, or at least unable to initiate it. His hands stroke my shoulders, my back, my butt. Some part of me wonders if I’m sending off commands to the eoas even now. Is my passion bleeding into the air, arousing baser instincts in the beasts under my control? And what happens if that link just happens to go both ways? What then? I can’t take it anymore. The feel of 2-85 under me is so wonderful, so pure, so right—more right than anything I’ve ever felt. I should feel regret that I’ve given in, that I’ve let him touch me, undress me. I should feel shame that my first orgasm was at the hands of a technosite-infected wirewitch. I should feel loss that I’m going to give him a gift I can only give once. But I don’t. This is right. I know now. This is the way it’s supposed to be. Him and me. cyn(7)dar. Phoenix. They seemed right at the time. They weren’t. I thought I knew what I wanted. I didn’t. I was oh so very wrong, and I paid the price. Now, with 2-85 I thought it was complicated—a wirewitch and a human—but it isn’t. At the core of him and me, it’s simple. I am in love with him. He’s loved me through it all. Protected me through it all. He was patient, waiting for me to realize that I felt the same way about him that he did about me. Took me so long. Hated him for becoming what he is now. I’m a slow learner. Here, exposed and vulnerable, things seem simpler. I put my lips to his ear and whisper, “I’m going to put you inside my body now.” Pushing up on one hand, I look down at my fingers curled around him. Simple to talk about, perhaps not so simple when you’re as inexperienced as I am. Have all these feelings running around inside, and some book knowledge, but when it comes to the details, I just have to make it look like I know what I’m doing. 2-85’s hands go to my hips, raising my body up. I’m breathing heavy, guiding him to where I need him to go. A bolt of sensation shoots into me as the tip of him makes contact. There’s a second where I pause, staring at 2-85, fearing pain, but desperate for more pleasure. 2-85’s hands pull downward, putting gentle pressure. My body is ready for him, open, slick, and the tip of him presses inward. Mouth open in a silent scream as the pressure increases because there’s absolutely no pain, only mind-shattering friction. I release him from my hand, grabbing his hip instead, letting gravity do the rest. It’s so beautiful, the way my body slowly descends toward his, accommodate his entire length. We groan out loud together, my body settling against his, just a spaceship touching down for the first time on alien terrain. “I can feel…every inch of you inside me,” I gasp, needing to tell him some of what I’m feeling. It’s so amazing, I look down in wonder where our connection is made. Not enough, I have to feel. I put two fingers there, where our bodies meet. It’s a marriage of unbearable softness and unrelenting hardness. My fingers come away damp. Can you actually die from arousal? For a few seconds, I believe I could. Then 2-85 is moving his hips against me, and there’s that blessed friction again. I’m content to let him move, to bring his body up into mine. I’m passive, getting used to the movement, scared to move for fear that it will mess things up, start hurting, start feeling not as good. His hands still on my hips, 2-85 begins to guide me, teach me, moving my hips down against his as he moves up against me. The pressure and friction increase. At the apex of the thrusting, my breath comes out of me, can’t do anything to stop that, feels too glitched good. His hairstalk slides along my foot, then my calf, then my knee, up to my thighs and my stomach, till it’s teasing the tips of my breasts. It’s too much. I grab the hairstalk and crush it to me, trapping it between my breasts. My other hand moves over his stomach, needing as much of his skin against mine as possible. The night echoes with the song of the demon spawn and the muted impacts of my body colliding with my lover’s. I can feel him stretching me each time he pushes in. My body’s gripping him now, friction increasing, as if my body has switched from simply accepting the intrusion to attempting to keep it from leaving. There a spot there, where the pleasure centers at, where the metaskin creates a resonance of sorts. It’s a vibration I can feel through my whole body. Unique. Can’t be like this with anybody but a wirewitch unless you get some fleshwork done. But with 2-85, it’s all him. Movements more frantic now. 2-85’s eyes are exploding in swirls, flashing blue and silver. He’s building toward something. Thrill permeates me that I get to be with him when he’s like this—out of control for me, all for me. Working himself in and out of my body, I’m just along for the ride, unable to move effectively. The pleasure has a debilitating effect, making my knees weak and my arms only able to support my upper body. It’s all I can do to not collapse on top of him. “syl…” he whispers, some sort of realization crossing his face, hands leaving my hips, fingers clawing the cushion. “…I didn’t know.” “Didn’t…know…what?” I ask, forced to talk between abrupt breaths. He doesn’t seem to be able to answer. “Go ahead,” I say, bending over him, trapping his hairstalk between us, my lips millimeters from his. “I want to know what it feels like. You need to let go.” The thought of my body cradling his while he breaks pushes me closer to my own impending release. I grind my hips against his. That does it. 2-85 groans, hips driving upward, hard, so delectably hard, somehow deeper than he’s been before. I can feel him swell then, and for a moment, I’m not sure if my body will be able to accept the change in size. No, he’s bigger, but my body was made for this, designed to accept, accommodate and receive. I’m trying to find the presence of mind to breathe when the first massive spasm takes him. I feel it, deep in the core, secret part of me, the way the entire hard length of him jerks, the hot rush of fluid that sprays inside me. I can’t help it, I start emitting little yelps of surprise with each spurt. It’s glitched insane the way my body grips him, cushioning his violent release in a willing, intimate caress. “Beautiful,” I say, placing one hand on the gentle rise below my bellybutton, marveling at the eruptions still taking place beneath. I’m still breathing heavy, but I don’t have the strength to hold myself up anymore. I collapse on top of 2-85, liking the feel of being closer to him afterward, smiling as his body continues to empty itself into the depths of my womanhood. 2-85 strokes my hair. “I’m not done with you,” he says, his arms coming around me. Then, in one dizzying move, I’m underneath him, my legs curled around him. He begins to retreat, and that’s not what I want. I try to hook my foot around his thigh, but he smiles and moves my foot out of the way. My body sighs when the tip of him exits. A thread of blue fluid connects us, glistening. 2-85 pulls me up, till I’m back on my knees. He moves around behind me, pressing close. Feel fingers at the edge of my ears, tracing down lower, one hand cups a breast then tracks lower to the juncture of my thighs, hand at my back pushes me forward, forced onto my hands. I look over my shoulder, because I know what he wants. Shivering, because I want to give it to him. Spreading my legs, there’s a few seconds where I’m in the limbo of anticipation, my body aching for the touch of my wirewitch lover, my friend. Then his touch returns, and once again my body opens to accept the gift he’s offering me. Easier this time. He goes right in, all the way in, and I know that it’s not going to take much. Time is short. 2-85 begins to thrust. Pushing back, I grit my teeth with the sheer intensity of the pressure in this position. I’m making low grunts as we move together. I can feel my body tightening as it readies itself. Off to one side, in the distance, I watch as a male eoa, probably caught in the backlash of my lust, enters the female eoa kneeling down in front of him just as 2-85 pushed into me. The timing of our movements synchronize, as do the sounds of our pleasure. Feeling guilty, I can’t watch any longer. Turn my gaze to other things. The cushion below me, stained from our coupling. The sway of my breasts, the waves that flow across the skin there when 2-85’s body meets mine. The silent sever-whip and my torn cloak. My worn backpack and its broken strap. And there, on the ground, right next to where I dropped my backpack, is a small red circle, only about two centimeters in diameter. What is that? About three seconds from the second orgasm of my life, it takes a moment for my eyes to focus on the object and recognize it for what it is. A Skreamer. |
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Post: 11.14.2009 Date: 11.27.2196 Time: Night A Moment's Brief Remorse A glitched Skreamer. More accurately, it’s the Skreamer Phoenix tried to give me before I left him. I didn’t take it though. I threw it away. Glitch him, somehow he found a way to get me to take it with me. Snuck it into my backpack or something. That g’ekk. Glitch, glitch, glitch, mind’s filled with images I don’t want there, not now, especially not now, not ever. Kissing Phoenix, then undoing the zip tabs on my skinsuit, baring my skin to him, his lips at the tops of my breasts. The taste of Phoenix’s skin, my tongue flashing across his nipple. The thought of all that while 2-85 is inside me does strange things to me. I’m disgusted and intoxicated at the same time. My mind is telling me to stop, push 2-85 away so it can deal with all the data, all the emotions, the conflict. My body is adamant that I continue along my present course—use 2-85 for my own pleasure, let 2-85 use my body for his. I need to— Stop. Don’t stop. Stop. Don’t stop! Need to stop. You don’t want to stop! You love Phoenix. You love 2-85. Oh God, help me, I’m being torn apart. The sudden ache in my chest contrasts with the searing pleasure impaling me. I’m sobbing, but unable to actually cry again, tears unflowing. That glitched Skreamer glows, a dreadful reminder of what I’ve lost. “I did love you,” I whisper, then mouthing, “I’m sorry, Phoenix…” |
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Post: 11.14.2009 Date: 11.27.2196 Time: Night Animalistic (ii) I break into pieces then. Still drowning in a hideous mixture of ecstasy and sorrow, the raw physical demands on my body win out over everything else. Throwing regret to the wind, my body descends into uncontrolled orgasm. So glitched good, body clenching around him as he continues to drag himself inward and outward. I’m shoving myself backward at him, frantic to drive him deeper, prolong the wave-like pulses burning through me. “Please…” I say, not quite sure what I’m begging for. Feel him bending over me, his skin along the length of my back, his lips at the back of my neck. “What is it?” he asks, his voice vibrating along my ear, causing shivers to zigzag down my spine. Stop this. You love— Get this straight. I love 2-85. “Do it,” I growl through gritted teeth, my breath blowing harsh and guttural, misting saliva into the air. It’s just this side of pain when 2-85 clutches me to him and finishes. There’s that hot rush, and the sensation of barely being able to handle what his body is doing inside me, giving to me. My legs and arms are shaking. Head collapses to the cushion, eyes closed, body offered up as a vessel. He’s resting his cheek on my back, his breath a steady wind on my shoulder. I think somewhere in all of it, the automatic me took over. Guided my body to his, told me what to do. It’s in control now, absently rocking my body against his as our bodies descend back to earth. The eoas around us continue their songs. Satiated, I drift in a haze of extreme fulfillment. 2-85 and I disentangle, then embrace again, this time for softer, less urgent touches. The rain continues to fall around us. We doze, only to wake before long and explore each other some more. A part of me is greedy, scared that this is the only time we’ll have together. Want to go faster than normal, do things we’d save for later, if there was going to be a later. But no, time is short. I take another one of the red pills, just to be on the safe side. At some point, in the deep of night, I lose touch with what is reality and what might only be a dream. I lose track of the number of times he makes me scream, as well as the number of times I make him spill. At some point I use my mouth on him while he uses his hairstalk to pleasure me in a way I’d never imagined. Eventually, I sleep in his arms, completely safe and completely comforted by the calm. Shattered, when after a few hours I wake up and realize that my markings have spread to my stomach and my breasts. |
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Post: 11.14.2009 Date: 11.27.2196 Time: Night Creeping Curse Careful examination reveals that the only parts of my body that aren’t covered with lesh (writ) are my face and neck. (don’t forget the dots, angel, mustn’t forget those) The sun isn’t up yet, but the horizon is lightened, unearthly colors painted up there, blacks tainted with reds, grays sick with green. I’m standing naked at the edge of the crater, looking down into it, watching the eoas and trying not to think to hard about anything. My hand on my stomach, tracing the dark patterns there. I know it’s nothing to be afraid of, but it looks like a monster to me. I see eyes and fangs, and wings and talons, and great arms reaching out, upward, claws around my breasts, caressing me there in a way I don’t much care for. It’s a curse, and it’s creeping all over me. I’m Atharan; I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m supposed to have markings all over my body. That I didn’t have them originally was an anomaly, a mistake that’s now been corrected. My markings are darker though, more ominous than everybody else’s—at least that’s how I see it. I don’t know how to read them. em(0) would’ve taught me eventually. Not gonna happen now. Time is too short. My quest comes first. 2-85 has been quiet this morning, saying little except to tell me that he loves me. I smile, but any smile he returns is forced. Something upset him last night. I’m afraid to ask him what it is. I dress in silence. 2-85 helps me. My body complains a few times, my muscles well used. It’s the muscles that had never been used before that complain the loudest. For the most part, it’s a good type of ache though—a reminder of the special time we shared last night. I’m already trying to think of ways to get alone with him. Maybe tonight… I’m no longer a virgin. That thought brings a smile to my face, and when I look over at 2-85, it just gets bigger. “I’m with you as long as I live,” I say. 2-85 looks away. “And I with you.” “I mean it. I won’t leave you.” “I know you won’t syl. I’ve seen how you feel about me.” I grab his chin and turn his face toward me. “Tell me what it is then. What did I do to upset you?” “It’s not like that. It’s not anything you did.” “What then? Are you afraid of what JACK is going to say when she finds out?” 2-85 looks down. There’s a space between us that I want to close. Will he let me comfort him right now? “JACK will be a problem, as will the rest of the wirewitches, but that’s not it either.” I’m starting to get irritated. Don’t like the feelings rising up within me, but I’m powerless to stop them. I do love him, but at his base, he’s still a man, and because of that, I’ll probably never fully understand how he thinks. “Tell me.” “I think I should talk to the others fir—” “Glitch that. Talk to me.” “You always want to know right away, syl,” he says. I’ve never seen the look of utter sadness I see on his face right now. “You don’t give anybody a chance to work out how exactly to tell you something.” “Oh,” I say, taken back. It’s true, I’m as impatient as glitch. 2-85 pulls me into his arms, a tight embrace that threatens to take my breath from me. It feels really good, hugging him back. I think he’s crying. Tears splash against the side of my neck. “I don’t know how to tell you this,” 2-85 says, and his, normally filtered through the razor-edge vocal cords of a wirewitch is unnaturally smooth. It’s disturbing. “I felt it, last night, when we were joined. I’m not sure exactly how. I think because what we were doing was so intimate—it opened up a connection between us. I was more aware of you than I’ve ever been. I was laying beneath you, so close, so…in tune. It was amazing, special, but that’s when your body revealed something to me.” “What?” “I’m sorry, syl. The Nanzag poison is still in you, and it’s still working. I could sense it—see it. My blood isn’t having the effect it used to.” “No, it’s working,” I protest. “I feel fine.” 2-85 shakes his head. “You and I are just starting out. I want more time with you. I don’t want to lose you, and I’m afraid, but I feel helpless. Because I can’t save you this time, syl. You’re dying.” |
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Post: 11.14.2009 Date: 11.27.2196 Time: Night At Your Prophecy, My Ears Bleed You’re dying. You’re dying. You’re dying. Dying… How am I supposed to feel? I have no reason to doubt what 2-85 says. God knows I’ve been saved from death too many times to count. It was only a matter of time before something got me. Only this isn’t going to be one of those quick, painless deaths. Instead, slow and agonizing. None of that painless j’aa for (2)syl. No, she has to take the long, hard road every glitched time. That’s the kind of woman she is. It’s never easy. Ah…glitch me. “Don’t worry,” I say, stroking my fingers down 2-85’s hairstalk, knowing that he needs my comfort right now. The wirewitches may be changing, regaining some of what they lost, but it’s not all back yet. Most people would’ve tried to ease me into that kind of news. Most people would be trying to comfort me right now. Instead, he just told me the cold truth. I guess I pressed the matter, not giving him the chance to delay. Probably wanted to talk with JACK, have her break the news to me, girl to girl. Maybe that would have been better, maybe not. Never gonna know now, because the word is out: (2)syl is dying. Only now it’s a guarantee. Instead of some obstacle she can avoid, it’s an infected wound that medicine can’t cure. Hard to save your daughter, not to mention the world, when you’re dead. 2-85 grabs handfuls of my hair, his nose to mine. “I can’t lose you, not like this syl. In a fight is one thing, at least that I could blame myself. This…I can’t take the blame for.” He looks away. “I wish…” “Tell me.” “I wish I could witchkiss you.” He’s tried it before, back when it was instinctual, when it was something they didn’t really exercise control over whenever their coven was short a member. There was a time when I would’ve been offended by what he said, taken it as if he was trying to steal my humanity from me. And as true as that still is, I can see that his heart is truly hurting at the thought of my death. He’s just trying to think of any way he can to save me. If it would save me, he would’ve already tried to turn me. Part of me wonders if he’s known that his blood wasn’t working for some time now, if he planned to have sex with me solely for the purpose of testing whether more intimate contact would work where previous witchkisses hadn’t. Looking at his face now, the way he’s avoiding my gaze, makes me believe that even if he hadn’t consciously planned it that way, it was definitely on his mind last night. “I know you’d do anything you could to save me,” I say. “But if it comes down to the witchkiss or dying, you know what I’d choose.” “You’d leave me?” “I wouldn’t be the same as a wirewitch. The person you love would be gone.” “That’s not true. Look at me.” “You’re not Q’and’q anymore. I’m not in love with him. I’m in love with you.” Still amazed I can say those words without shivering. Still amazed how true they are. “I’m more like him that you realize,” he says quietly, but I think he’s trying to convince himself as much as me. “Listen, I’m not dead yet, so don’t bury me. I need to talk to dath(2). A girl’s got to have a second opinion. I mean, you’re not exactly a doctor. Maybe you’re wrong.” “I’m not,” 2-85 says, his voice resigned, “but you’re forgetting that Q’and’q was a Guardian-8. He did he share of doctoring.” “I’m not going to die easy,” I say, and now I’m trying to convince myself as much as I’m trying to comfort him. He crushes me to him. “You don’t know how much I want to be wrong.” “I have some idea.” I kiss his cheek. “Let’s get back to the others.” When the shelter is collapsed, I shove everything into my backpack. I stare at the Skreamer for a couple minutes, deciding. 2-85 is waiting patiently, but I don’t want him asking a lot of questions about it, so I pretend to be adjusting something with my boot as I pick the Skreamer up. It’s just a lifeless thing, only capable of doing one thing, and only once, and only briefly. It takes five seconds to activate the Skreamer, record the message, and then a nanosecond to pulse the message. The signal can be picked up anywhere in the world. At least, that was true before cyberspace fell. If they used to bounce the signal off satellites, then I’m not sure how well the round-the-world technology is working these days. Lot of things aren’t working anymore. Some still are. Only one way to find out which side the Skreamer falls on. Not that I’m planning on using it. Ever. Guess that doesn’t explain why I put the Skreamer into a pouch on my belt. I hold 2-85’s hand as we start walking back toward the others. The eoas seem calm. Still obeying my commands from the previous evening, they give us plenty of space as we walk through them. “Are they going to follow us” 2-85 asks. “I hope not. I certainly didn’t tell them to.” As we pass through the edges of the herd and beyond, none of the eoas seem to be taking an interest in our passage. I wonder if I’ve upset their way of life. Do they only do what I tell them to now. Have I overwritten their instinctual code with my own programming? And if I have, is that a bad thing? Will they continue to do what they’ve always done, or do I have to remind them to do simple things like eating? I stop and turn. Don’t hurt anybody. Be…normal. Pathetic, but it’s all I have. Hope it works. Cold yesterday, gonna be hot today. Glitched brainfried planet can’t make up its mind. It takes us over an hour to get back to the others. I can see the blood and puke discolored rays of the rising sun reflecting off the skin of the Scorp from a mile away. Several people aren’t going to be happy that I spent the night away. Think I can deal with them though. JACK, however, I am very concerned about. Every step I takes brings me closer to her. I don’t regret what 2-85 and I have done. It was inevitable. It was right. Of course, that might not matter. She’s a wirewitch and she leads the coven. Nobody will dispute that wirewitch custom just got violated. Multiple times. Multiple toe-curling times. Glitch, I’m in trouble. My fears are confirmed when I see JACK waiting for us. She’s alone. Everybody else a hundred meters behind her, where the Scorp still rests. I can see people moving around the camp. I don’t see any of the other wirewitches. I force myself to look right at her as we draw near. I drop 2-85’s hand though. “Hi,” I say. JACK makes some sound and her fingers twitch, issuing some signal to 2-85 that has him leaving me standing there to face her by myself. She walks up close to me, then backs off a step, as if she’s afraid to be too near. When she talks, it’s even more quickly than normal. “syl, I’m glad you’re back and safe. I was worried. We need to talk about what you’ve done, and we need to do it right now. I have to tell you what you have to do to prevent PIIX and 7-07 from killing you.” |
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