Stamps Bonus Story: Together
This story takes place in early December in the Third Year of the Addergoole School.
They had the evening to themselves, a feat that was harder to arrange than either of them had imagined possible. Mabina had spoken rather firmly to Liza and Megan, and suggested they find somewhere else to have the crisis of the night. They had told everyone they would be in Mabina’s room, that they should under no circumstances be disturbed, that after over three months at Addergoole, they deserved a date night and they were going to get it – and then snuck off to Cassidy’s room, not trusting their crew to do as they were asked.
Cassidy locked the door behind them and turned off the lights, leaving five flickering pillar candles to shed a soft glow on the room. He’d picked up – the floor was clear, at least – and there was a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket on his cleared desk.
“It’s not the Ritz,” he joked, and she smiled, liking him a little more for the nervous note in his voice.
“It’s wonderful, Cass.” It was, too, sweet, without being over the top, and just enough of a romantic note to make this seem less coldly planned.
“Eenh, I just shoved it all under my bed anyway,” he said, grinning at her in the flickering light. “Some wine? It’s supposed to be pretty good.”
“Please.” Or her nerves would get the best of her and she’d start hoping for a call from Megan with the latest crisis. If they’d been able to just come home after the first dance (or even the second or third) the way a lot of couples had, she might not be trying to swallow her heart now. But there’d always been a crisis, and she or Cassidy had found themselves consoling Shad, or Megan, or Liza, or Hadrian, or Vlad, or Oralee, or some other drunk, angry boy or weeping, despondent girl.
He poured two glasses – she noted that they were nice glasses, the cut-crystal goblets they kept in a locked case at the school store – of the wine, so red it looked black in the candlelight, and handed her one, pulling out the one real chair in the room, his desk chair, with the sort of over-the-top chivalrous gesture that he must have learned from Vlad.
She took the glass, murmuring “thank you” softly so that her voice didn’t quake, and ignored the proffered chair, sitting down instead on the edge of his bed, crossing her legs demurely at the ankle. He smiled at her, shoved the chair back under his desk, and sat down next to her, a few inches away.
“Here’s to the prettiest girl and the luckiest guy in the room,” he said, lifting his glass, that playful glint in his eye, daring her to take offense.
“To us,” she agreed, tinking her glass lightly against his. “And wherever that road might take us.”
He waggled his eyebrows at her in a manner almost lascivious and very silly, and tipped his glass ever so slightly to her in acknowledgement before sipping the wine. Taking a cue from him, she sipped as well, letting the flavor roll around in her mouth.
It was just shy of sweet, deep and rich-tasting, almost thick. Wine wasn’t common fare in Mabina’s family, but she was pretty sure that, whatever Cassidy had bought, it was good stuff. She took another sip, and then, feeling a little braver, turned to look at Cassidy face on.
He seemed to have had the same thought at the same time, twisting until his knees bumped hers. “You…” he cleared his throat, trying to cover a little squeak. Was he as nervous as she was? “You look really nice tonight.”
“Thanks.” Her face stretched with a smile she felt a little silly about having. Dressing up for a “date” in his room was a little absurd, wasn’t it? But she’d done it anyway, struck with a defiant feeling that tonight was going to be as special as she could make it, crisis-of-the-week be damned.
And, besides… “Wait ‘till you see the rest of the outfit,” she told him coyly.
“The rest…?” He looked her up and down, taking in the little ruffle of a skirt just barely decent, even sitting, the little sweater that went with it, the high heels, and she saw when her insinuation sunk in. “Oh! Yeah,” he added, “I seem to be developing a sudden interest in women’s fashion.”
His free hand snaked around her waist in response to her giggle, and he tugged her closer until their thighs were touching.
Kissing was easy. They’d found time – stolen time, really, from the insistent, constant needs of their crew – to kiss from time to time, between classes like junior high kids or on long walks around the tunnels, holding hands and kissing like some black-and-white movie. Even so, there was something more urgent, more special, about it tonight, the taste of his wine in her mouth and the feel of his hair under her hand, the privacy, knowing they wouldn’t be interrupted by anything short of a nuclear bomb.
Still, she pulled back after a few long minutes, his hand under the bottom of her shirt and hers snuck most of the way up the back of his. She studied his face, the little worried look he got as she pulled back, and bit her lip. There was more than one thing they didn’t have time for normally; there was never a moment to talk quietly together.
“Cass,” she asked softly, “do you think we’re ever going to Change? I mean… what if we don’t?”
“I’m sure we will soon,” he answered, but he didn’t sound all that sure, and she knew why. One by one, the Third Cohort had gone through the Becoming; even Oralee had, and was inordinately proud of her pointed ears and her cute little retractable claw-blades, mastering their innate magic abilities and the more complicated Domain Manifestations, while she and Cass were left behind, struggling with the most basic Workings. Professor Solomon had told them it would come hard, barely come at all, until their Becoming; at this point, he’d said, they were still basically human.
“But what if we don’t?” she insisted, not because she thought he had any more answers than her, but because it was the thought that kept her up at night.
“Well…” he said slowly, and she could see he’d spent time thinking about this as well, “then they kick us out. And we can leave this mad place behind, and just have a normal life,” he kissed her left cheek firmly, “and a normal relationship,” he kissed her other cheek equally soundly, “without the constant interruptions of a crew that needs twenty-four-seven baby-sitting.”
It sounded heavenly. “Cassidy,” she pointed out, despite herself, “your parents and mine live half the globe apart.”
“No worries,” he laughed. “We’re old enough. We’ll split the difference and get a place together somewhere in the middle.”
It was ridiculous. They’d only been dating, such as it was, since October. They hardly knew each other. But there was something about him…
“It’s a plan, then,” she agreed, and sealed the deal with a kiss. She was willing to believe that it would be okay, if he thought it would. It wasn’t that she thought Cass could fix everything; unlike Megan and Liza, she couldn’t stand the thought of hanging everything on the nearest man and trusting them to do right by them. It was more a comfortable feeling that they were a team, and together they could make it through even the weirdest crises.
She made a small, pleased noise, almost as happy with that thought as she was with finally having him in her arms, and pulled him closer to her, kissing him with renewed fervor.
This time, it was he who pulled away, not quickly, but after their kiss had gone on for some luxuriously long time, she half in his lap and his hands more under her clothes than over them. “So,” he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously, “didn’t you say something about ‘the rest of the outfit?’”
“That I did, Mr. Breidigan,” she replied, covering her nerves with her best flirtatious tone, “but you’ll have to let go of me for you to see them.”
“Well, that’s no good,” he complained. “When do I ever get to hold you like this?” He pulled her a little closer by way of demonstration.
“All night tonight,” she replied, snuggling closer to him. He was nicely warm, like a human radiator. A sentient radiator, at the very least.
“All night?” he asked, studying her solemnly. “You’re sure?”
She squirmed a little. He had to put her on the spot, didn’t he? It would have been so much easier to just go with the moment. But,
“Yeah. I’m sure.” She added, playfully, “it’s not like everyone doesn’t know why we’re here tonight, anyway.”
“Then,” he said, pulling her even tighter to him, “you can stay tomorrow night, and the night after...”
“Don’t push your luck, buster.” She put both hands on his shoulders, shoving ineffectually at him. “Take what you’re offered.”
“And I will, at that,” he smirked. He slid his hands down her arms to her sides, then back up under her thin sweater, pushing it upwards to bare her belly, and then working it further upwards at a tantalizingly slow crawl. “And I believe I was offered a fashion show.”
“That you were,” she agreed, lifting her arms to let him pull her shirt off of her, while letting her hair fall to further obscure her face. She hadn’t been surprised that the Addergoole School Store had a selection of lingerie that would make a hooker blush, but she’d been surprised at herself when she’d bought the hunter green bra and panty set, more ornamentation than clothing, and a little more surprised when she’d put it on under her clothes.
No more surprised, it seemed, than Cassidy, who “ooh’d” very softly, almost reverently, she thought, before reaching for the waistband of her skirt. She stopped him, one hand over his right hand, the other reaching for his shirt. “Tit for tat, Mr. Breidigan.”
“As you will, Miss O’Sullivan,” he laughed, and slid his shirt off, “though I didn’t think to wear anything under my clothes as nice as what you did.”
“Just what God gave you is plenty,” she assured him, and ran her hands up his sides and down his stomach. His skinny frame was more muscular than she’d expected, his skin smooth over hard abs. “Mmm... more than enough.”
He laughed, maybe a little nervously, and turned his attention back to her skirt. “Well, if that’s the case then, what God gave you should be plenty too, love. Let me help you with that?”
“Oh, aren’t you generous now?” She laughed, though, and helped him pull her skirt off. She stood as he unhooked it, letting it pool at her ankles, and, taking a deep breath, posed for him, letting him take in “the rest of the outfit:” black high-heeled sandals, thigh-high stockings with green garters, a tiny little triangle of lace generously called panties, and the little lace bra. Then, slowly, both to tantalize and so her hands didn’t shake, she unhooked the bra and let it fall to the ground. “Well? What are you waiting for, Mr. Breidigan?”
“Christmas, I guess,” he retorted, but he was already pulling off his jeans, his shoes having vanished while she wasn’t looking. “Though Lord knows, I could just take this image of you like that and hold it to me, and I wouldn’t need any other presents.”
“There’s one more tonight to... unwrap,” she reminded him. He was wearing silk boxers, all his protestations about fancy underwear aside, and she broke her pose to touch them, feeling the hard edges of his hipbones under the slick silk, and then the hardness that was not a hip, ignoring his sharp gasp. She looked up at him as she stood, grinning as wickedly as he ever did. “And a gift for me to unwrap, as well.”
She couldn’t be certain, but she was pretty sure he was blushing. She tilted her head again, to let her hair veil her face and conceal her smile, while she rolled her stockings down slowly, in a move she’s practiced in the mirror, and stepped delicately out of her shoes. “So, shall I unwrap my gift first, or shall you?”
“Me first,” he replied in a low, intent growl. He slid an arm around her waist, closing the scant distance between them, and kissed a line from her shoulder, down her collarbone and back up to the hollow of her throat. “I’ve waited all year for this present.”
“As – oh! – as have I, my dear,” she murmured against the top of his head. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his boxers as he found the tiny piece of elastic holding her panties on, and, before she could lose her nerves, pushed them down and off.
He beat her to it by a split second, the lace joining her bra and stockings on the floor, and he was naked against her, strong and firm and, oh, yes, ready. He kissed her again, first her collarbones and her throat again, her chin, and then, gently, her lips. And then he was neither slow nor very gentle, as his kiss grew in hunger and intensity and he held onto her hips with both hands.
He kept kissing her as he turned her around, his hands slipping down to grab her ass before he took hold of her hips again, steering her backwards until she bumped into the bed.
He laid her on the bed, following her down, his hair brushing across her chest as he kissed her again: forehead, lips, chin, nipples. He suckled and bit at her nipples for a moment, while she gasped, grabbing for his hips and ass in return, wanting to feel him close to her… inside of her.
He looked back up to her, his expression serious, somber, and yet at the same time barely containing his own need. “Are you sure?”
Crap, he’d done it again. She almost swore at him, but it would be unkind in the current situation. The last thing she wanted to do right now was think; if she thought, she might talk herself out of this. It was an awful big step, after all… “Yes, yes my dear Mister Cassidy Breidigan, yes,” she said, almost laughing, but feeling the urgency of it as well. His body was so warm above her, and so close, and if he let her think about it any longer, she might very well flip out.
Still, he was gentle, slower than she’d expected, restraining himself, careful not to hurt her, so she moved under him until she found the place where everything suddenly burst into fireworks of pleasure.
Her little scream seemed to be his cue, and he sped up, his expression losing anything but the urgency of his need. She arched, pulling at his hips, god, god, “God! Oh Cass, oh!” She rode up against him as the world went white with a blinding light from nowhere, and she spared a moment’s thought in the midst of orgasm to wonder what the hell was happening, and then the light faded, and, seeing spots, she lay back against the bed as Cass finished in one urgent thrust.
Still gasping, he looked down at her with a pleased expression that quickly turned into a puzzled one. Looking up at him, she wondered what he was seeing – because what she was seeing wasn’t so much puzzling as bittersweet. He had Changed, in the midst of their lovemaking, his features refining somehow, growing sharper, his ears turning into strange elfin confections, twisting at the top like the f-holes in a violin, his eyes slanted a bit at the outer tips, and golden, even the pupil just a darker gold.
“Cass…” she said softly, just as he said, just as quietly,
“’Bina…” She blinked up at him, feeling as if she were seeing two of him, except, no, the chin was a little more pointed, the cheekbones higher… was that her? Her eyes travelled down – his eyes travelled down – to golden-tipped nipples. His nipples. Her nipples. She realized, with a shudder, that she was seeing out of his eyes as well as her own, feeling with his hands… that was her hip, and there was his hip, feeling the lacerations from her fingernails, where sweat dripped salt into the wounds.
She laughed, or maybe he did. There didn’t seem to be any line. “Well,” one of them said, or perhaps just thought very loudly, “so that’s why we hadn’t Changed yet.”
And he finished, or she did, “No blasted privacy!”
She was warm under him, her body soft and strange and yet familiar. His body was comforting above her, foreign and yet as much a part of her as her arm. “We… oh…”
“Yeah.” They separated, carefully, like peeling themselves apart or sorting out grains of sand on a beach. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
“But, oh, God, the possibilities!”
Discuss
This story takes place in early December in the Third Year of the Addergoole School.
They had the evening to themselves, a feat that was harder to arrange than either of them had imagined possible. Mabina had spoken rather firmly to Liza and Megan, and suggested they find somewhere else to have the crisis of the night. They had told everyone they would be in Mabina’s room, that they should under no circumstances be disturbed, that after over three months at Addergoole, they deserved a date night and they were going to get it – and then snuck off to Cassidy’s room, not trusting their crew to do as they were asked.
Cassidy locked the door behind them and turned off the lights, leaving five flickering pillar candles to shed a soft glow on the room. He’d picked up – the floor was clear, at least – and there was a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket on his cleared desk.
“It’s not the Ritz,” he joked, and she smiled, liking him a little more for the nervous note in his voice.
“It’s wonderful, Cass.” It was, too, sweet, without being over the top, and just enough of a romantic note to make this seem less coldly planned.
“Eenh, I just shoved it all under my bed anyway,” he said, grinning at her in the flickering light. “Some wine? It’s supposed to be pretty good.”
“Please.” Or her nerves would get the best of her and she’d start hoping for a call from Megan with the latest crisis. If they’d been able to just come home after the first dance (or even the second or third) the way a lot of couples had, she might not be trying to swallow her heart now. But there’d always been a crisis, and she or Cassidy had found themselves consoling Shad, or Megan, or Liza, or Hadrian, or Vlad, or Oralee, or some other drunk, angry boy or weeping, despondent girl.
He poured two glasses – she noted that they were nice glasses, the cut-crystal goblets they kept in a locked case at the school store – of the wine, so red it looked black in the candlelight, and handed her one, pulling out the one real chair in the room, his desk chair, with the sort of over-the-top chivalrous gesture that he must have learned from Vlad.
She took the glass, murmuring “thank you” softly so that her voice didn’t quake, and ignored the proffered chair, sitting down instead on the edge of his bed, crossing her legs demurely at the ankle. He smiled at her, shoved the chair back under his desk, and sat down next to her, a few inches away.
“Here’s to the prettiest girl and the luckiest guy in the room,” he said, lifting his glass, that playful glint in his eye, daring her to take offense.
“To us,” she agreed, tinking her glass lightly against his. “And wherever that road might take us.”
He waggled his eyebrows at her in a manner almost lascivious and very silly, and tipped his glass ever so slightly to her in acknowledgement before sipping the wine. Taking a cue from him, she sipped as well, letting the flavor roll around in her mouth.
It was just shy of sweet, deep and rich-tasting, almost thick. Wine wasn’t common fare in Mabina’s family, but she was pretty sure that, whatever Cassidy had bought, it was good stuff. She took another sip, and then, feeling a little braver, turned to look at Cassidy face on.
He seemed to have had the same thought at the same time, twisting until his knees bumped hers. “You…” he cleared his throat, trying to cover a little squeak. Was he as nervous as she was? “You look really nice tonight.”
“Thanks.” Her face stretched with a smile she felt a little silly about having. Dressing up for a “date” in his room was a little absurd, wasn’t it? But she’d done it anyway, struck with a defiant feeling that tonight was going to be as special as she could make it, crisis-of-the-week be damned.
And, besides… “Wait ‘till you see the rest of the outfit,” she told him coyly.
“The rest…?” He looked her up and down, taking in the little ruffle of a skirt just barely decent, even sitting, the little sweater that went with it, the high heels, and she saw when her insinuation sunk in. “Oh! Yeah,” he added, “I seem to be developing a sudden interest in women’s fashion.”
His free hand snaked around her waist in response to her giggle, and he tugged her closer until their thighs were touching.
Kissing was easy. They’d found time – stolen time, really, from the insistent, constant needs of their crew – to kiss from time to time, between classes like junior high kids or on long walks around the tunnels, holding hands and kissing like some black-and-white movie. Even so, there was something more urgent, more special, about it tonight, the taste of his wine in her mouth and the feel of his hair under her hand, the privacy, knowing they wouldn’t be interrupted by anything short of a nuclear bomb.
Still, she pulled back after a few long minutes, his hand under the bottom of her shirt and hers snuck most of the way up the back of his. She studied his face, the little worried look he got as she pulled back, and bit her lip. There was more than one thing they didn’t have time for normally; there was never a moment to talk quietly together.
“Cass,” she asked softly, “do you think we’re ever going to Change? I mean… what if we don’t?”
“I’m sure we will soon,” he answered, but he didn’t sound all that sure, and she knew why. One by one, the Third Cohort had gone through the Becoming; even Oralee had, and was inordinately proud of her pointed ears and her cute little retractable claw-blades, mastering their innate magic abilities and the more complicated Domain Manifestations, while she and Cass were left behind, struggling with the most basic Workings. Professor Solomon had told them it would come hard, barely come at all, until their Becoming; at this point, he’d said, they were still basically human.
“But what if we don’t?” she insisted, not because she thought he had any more answers than her, but because it was the thought that kept her up at night.
“Well…” he said slowly, and she could see he’d spent time thinking about this as well, “then they kick us out. And we can leave this mad place behind, and just have a normal life,” he kissed her left cheek firmly, “and a normal relationship,” he kissed her other cheek equally soundly, “without the constant interruptions of a crew that needs twenty-four-seven baby-sitting.”
It sounded heavenly. “Cassidy,” she pointed out, despite herself, “your parents and mine live half the globe apart.”
“No worries,” he laughed. “We’re old enough. We’ll split the difference and get a place together somewhere in the middle.”
It was ridiculous. They’d only been dating, such as it was, since October. They hardly knew each other. But there was something about him…
“It’s a plan, then,” she agreed, and sealed the deal with a kiss. She was willing to believe that it would be okay, if he thought it would. It wasn’t that she thought Cass could fix everything; unlike Megan and Liza, she couldn’t stand the thought of hanging everything on the nearest man and trusting them to do right by them. It was more a comfortable feeling that they were a team, and together they could make it through even the weirdest crises.
She made a small, pleased noise, almost as happy with that thought as she was with finally having him in her arms, and pulled him closer to her, kissing him with renewed fervor.
This time, it was he who pulled away, not quickly, but after their kiss had gone on for some luxuriously long time, she half in his lap and his hands more under her clothes than over them. “So,” he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously, “didn’t you say something about ‘the rest of the outfit?’”
“That I did, Mr. Breidigan,” she replied, covering her nerves with her best flirtatious tone, “but you’ll have to let go of me for you to see them.”
“Well, that’s no good,” he complained. “When do I ever get to hold you like this?” He pulled her a little closer by way of demonstration.
“All night tonight,” she replied, snuggling closer to him. He was nicely warm, like a human radiator. A sentient radiator, at the very least.
“All night?” he asked, studying her solemnly. “You’re sure?”
She squirmed a little. He had to put her on the spot, didn’t he? It would have been so much easier to just go with the moment. But,
“Yeah. I’m sure.” She added, playfully, “it’s not like everyone doesn’t know why we’re here tonight, anyway.”
“Then,” he said, pulling her even tighter to him, “you can stay tomorrow night, and the night after...”
“Don’t push your luck, buster.” She put both hands on his shoulders, shoving ineffectually at him. “Take what you’re offered.”
“And I will, at that,” he smirked. He slid his hands down her arms to her sides, then back up under her thin sweater, pushing it upwards to bare her belly, and then working it further upwards at a tantalizingly slow crawl. “And I believe I was offered a fashion show.”
“That you were,” she agreed, lifting her arms to let him pull her shirt off of her, while letting her hair fall to further obscure her face. She hadn’t been surprised that the Addergoole School Store had a selection of lingerie that would make a hooker blush, but she’d been surprised at herself when she’d bought the hunter green bra and panty set, more ornamentation than clothing, and a little more surprised when she’d put it on under her clothes.
No more surprised, it seemed, than Cassidy, who “ooh’d” very softly, almost reverently, she thought, before reaching for the waistband of her skirt. She stopped him, one hand over his right hand, the other reaching for his shirt. “Tit for tat, Mr. Breidigan.”
“As you will, Miss O’Sullivan,” he laughed, and slid his shirt off, “though I didn’t think to wear anything under my clothes as nice as what you did.”
“Just what God gave you is plenty,” she assured him, and ran her hands up his sides and down his stomach. His skinny frame was more muscular than she’d expected, his skin smooth over hard abs. “Mmm... more than enough.”
He laughed, maybe a little nervously, and turned his attention back to her skirt. “Well, if that’s the case then, what God gave you should be plenty too, love. Let me help you with that?”
“Oh, aren’t you generous now?” She laughed, though, and helped him pull her skirt off. She stood as he unhooked it, letting it pool at her ankles, and, taking a deep breath, posed for him, letting him take in “the rest of the outfit:” black high-heeled sandals, thigh-high stockings with green garters, a tiny little triangle of lace generously called panties, and the little lace bra. Then, slowly, both to tantalize and so her hands didn’t shake, she unhooked the bra and let it fall to the ground. “Well? What are you waiting for, Mr. Breidigan?”
“Christmas, I guess,” he retorted, but he was already pulling off his jeans, his shoes having vanished while she wasn’t looking. “Though Lord knows, I could just take this image of you like that and hold it to me, and I wouldn’t need any other presents.”
“There’s one more tonight to... unwrap,” she reminded him. He was wearing silk boxers, all his protestations about fancy underwear aside, and she broke her pose to touch them, feeling the hard edges of his hipbones under the slick silk, and then the hardness that was not a hip, ignoring his sharp gasp. She looked up at him as she stood, grinning as wickedly as he ever did. “And a gift for me to unwrap, as well.”
She couldn’t be certain, but she was pretty sure he was blushing. She tilted her head again, to let her hair veil her face and conceal her smile, while she rolled her stockings down slowly, in a move she’s practiced in the mirror, and stepped delicately out of her shoes. “So, shall I unwrap my gift first, or shall you?”
“Me first,” he replied in a low, intent growl. He slid an arm around her waist, closing the scant distance between them, and kissed a line from her shoulder, down her collarbone and back up to the hollow of her throat. “I’ve waited all year for this present.”
“As – oh! – as have I, my dear,” she murmured against the top of his head. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his boxers as he found the tiny piece of elastic holding her panties on, and, before she could lose her nerves, pushed them down and off.
He beat her to it by a split second, the lace joining her bra and stockings on the floor, and he was naked against her, strong and firm and, oh, yes, ready. He kissed her again, first her collarbones and her throat again, her chin, and then, gently, her lips. And then he was neither slow nor very gentle, as his kiss grew in hunger and intensity and he held onto her hips with both hands.
He kept kissing her as he turned her around, his hands slipping down to grab her ass before he took hold of her hips again, steering her backwards until she bumped into the bed.
He laid her on the bed, following her down, his hair brushing across her chest as he kissed her again: forehead, lips, chin, nipples. He suckled and bit at her nipples for a moment, while she gasped, grabbing for his hips and ass in return, wanting to feel him close to her… inside of her.
He looked back up to her, his expression serious, somber, and yet at the same time barely containing his own need. “Are you sure?”
Crap, he’d done it again. She almost swore at him, but it would be unkind in the current situation. The last thing she wanted to do right now was think; if she thought, she might talk herself out of this. It was an awful big step, after all… “Yes, yes my dear Mister Cassidy Breidigan, yes,” she said, almost laughing, but feeling the urgency of it as well. His body was so warm above her, and so close, and if he let her think about it any longer, she might very well flip out.
Still, he was gentle, slower than she’d expected, restraining himself, careful not to hurt her, so she moved under him until she found the place where everything suddenly burst into fireworks of pleasure.
Her little scream seemed to be his cue, and he sped up, his expression losing anything but the urgency of his need. She arched, pulling at his hips, god, god, “God! Oh Cass, oh!” She rode up against him as the world went white with a blinding light from nowhere, and she spared a moment’s thought in the midst of orgasm to wonder what the hell was happening, and then the light faded, and, seeing spots, she lay back against the bed as Cass finished in one urgent thrust.
Still gasping, he looked down at her with a pleased expression that quickly turned into a puzzled one. Looking up at him, she wondered what he was seeing – because what she was seeing wasn’t so much puzzling as bittersweet. He had Changed, in the midst of their lovemaking, his features refining somehow, growing sharper, his ears turning into strange elfin confections, twisting at the top like the f-holes in a violin, his eyes slanted a bit at the outer tips, and golden, even the pupil just a darker gold.
“Cass…” she said softly, just as he said, just as quietly,
“’Bina…” She blinked up at him, feeling as if she were seeing two of him, except, no, the chin was a little more pointed, the cheekbones higher… was that her? Her eyes travelled down – his eyes travelled down – to golden-tipped nipples. His nipples. Her nipples. She realized, with a shudder, that she was seeing out of his eyes as well as her own, feeling with his hands… that was her hip, and there was his hip, feeling the lacerations from her fingernails, where sweat dripped salt into the wounds.
She laughed, or maybe he did. There didn’t seem to be any line. “Well,” one of them said, or perhaps just thought very loudly, “so that’s why we hadn’t Changed yet.”
And he finished, or she did, “No blasted privacy!”
She was warm under him, her body soft and strange and yet familiar. His body was comforting above her, foreign and yet as much a part of her as her arm. “We… oh…”
“Yeah.” They separated, carefully, like peeling themselves apart or sorting out grains of sand on a beach. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
“But, oh, God, the possibilities!”
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