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Lyon had admittedly been surprised when his beloved came to him late in the night, uninvited but not unwelcome. The priest had just changed into his nightwear and was about to snuff out several of the candles that illuminated his modest-but-comfortable bedroom when suddenly his door flew open, hard enough to hit the wall. Lyon jumped, dropping his brass candle douter and whipping around to see a head of bright green curls barrel through. The woman they belonged to didn’t speak to him, immediately spinning on her heels to slam his door shut with a bang.
Before Lyon could ask what in Sol’s name was happening, Holiday rushed over to his bed, flinging back the covers to crawl in and hide herself under them. She said nothing, and though she could quite literally turn invisible if she wished to, it seemed her intention was to blend in with the furniture.
Concerned now, Lyon walked to his bed with quiet footsteps, as if he were trying to approach a frightened animal. “Miracle?” he asked, softly calling to her. She did not answer, so he sat gingerly on the edge of his mattress to get closer.
With one hand planted on the bed, the other reached out and grabbed hold of the blanket, lifting it until he could finally see the face of his intruder. Two green eyes, softly glowing, peeked at him under wet lashes. Even with the inadequate lighting, Lyon could tell a violent blush had taken over her cheeks, and her eyebrows were drawn together in the middle. Holiday tightly held the blanket around her head, with only a few flyaways peeking through to frame her face.
Lyon blew a small sigh of relief. He knew this expression well; his little souris was neither angry nor hurt, just thoroughly embarrassed. Not an uncommon occurrence, as Holiday could be quite shy and quick to fluster, making her a perfect target for mischief-makers. Lyon himself had unwittingly taken up the hobby of teasing her—a dangerous game for them both, as it turns out.
Lyon smiled softly at his lover. “Hello,” he greeted her with warmth, a dash of amusement in his tone.
“... Hi,” she replied sheepishly. Her gaze darted from his to what was around her, unable to hold eye contact. “As if I had not made enough of a fool of myself… please forgive me for intruding.”
“Hush, throw such thoughts away and be done with them.” With her face successfully revealed to him, Lyon could move his hand to her hair, taking a textured curl between his fingers to tuck behind her ear. “Just as this room is a respite to me, so too can it provide you sanctuary. I am moved that you would come here for shelter, souris. These walls will always welcome you.”
He smoothed a calloused palm down her cheek, lightly cupping her heated face. A small hum of satisfaction left him when she leaned into the touch, her eyes shutting as she breathed him in. Lyon brushed his thumb back and forth across her cheek, soothing, waiting for her grip to loosen on the blanket before continuing.
“Will you tell me what ails you?” Lyon prompted.
Having briefly forgotten why she had fled here, Holiday startled at the question. “I—I do not even know where to begin.”
“From the beginning, I believe.”
“... You would think me depraved.”
A blonde eyebrow raised, interest piqued. “Now I must know what has convinced you of such a thing. Speak.”
Holiday scrutinized him for a moment, then sighed in resignation, abandoning her hold on Lyon’s blanket to properly raise herself up to a kneeling position, the fabric falling behind her. One of her hands rested on his own, holding him to her cheek, while the other loosely held his wrist. Lyon could now see she was in her own sleepwear—a loose garment, somewhere between a shirt and a tunic, length ending mid-thigh, the top falling enticingly over one shoulder. Lyon inhaled through his nose, trying not to let his focus wander from her face. If she were depraved, he was truly damned.
With shame in her eyes, she held Lyon’s gaze. “I know it is an unfair request, but please… do not be angry with me.”
So, Holiday recounted the tale of ten minutes ago, of how she had stalked to the Sanctum kitchen to make a cup of tea before bed. Innocent enough, until she heard the repeated sounds of collision a couple of rooms over. Tea in hand, she went to investigate, feet taking her to Orion’s room. The lavender had already begun to unfocus her mind, and so she failed to register the quiet moans coming from the cracked door. She had sobered almost immediately upon witnessing the eroticism taking place. Unable to look away, equally entranced and mortified, Holiday watched. Roathe clocking her did not stop either party, and she only came to her senses after Orion had given him yet another orgasm, her head lifting to finally take notice of the other Drifter. Holiday had sprinted straight to Lyon’s room afterwards.
Lyon felt that the detailed descriptions of Roathe’s behaviors during sex were unneeded, a part of him vexed with how fixated Holiday seemed to be on him. Lyon had not thought himself the jealous type—despite all the ways he felt inadequate for her, he knew she would not stray from him—yet imagining his dearest one entranced by the blue-skinned devil in any capacity left him feeling irate. There was an itch that wanted to be scratched, a familiar desire to clutch hold of his paramour and leave her breathless, to make sure she would not utter the name of anyone besides his for the remainder of the night.
It was due to that slight aggravation that it took him a moment to realize how Holiday had subtly shifted throughout her confession. At the beginning, she had stuttered quite a bit, pushing through her shame to get the words out. But as soon as she spoke of Roathe, her gaze slightly unfocused, her sentences became clearer.
Holiday was no longer simply narrating events as they happened. Now, she seemed almost lost to a train of thought she couldn’t stop. Now, she spoke of her emotions, not her actions.
“I had never seen him so… unburdened,” she said. Her eyes had left Lyon’s at some point, glazed over as they settled on something unimportant. “Trapped within Orion’s machinations, yet he was freedom itself. No longer tied down by his own mind, brought to peaks so high all else seemed minuscule… it was beautiful. A beautiful feeling to witness.”
Lyons eyebrows furrowed as he focused on her wording. Not a beautiful man. A beautiful feeling. Unburdened. Freedom. There was something more here, the words that were spoken pointing him towards the words that weren’t. He looked back at his and Holiday’s entanglements with new eyes, and wished to curse himself for his own naïveté.
They were certainly not prudish, not with how many surfaces Lyon and Holiday had sullied with their activities, yet the max he had seen her cum in a session was twice. There was never a need to go further, and Lyon realized why that was.
He was still holding her to human standards.
Lyon was not the most experienced with relationships, only having one partner before Holiday. The word partner was used loosely here, as the two of them had held no romantic feelings for each other. She had been a fellow disciple of the Luminary Orthodoxy, who had seen him and his struggles and came to him with a proposition of relief for the both of them. Lyon was a weaker man then, and had accepted.
They hadn’t even liked each other all that much. She was much too loud for his tastes, too arrogant, and she found him awkward and slightly unhinged. But in the bedroom, they made it work. Eventually she had earned the title of Sister, and was shipped off to a church somewhere in northern Gaule. They had not said goodbye.
She had always preferred two orgasms before going to wash up, Lyon only once, both too tired to continue beyond that.
But Holiday was not human; none of the Drifters were. Products of the future and ‘children of the void’, they could run faster, jump higher, and fight longer than any being from his time. Certainly, his Holiday could reach those same heights the demon did, perhaps even surpass them.
Unintentionally, Holiday had thrown a gauntlet between them. He knew now why she had been so beguiled by Roathe, by the state he had been reduced to. There was a challenge for Lyon to answer, one he should have risen to a long time ago, and he lamented his own density. His fingers, having moved back to his side during her spiel, clenched.
The woman herself was fidgeting in front of him, thumbs twiddling in her lap. She was still knelt on his bed, head lowered, loose afro-textured curls spilling past her shoulders, voluminous and wild.
Her eyes lifted from her hands to peer at him, a look of worry still plastered on her face. “I—I am so sorry, Lyon… if you are angry with me, or wish me to leave, I—”
“Non. Non, absolutely not,” he interrupted. He realized with his harsh expression and clenched fist he must look terribly cross. “The fault lies not with you, amante, and not with our resident devil. No, the blame is mine.”
Holiday looked up at him fully now, blinking in surprise. “Yours? What—oh!”
She had cut herself off as Lyon finally moved, and she scooted back on her knees to make room for him. With them both in the middle of the bed, facing one another, his posture mirroring hers and close enough for their knees to touch, Lyon could finally reach out to his beloved with both hands. One infested arm wound up her clothed back, fingers splaying between her shoulder blades. His other hand danced up her collarbone, sliding across her neck to cradle the side of her jaw.
Lyon felt her breath hitch as he pulled her towards him. Confusion and trepidation still made her hesitant, but she had always been easily excitable, and blessedly reactive to his touch. He hoped to discover just how reactive she could be, if she would allow him the privilege.
Her own hands came up to rest on his chest, and—Lua curse her, she started to worry her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Pardonne-moi, ma souris,” Lyon spoke when their faces were mere inches apart, his breath ghosting across her lips. “Tonight, I shall serve you, as I was always meant to. Think of nothing else, save for my voice and my touch. The world beyond these four walls is void.”
Holiday shivered in his hold, her nails lightly digging into him. “When you speak to me this way, Lyon… I—I can hardly think straight.”
“Lose yourself in me, Holiday. That is all I ask.”
One of them had finally closed the distance, and Holiday’s hands gripped his nightshirt as they kissed. The need for more was instantly there—built-up passion urging them to turn up the heat—but Lyon purposefully kept the tempo slow, languidly moving his mouth with hers, unhurried and deep. He held her to him, could feel her shivering subside as she sunk into his rhythm. It was only when she leaned further into his touch, taking the initiative to dart her tongue out and poke at his lips that he allowed himself to go further.
The hand that held her face traveled down her body, ghosting over her hips before reaching around to firmly grab her backside. He relished the squeak he got in return, and took the opportunity to push his tongue fully into her mouth. Blackened fingers dipped lower, making contact with her bare thigh. The muscle underneath jumped as he dragged his knuckles up and under the tunic, tracing a path to where her underwear met her hip.
“A—Ah, Lyon,” she rasped against his lips, breath quickening as those enchanting fingers slipped under her waistband to dig between her legs.
Lyon was only slightly surprised at the slickness that greeted him there. That business with Orion and Roathe had clearly affected her more than she knew.
“I will take care of you,” was the solemn oath he swore upon her, before circling her clit in earnest, and Holiday’s first orgasm of the night arrived with a choked gasp.
She caught her second peak mere moments after the first, his rough digits rubbing and pinching her clit without relent. With her previous record met so quickly, Lyon once again bemoaned his ignorance. Though her breathing was ragged, her chest rubbing against his in a way that made his mouth go dry, she’d had nowhere near enough. She could take so much more than this.
Her underwear was useless now, soaked-through as it was, and Lyon made to remove the offending item completely. But as he attempted to disentangle himself from her, Holiday broke their wet kiss to whine, clenching her thighs around his hand to keep him in place.
“My souris is feeling needy, it seems,” Lyon murmured into the air between them. His polychoria eye stared at her open mouth, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip to taste what remained of her there. “So rarely do you show your wants so openly.”
“D—Don’t say that, I just—” Holiday attempted to stutter through a reply, failing miserably as her blush flared. Instead, she dropped her hips and ground against his hand, trying to lead his fingers to where she needed them most. She could have died of embarrassment from the way he chuckled at her efforts, feeling the vibrations of it through her hands that still clutched at him.
But then he obliged, and a gasp of relief fell from her kiss-swollen lips as two fingers finally entered her.
“Belle,” he whispered softly, briefly rubbing their cheeks together before dipping lower to lick at her neck. He pumped his fingers into her, the close proximity of their bodies making the angle a bit awkward, but he still managed to get his second knuckle inside.
Holiday cried out, throwing her arms around his shoulders as she rode out her third orgasm, her first time getting this far. Lyon murmured praises into her ear, lovingly and oh so tenderly, and Holiday wondered if it would be improper to thump her fist against the wall, to rewind time and keep this moment in suspension forever.
And yet, this new high would soon be eclipsed with another. The hour was late, and Lyon intended to spend whatever was left of this night devoted to his lover. He would leave her wanting for nothing.
Lyon had not expected the process of unraveling her to be so enjoyable for him as well. He had always adored her naked honesty, loved to watch her face jump from one expression to another at his hand, but now he realized their previous dalliances had only scratched the surface of her psyche. Each journey to the next release revealed something new to him, facets that she had never shown anybody before, and Lyon savored the novelty of it.
After her third orgasm, the Drifter had become pliable enough for Lyon to maneuver her to a lying position, but not before finally ridding them both of their clothing. On her back before him, naked and looking at him with such want in those too-bright eyes, Lyon had marveled at her. For too long it would seem, as Holiday had started to squirm under his gaze.
“Lyon, please…” she said, so close to begging. A little more strung-out, a little more needy.
Lyon found it rather difficult to deny her anything, especially when she asked so sweetly—but he knew what she wanted. What they both wanted, really, as was obvious from his weeping member. Erect and proud despite having had little friction to get it there, it was fairly obvious he yearned to be inside of her. But patience was a virtue, as the good scripture said, and all of their hard work would be for naught if they succumbed to their urges now. If he were to enter her now, he’d lose himself to that heat; and as much as he wanted that for the both of them, tonight his focus was on her. He would not spend himself until the very end.
So Lyon did the next best thing, laying on his stomach between his lovers legs to get a lovely eyeful of the mess they had made there. She was soaked, glistening all over her crotch and thighs, evidence of Lyon’s efforts, and the priest couldn’t help but feel proud. This was new territory for him as well, after all, but he supposed he was uniquely qualified when it came to testing a body’s limits.
“Soon, my love,” Lyon assured her, “But not now.”
That was all the warning he gave her before pressing his face against her sex, and Holiday bucked into his mouth with a whimper.
Her fourth orgasm was spent on his tongue, remaking the mess he had just so thoroughly licked away. Lyon supposed he would just have to clean her again.
By her eighth, both Lyon’s wrist and jaw were sore from his labors, but he couldn’t stop; he didn’t want to. He was just as lost to this as Holiday was, some primal need to see more and more of her exposed to him, to feel her fall apart so completely within his hold. There was an undeniable power trip in making this beautiful and reactive woman shake and writhe beneath him, and all without making use of his woefully neglected cock.
He had almost come undone after her sixth orgasm when she started calling for him, desperation overtaking her timidity.
“My heart, my star—” she had begged him, near babbling as three of his fingers drove back into her. “Please, I need you! Inside—please, inside!”
Lyon had to silence her mouth with his to keep himself sane.
Now, on their way to her ninth peak, she no longer begged. Her pleas became strained with something wroth and simmering, a new emotion so rarely seen on the demure Drifter.
Holiday was getting angry.
“Enough of this,” she bayed, almost yelling at him. “Torture me no more!”
Lyon observed her face with an affectionate smile. He was now on his side next to her, one hand still at home between her legs; his other arm propping him up so he could look down at her. Both participants were sweating, but his lover was covered in much more than that. Lyon’s hand at her apex was practically bathed in her cum, tears of overstimulation had fallen and dried from her eyes, and any part of her skin that his mouth could reach was lathered by his tongue. He had never seen her in such disarray, and it was all because of him.
“Forgive me. Does this not please you so?” He emphasized his point by curling the four fingers buried deep within her heat, simultaneously grinding his palm onto her clit.
Holiday shouted, her back arching as she clenched around him, her fervid grip on the pillows above her threatening to tear them apart. The lack of rhythmic contractions told Lyon she had not hit her high yet, but she was so tantalizingly close.
“Void-spawn!” she spat at him, wild eyes glaring up at him as her chest heaved. The intensity of her gaze only excited him more, made his cock ache.
Lyon felt anticipation ripple through him. They were close to something, the two of them rapidly approaching a point of no return, falling towards a body of water with unknown depths. That beautiful feeling she had spoken of—was it close, waiting for them on the other side of this line they’re balancing on? All he needed to do was push her off the edge into freefall.
“Cruelty, injustice!” she continued to seethe through gritted teeth. “Why? Why must you deny us both? ‘Soon’, you had said—you dare lie to me?”
Any part of him that found her dramatics amusing was quickly drowned out by the fire that shot up his spine, shorting his brain before settling deep in his groin.
You dare lie to me?
Her authoritative tone—the bite of her words sunk into a part of Lyon that had never been touched before. He found himself sucking in a breath as something previously untapped ached to run through him, but he refused to lose control so far into their odyssey, and so brought forth his own aggression to match hers, pumping into her deep but slow.
“Let’s say I did. What would you do?”
“Excuse me?” The growl in her voice rolled over his pale skin.
Lyon smirked at her, blonde tresses falling between them like a curtain. “What would you do if I kept you here, just like this?”
Surprise and indignation made her eyes widen. “Surely not. For how long do you intend to drag this madness out?”
“Your body keeps greedily accepting my touch, souris. Perhaps that question would be better aimed at yourself?”
She didn’t answer, so Lyon lowered his head next to her ear.
“Well, mon miracle? Will you let me whittle you away like this?” Lyon softly bit her ear, and then all hell broke loose.
“I will not!”
Her war cry heralded the end, and Lyon startled as he was yanked backwards by hands that were and were not his lovers. Vertigo took him briefly and his vision swam as his orange eye tried to focus on the ceiling that was now above him.
Lyon quickly shook his head, looking down to see Holiday crawling on top of him. In the flickering of the candlelight, shadows danced across her ravaged body, highlighting sweat and the slick between her thighs. His eye raked upwards, piecing together the picture in front of him, then he reached her face, meeting her eyes and—Oh Lua, her eyes—
Illuminated softly, two green daggers stared at him between the shadows and the light. She looked at him like a predator looks at a dying thing between its claws, waiting for it to perish so she could snap her jaws around it.
Wolf.
Lyon hadn’t realized he was breathing hard until her hands came to rest on his chest. His eye darted to where she touched him—and jerked in alarm.
Where her hands were supposed to be was simply nothing.
“Quoi?!” Lyon gasped out, trying to sit up, trying to move, trying to do something—but he couldn’t.
“Your hands are devilish things, my star,” Holiday—his supposed mouse—drawled. She sounded almost drunk as she observed him, yet her tone was crystal clear. “And have caused me enough strife. I cannot trust them.”
Lyon had no time to register her words before his arms were pulled from his sides and yanked upwards above him. Lyon followed them with his eye, pupils dilated from shock as he watched his wrists get pushed into the pillow from seemingly nothing.
Then hands—more of them, phantoms—caressed his cheeks, pulling his gaze back down to his captor. Lyon's mind and emotions couldn't connect with one another at this moment, so quickly drowning in new sensations no human man has ever been privy to. He thought he might be shaking, yet his cock hurt from how stiff it was, precum dripping from the tip that was maddeningly close to her cunt. He felt feverish. He felt sick.
He wanted to stay here and let her devour him, leaving nothing for the vultures.
Before his walls collapsed completely, there was a sensation of a fingertip dragging down his forehead and over his open eye, gently urging it shut. His breathing was forced to even out, and with a slightly-calmer head he realized he could… feel her. Not just the thighs that straddled his hips, but Holiday’s entire being—she was within him, all around him. Her presence, just a sliver of it, tied their very souls together, every nerve of his under her control. He could feel the sheets under his back, yet also felt hundreds of hands cradling him, massaging up his infested-ridden back, caressing his trembling arms, scratching his thighs… there was no end to them.
But they were all her.
My Lyon… my dearest.
Lyon opened his eye at her voice, reverberating against him in a way it shouldn't be. Her mouth didn’t move.
She was in his head.
Such torture you put onto me not a minute ago, with those blessedly dexterous fingers of yours… I give you a fraction of that in return, and look at you.
She was everywhere.
There is pleasure to be found in being prey. Lose yourself in me, Lyon.
The echoes of his earlier statement bounced around his psyche as Holiday smiled, then dropped herself onto him. Lyon jerked—as much as he could, with the invisible hold on him—and briefly believed himself to be inside of her until she rolled her hips backwards, and he saw the head of his dick peek between her folds and his stomach.
“Holiday…” Lyon whispered, not having the focus to realize how meek he sounded. His cock was already covered, instantly lubricated by her slick, and the pressure of her repeated grinding on him threatened a brisk and brutal climax.
No! Not yet!
Lyon yanked at his restraints, attempting to overpower her, to reach for her and hold her still. But that phantom grasp held true, didn’t so much as budge. Heat flooded his insides as the grip of hundreds tightened around him, constricting the more he fought, and a noise of desperation escaped his throat.
Wherever this night was leading them, he was not ready for it to be over so quickly.
“Oh, my guiding light—” Holiday spoke, disorienting him as he heard the words in his ears and in his head. “You think one to be your limit?”
Lyon was putting too much effort into keeping his orgasm at bay to respond properly, but he stared at her, waiting for her to make sense.
Holiday had the audacity to giggle, smiling at him like she knew a secret he didn’t. Then she leaned further forward onto her hands that were and weren’t there and drove her hips against him in earnest, sliding her core against his length swiftly and with purpose.
A startled cry tore out of Lyon’s throat, he couldn’t even buck his hips as his orgasm tore through him, the fastest it’s ever come. Holiday and the many extensions of her being held him through it as she continued to grind on his member, cum—so much of it—shooting onto her thighs and his own stomach. His vision was hazy, but he could still see those eyes of hers, green like two irradiated suns, watching his downfall with rapt attention.
“Holiday—” Lyon shut his mouth as he whined. He had never felt like this before, never been in such a position.
“You’re beautiful,” she stated. She didn’t blink as she stared down at him, as if she were scared to miss something transient. “So beautiful, like this. Such bliss—let me see it again, Lyon.”
A fog settled over his mind at her words, her gaze. He… wanted more. More of her voice, resonating through the etchings of his bones, calling him beautiful when he was at his weakest. More of her body, fitting perfectly with his, kissing him and marking him and making him hers. More of her transference, filling every crack and splinter of his shattered mind with nothing but her presence, holding him in a cosmic embrace where there was no part of him she couldn’t reach.
But Lyon was never good at wording his wants, couldn’t express what he needed as he stared at her helplessly, chest still rising and falling hard from his breaths.
Holiday rolled her head back and moaned, briefly thrusting against his still very erect member. Of course, with transference, words weren’t needed. She could feel it all. That realization—that she could see his every desire, could hear every word he didn’t know how to speak—made him so unexpectedly euphoric and raw that ironically, he couldn’t help but open his mouth.
“Please, mon miracle—use me!”
Her head snapped back down with a snarl, appraising him with teeth bared before shoving a hand between his legs, gripping his throbbing cock with a rough grip and lining it up with her drenched entrance. She sank down, taking all of him in a single motion, and they both cried out. He uselessly bucked into her, his nails biting into his palms as he tried to chase the friction. Sweat made him glisten, he could feel his long hair sticking to his face and neck, but the need to drown in her made him redouble his efforts. With a grunt he drew his knees up, planting his feet on the mattress to give one hard thrust into her core—gods above, he felt so close already, and the way she shouted in pleasure—
Before he could drive himself into her a second time, his feet were yanked out from under him, legs forced to straighten. Simultaneously, a tight pressure gripped the base of his member, hard enough to be painful. Lyon nearly bit his tongue as he hissed between gritted teeth.
“Not done,” Holiday said above him, breath coming in shallow, excited bursts. “Not done yet.”
The creature staring down at him must have delighted in the torture she gave, from the way she bucked against him wildly, sweat-soaked curls flying everywhere. She purposefully clenched around him as she lifted off, releasing him to sink back down in a maddening rhythm that would have unmade him if not for the tight grip her transference held on him, denying him release. It only served to heighten his emotions further, obfuscating his mind until all he could focus on was the frenzied pleasure running rampant through his body, completely helpless to it.
“Holly, Holly, my love,” He couldn’t stop calling her name like a mantra, his eye screwed shut and head thrown back as he tried to endure her gripping, squeezing, sucking him deeper.
Holiday continued to moan and fuck herself against him, but her voice was strangely level in his head.
I always wondered why my loved ones enjoy bullying me so. You, Orion, Roathe. Now, I think I understand.
Her lover was in no state to piece together her meaning, so she simply showed him.
Lyon choked as a scene played out in his mind's eye; himself, under her with his hands above his head, mouth open as he tried to take in air. The muscles in his core were taut, flexing and shivering under the candlelight, wet with his sweat and cum. His face was red, the intense blush spreading all the way down his heaving chest. He saw himself as she saw him, saw himself react to it, and witnessing himself in the throes of submission made him self-conscious. He tried to turn his face into the pillow, to will the images away somehow, but then a soft hush settled over his frayed senses.
There is beauty in vulnerability. No strength lost, when it is given away willingly. Look.
Gently, Holiday pushed her emotions onto him, along with the visuals. Lyon was awash in the many colors of her adoration for him, her perception of how beautiful he was—how she had always thought so, enraptured by him since the very beginning—how good she felt when she was with him—how grateful she was to be able to see him like this—
The layers of her feelings piled onto him one by one until the tapestry of him in her heart was woven, and though Lyon knew he had her love, to feel it in all its exact measures was…
Lyon saw his lips quiver, saw tears gather and fall from his closed eye.
“I love you, I love you,” he quietly sobbed as the mental assault cleared. She could probably feel his affections better than he could ever word them, but that wasn’t good enough for him. She had to know, however way he could communicate it.
Holiday stilled above him, he could hear her labored breathing from her keeping up the unforgiving pace for so long, and he almost wept harder at the loss of sensation, until he felt the bed shift and something wet hit his cheek. Opening a blurry eye, he turned his head to find Holiday leaning over him, her arms on either side of his head, looking down at him. Her wild and tousled hair fell around her face like vines off a trellis. Tears of her own had created a trail down to the tip of her nose, another one dropping onto Lyon’s face and mixing with his.
She was so close to him now, looking at him with such wonderment, like she held Lua Herself in her hands, and Lyon truly couldn’t take it anymore.
“Souris—”
She interrupted him, pressing herself down into him to capture his lips in a salty kiss.
“I love you, I love you,” she echoed his words with a shaky voice between impassioned pecks, moving onto her elbows so that her hands—her real ones—could slide along his forehead, pushing back the blonde strands that clung to his skin.
Lyon returned her devotion with his own, begging her to stay with his kisses, worshiping her mouth with his own. He needed her, all of her.
“Let me touch you,” he pleaded with her as she kissed away his tears. He flexed his hands, wanting. “Please, Goddess—let me touch you.”
Holiday pushed her forehead onto his, their gazes locked on one another. He could see his mouse had returned, a fragility in her eyes that yearned for his hold; and yet, the wolf had not abandoned its post either. The want to devour, and the want to be devoured warred over her body, and Lyon felt a little more secure in knowing they were in similar states.
“Together…?” Holiday finally whispered against his lips.
“Together, ma lumière.”
Lyon groaned as she slowly drew her transference back, the amalgam of arms giving one last caress in farewell as they retreated. He stretched his wrists, confirming his blood flow was fine despite the position he was in. His hands were free. His legs were free. His member was free. Deliverance was upon them.
Holiday yelped as he wrenched himself upwards, forcing her back until she was resting on her knees once more. With his legs now crossed and her seated fully in his lap, both participants thoroughly wrecked beyond belief, all that was left was to chase one last peak together, as one.
Lyon threw an arm around her waist, gripping her hip tightly, his other hand moving to the back of her neck to draw her face back down to his. He licked into her mouth, reigniting their hunger, and thrust his hips into her. She moaned around his tongue, her nails digging into his chest, scratching down his torso. Lyon bucked as she scraped his nipple, a drop of spit falling from his mouth as he briefly broke the kiss to gasp before diving back in, kissing her like it was his only purpose in life, pulling on her hips back to him again and again, their pelvises meeting with vulgar and filthy sounds.
She reciprocated his efforts as best she could, her thighs twitching from the rigorous exercise she’s put them through. They moved like they wanted to melt into one another; transference wasn’t enough. Every fiber of his person ached to be hers, to spend the rest of his days under whatever shadows she cast, to find all the infinite ways that the jagged edges of their being fit together, to follow her through whatever hells she walks through.
Holiday clenched around him, growling as her lust flared. Lyon realized his hand at her neck had moved upwards, his dark fingers gripping her hair where it met her nape.
“You’re making such an animal of me, Lyon.” Then she was grasping at the hand in her curls, yanking it away to guide it under her arm and across her back. Her hands then carded through his own hair, still careful around the straps of his eyepatch, but hard enough to pull his head back, baring his entire throat to her.
A sound of pure need left him as he felt Holiday’s tongue lick one long stripe up his jugular, hot and wet. Lyon fucked into her with less precision now, losing himself in her sovereignty, but she picked up her own pace to make up for it, utilizing her earlier technique to clench and unclench around his cock in a zealous rhythm.
Lyon could feel it, deep in his gut, approaching and gaining momentum like an avalanche. The birth of a galaxy was roiling inside of him, and he had the brief thought that Lua’s gaze was upon them, watching them with baited breath.
“Ô gracieuse Lua, qui règne dans les cieux, mon commencement et ma fin—” The prayers left his lips between his cries, spilling out of him. He was hardly conscious of his words, staring at the ceiling with an unfocused eye. “Transforme ma colère en paix, change mes chaînes en hiboux, baigne le monde dans la nuit divine—”
Teeth snapped into his throat, right where it met his shoulder, and Lyon’s babbling was cut off with a high-octave shout as every muscle in his infested body went taut, vision whiting out. His blunt nails dug ruthlessly into her back, sure to leave bruises and more, but that only made her jaw clench tighter. He shook violently under her, and he realized he was cumming, fucking his spend deep into her core, more and more getting drawn out of him as she sucked on the wound, licked it with her tongue, her heat contracting around him to signal she was riding out a high of her own.
He was still twitching inside of her when they crashed together, the wind briefly getting knocked from his lungs as they fell onto the bed, Holiday collapsing on top of him. Lyon’s vision swam, dazed. He didn’t know how long it took for the scattered pieces of his essence to fuse back together, but when they did they reminded him to breathe. He gulped in air desperately, chest having a slightly difficult time expanding with the charming weight on top of it, but he wouldn’t wish to remove her for anything.
Soon as he got his bearings, he smoothed a shaky hand up and down Holiday’s back, the other holding her thigh. Her head was tucked into his shoulder, errant green curls tickling his face. Like this, he couldn't see her expression.
Taking one last deep breath to steady himself, he checked on her. “Miracle, that was… intense, to say the least. How are you?”
No answer.
“Holly…?”
A puff of air left her parted lips, brushing against the side of his neck, followed by another one. Lyon breathed a sigh of relief; she was merely asleep. Unsurprising, considering the baptism of fire they just went through, although their current situation was not ideal for resting. Both of them were covered in sweat, and Lyon could feel his own cum dripping out from her entrance where he had filled her— where they were still connected, mind—and down his shaft. It would not be a pleasant feeling when it dried, and falling to slumber with his member still inside of her promised consequences later on.
And yet, what was the alternative? Waking his beloved up, cajoling them both to the washroom to clean up? Lyon couldn’t be bothered. It was unlike him, but a warm haze had completely blanketed his mind, and he found he couldn’t be much bothered about anything. The bite on his shoulder ached pleasantly, and a bone-deep satisfaction settled over him. Albrecht himself could have walked through the door, and he would probably just throw a pillow at the bâtard and tell him to come back later.
He was… at peace. The ghosts of pain and malice within his mind had retreated as soon as Holiday appeared in his room—she had that effect on them, like a drop of oil on troubled water—and now there was a gelatinous wall between the voices and himself. It would take mental effort on Lyon’s part to engage with them, and he simply did not have the energy for it.
“No longer tied down by his own mind, brought to peaks so high all else seemed minuscule… it was beautiful.”
Her earlier words returned to him, the whole reason she had come here to begin with. That beautiful feeling… was this it? If so, why had she so graciously given it to him, when he had been so determined for it to be hers? He couldn’t even feel guilty about it, lax as he was. Only grateful.
He had never seen her like that. Truthfully, Lyon had expected her to give herself over to him completely, as Roathe had done for Orion. But it seemed where the devil turned to submission when pushed to his limits, Holiday was just the opposite. For someone like her, so reserved and constantly second-guessing herself, releasing her inhibitions meant being able to do what she liked without fear, to allow herself not just to want, but to act.
Lyon always knew what kind of woman he chose to entangle himself with. Kind, motherly, a bleeding heart that she wore on her sleeve. But all of that came with the claws, teeth, and battle instincts of a Drifter, same as her other two companions. Tonight, Lyon had been a playground for her to use them.
He felt pride at knowing that. That deep satisfaction, along with the meter of her breaths upon his skin, lulled him to sleep faster than any lullaby could.
As he prophesied, Lyon awoke some time later feeling… gross. Positively caked in all manner of fluids, not to mention cold, he came to with a groan. He couldn’t feel Holiday on top of him, but he could feel something brushing along the side of his neck repeatedly. The gentle ministrations almost called him back to rest, but not without checking in on her first.
“Bonjour, souris,” he murmured affectionately into the room, voice still laced with sleep. He only got a small hum in return, so he cracked open his eye to take her in.
She had moved off of him at some point, now laying on her side next to him. Her mouth quirked up into a small smile as he looked at her, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and it quickly fell back into a hard line. Green eyes flicked to his briefly, then back to whatever spot her fingers were brushing against.
“What’s—”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupted him. She bit her bottom lip as her eyes wetted, eyebrows pinched together. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh, shh, shh,” he hushed her in return, sitting up a bit to reach out to her and gather her in his arms. He pulled her back on top of him, and she fell into his hold easily, pressing her face into his chest. “We are both alive and well. What is there to apologize for?”
“I hurt you.”
“Non, mon miracle. You freed me.”
She looked up at him, and the priest couldn’t help but be a bit amused by her befuddled expression. “I—I bit you! I haven’t—I’ve never… I made you bleed, Lyon!”
Did she? Lyon couldn’t say he minded all that much.
“To be marked by my lover is no bane at all. Would you believe me if I said I wish for you to do it again?”
She blinked at him. Clearly, this is not how she expected this conversation to go. “You… do not resent me? You do not regret it?”
Lyon shook his head, an easy smile on his face. “My only regret is that this bite of yours shall fade within a few days time, and I will have no more reminders of this night you’ve given me.”
He ran his hands over her, any part of her that he could reach he soothed under his palms until finally, she started to relax in his embrace. Physical touch was always a go-to for calming her frayed emotions.
“Besides—” he continued, gently combing through her sweat-dried curls and kissing the top of her head. “—If I am remembering correctly, I may have given you some reminders of my own.”
He lightly tapped at a spot on the back of her hip, the part he recalled digging into. A little oh! left her mouth as she squirmed in his hold, excitedly attempting to turn and peer at the bruises he had left behind on her warm brown skin.
Lyon chuckled at her. “So, now you see?”
“See what?” she mumbled, still twisting.
“Treating me roughly does not equate to treating me wrongly.” He wasn’t sure if he was wording this correctly. He had never had a relationship like this before, and Lua knows he probably wasn’t the best source to educate her on this, but he so dearly wished for his feelings to be understood. Their time last night will forever be a cherished memory of his, and he so desperately wanted many more of them.
She stilled to look back at him, no longer on the verge of tears but still incredulous. A realization came to him, then.
“Transfer with me.”
“I—huh?”
Her confusion was understandable. Holiday had only used transference on him a few times before, only to help him adjust to the sensation of an entire being filling him, should it ever be needed. Then, last night, she had used it to effectively put him in his place, a rather unfair advantage she had over him. Perhaps they should have spoken about this more but, well… they had a habit of diving into new territories headfirst, damned be the consequences.
Lyon picked up one of her hands, placing it where his heart was. She peered at him, making sure this was what he really wanted. She took a deep breath, and Lyon watched as the tips of her fingers disappeared, transferring just enough to tether them together.
“Can you feel it, souris?” he prompted. Mentally, he gestured to the still waters of his mind, the tranquility that ran through him, all thanks to her.
“I… I do,” she sounded enthralled, eyes closing as she bathed in his essence.
“... You once said you can see the thoughts of protoframes you’re connected to, yes?” He had an idea. A devilish one. He purposefully didn’t fall into it just yet, keeping it away from her eyes for now.
“I can. Why?”
“Tell me, can you see this?” He pushed forward an image to the forefront of his mind—the two of them wrapped up in one another, same as they were last night, with just a slight difference.
Lyon’s mouth was at her throat, blunt teeth scraping against the soft skin there, threatening to dig in.
Holiday physically jerked in his hold, a squeak pushing past her lips, but he held her tight. That answered him just fine.
“Oh…”
Lyon felt the corner of his mouth quirk up. “I ask again—so, now you see?”
Holiday opened her eyes sheepishly, retracting her transference and biting her lip. Then, she shifted, sliding over top of him, intentionally dragging a thigh over his limp cock, threatening to bring it to life. Lyon grunted but didn’t move, waiting to see what she would do.
“Lyon…” she called to him, voice almost dreamy.
Heat simmered in his groin when she looked at him, want projected so clearly from her eyes.
“I want that, Lyon.”
Nothing spurred him into action faster.
Lyon found it rather difficult to deny her anything, especially when she asked so sweetly.