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A hundred paces off, massive rocks floated, untethered. Lightning leapt between them, snaked along in blue veins lacing the cliff-tops. Sparks fizzled out barely twenty paces from the watchers.
Lucil's hair lifted like flame. Elma stood beside her, rapt, panting from the climb.
"It's good to be home," Lucil said.
It was fortunate that patrolling this desolate shore had inured them to bleak acommodations. Slickrock was an unyielding bed, and the charged air was chilly and damp. Drizzle prickled their skin as leathers peeled away.
They rolled together, grappling, hands locked on wrists. Elma landed on top, straddling her captain.
Crazed kisses, thunderclaps. Water dripped from the beads in Elma's hair as she bent shyly to nip a tawny breast.
Lucil stretched, luxuriating in Elma's novice explorations, moaning lewdly to tell her where sparks struck home: there, the hollow of her hip; there, a foot's arch.
Elma's arms were trembling. Lucil held her hips as the younger woman lavished tongue's devotion through golden curls. Lucil lapped between her thighs.
Elma broke first, burying her face and quaking. Lucil came after with a shriek that matched the storm.
They lay cuddled together, tingling, savoring lightning's current in flesh and bone.