|Maella Abbey (maella_abbey) wrote,|
@ 2008-03-15 23:39:00
They didn't really need to post a guard; the enchantment on the mystic spring was enough to keep monsters out of the small, tree-lined valley. Eight paced the perimeter of their camp regardless, listening to the sounds of his sleeping companions and wishing he could join them.
Medea grazed near the spring, white coat gleaming under the starlight, drawing his eye until he had to force himself to look away. She had been so beautiful when the spring transformed her back to herself, so happy...and so horrified when she realized the spring's power was fading.
Eight felt like a traitor, but he honestly didn't think those few minutes of hope had been worth it.
Still, his restless patrol eventually brought him to her side, as it always did. He rested a hand on her neck, and she pressed her muzzle to his chest; he sighed, leaned forehead to forehead with her, and thought that the Goddess must have a truly twisted sense of humor, that they could be more intimate while Medea was a horse than they could ever be while she was in her true form.
Without warning, Medea nudged him, hard enough to send him stumbling back, and kept moving, kept him off-balance, until they were at the water's edge. She knelt, then, drinking until the water's magic shimmered around her, all-too-briefly breaking Dhoulmagus's curse.
"I'm afraid I wasn't quite honest when I refused to drink earlier," she said, smiling shyly. "But when camping here was brought up, I'd hoped we might have the opportunity to be alone together."
Eight nodded, unable, unwilling, to speak. The spring's magic worked for such a short time; he didn't want to waste any of it.
Medea reached up, her hand smooth and warm against his cheek. "I have an idea. It may not work, but...we've nothing to lose, have we?" Her fingers trailed down his chest, wrapped around his, and she stepped into the water, drawing him with her.
He followed without question, putting his arms around her when she shivered from the chill. Medea leaned her cheek against his shoulder, and they stood that way for long moments.
She wasn't changing back.
Medea realized it a moment after he did, her laughter soft and delighted. "It worked!"
Eight smiled, though there was an ache in his chest when he said, "Too bad we can't stay in here forever."
"Not forever," she agreed, leaning up to kiss him. Her lips held him immobile as surely as any spell; her hands slid inside his clothes, made his breath catch. "But long enough."
"As far as anyone knows, I spent the night as a horse. And having met my future husband, I can't say I'm terribly concerned for his feelings, should he realize I'm not a maiden on our wedding night."
It was as close as he'd ever heard her to bitterness, and it made him want to protect her: from the curse, from Charmles, from making this mistake. "You can't be..."
Medea pushed him back, hands firm on his chest, until he was leaning against one of the smooth, broad stone half submerged in the spring. "Duty demands I give myself to Charmles," she said, "but I will give myself this one night first. Please."
Eight's half-formed arguments faded, and he tipped his head back, gaze on the stars while Medea kissed along his throat, her insistent hands inside his clothing. She wrapped delicate fingers around the erection that the water's chill had done nothing to quench, stroking with a skill that made him wonder just what she had witnessed during her months as a horse, and Eight finally let his hands stray from the small of her back. The soft fabric of her dress floated above her hips; it was surprisingly easy to pull it aside and let his hands stroke flesh.
"Yes," Medea breathed, and pressed tight against him.
Eight lifted her, her slight weight buoyed by the water, turned them until her back was braced against the rock which had been supporting him. Her hands settled on his shoulders, her legs around his waist, and he was pushing into her, easy and sure and right. Medea made a small sound as he entered her, nails digging into his shoulders as he pressed deeper and finally breached the barrier of her maidenhood. He stilled then; there were tears on her cheeks, and he had never meant to...
"It's all right," she whispered, and forced a smile. "I knew...it's all right."
Still, he didn't move within her, instead letting the rock and the water support her weight while his hands traced over her body, until her fingers relaxed their grip and she began to move against him. Even then, he held back, making sure she took her pleasure first, then sliding out of her, stroking himself to climax.
He eased her back down into the water, and Medea gazed heavenward with a soft, dreamy smile. "Look, Eight. The stars are dancing."
Eight studied the sky reflected in her wide, beautiful eyes, and saw that she was right.