Believe it or not, I don’t write much erotica despite the two posts here being pieces of my erotic fiction, but this writing sample was something I had posted for a bit of writing play in the Writer’s Dock Party on Facebook. If you are in need of some distraction, you will certainly find some there. It’s as wild at the old Usenet group Misc.writing and as busy (looking through Google, it appears the “original” may still exit via Google Groups…I cannot vouch for what you may find there).
Anyway, this little piece is actually part of a fanfic, something I’ve been writing for myself when I need to play with my characters in absurd situations. I avoided character names intentionally for the post due to the restrictions for the FB topic, though my original does refer to the characters by name. The woman is Atyriia, and many stories I write revolve around her. The man with her is Kieri (based, believe it or not, on this cartoon character). And the piece is just part of a scene…
But you may like it.
Whoever this Alaen was, whoever ‘us’ was, he dared not ask. He needed to find some way to calm the woman. If there was reason to fear for their safety (and he had no doubt there was), her attack could bring a cataclysm down on them.
Scrambling from the tangled bedding, he knelt next to the queen and wrapped his arms around her as a comfort. A flash of electricity–he felt it with shocking intensity this time and under it, the fire, a Calling…
Wide eyes stared up at him, a far too-beautiful face full of tears and dismay…. An eternity passed in a breath. Thoughts of the king crossed his mind, how this was wrong, how he should be finding ways to help her be with the man she clearly loved. But even as he whispered ‘No, we can’t’ in perfect unison with the woman, their lips were meeting.
Salty, sweet, tender… He kissed her tears; he murmured assurances he didn’t believe. He needed to hear them. Her heart pounded so that he felt her blood move beneath her skin. Or perhaps it was his. He and She merged, writhed, as they drew together into a nest of sheets torn from the bed. Her fingertips lingered in their journey along his neck and shoulders; his danced through the laces of her bedgown. Her breath was hot, her voice gruff and harsh. He felt her quiver where they touched, knew before he made a move whether it would please her, knew what pressure to use, when to let go… And so strong, so deliberate were her own caresses, he knew she sensed the same from him.
It had never been like this with Pem, never so intense, so immediate, so vital. This time he was aware of each step into the Fire he took, how each breath he made became a part of her, and she of him. He felt it when the battered lines that had held her to her husband shattered. He Saw how those frayed edges thrashed in the abyss. When they snapped against him, taking up the Severed ends of his connection to Pemilia Mirisel, the blow spited him. He welcomed the pain. For the first time in too long, he was whole again–he was alive.
But he couldn’t remain oblivious to her needs then, especially then, when her shock and hurt at the Severing and their new connection resounded in him. He felt her need to be free, and he drew back. The compulsion forced him back to her, but somehow he managed to ease aside and lie back. He could not bring himself to go far, telling himself she might need him.
She curled up in a ball and wept.
Seeing her like that gave him the strength he needed. He turned away. Gripping the frame of the bathroom door, he inched his way to his feet and walked, ever so slowly, to splash some water on his face, to stare at his reflection, to understand what had just happened.
His reflection didn’t have any answers. It never had. Still, he stared at it, at the lines of water that streaked down his face, wondering what to do next.
He snarled at nothing in particular. What could he do? He’d promised Jason he’d be there in the next fight. What had happened here couldn’t change that.
His body, his mind, all of him recoiled at the thought of leaving. He knew what would happen–now. And yet, he had to go, not just for her son, but for her. He’d seen enough recently–oh, had he–he seen far too much.
She shuffled in, making an effort to not look his way. He watched her reflection, watched as she sat on the side of the tub and washed. He started head to her side.
He stopped when she began crying again. Her knees buckled under her even as she’d stood to dry off. He wanted to scream. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. One moment of ecstasy, a moment of delight and wholeness, then an eternity of… of this. A part of him that had been bitter far too long laughed, a blast of suppressed fury. “Of course an eternity of this!” he snapped at his reflection. “Since when did you get special?”
He watched as he formed the fist. He wanted to hit something. Oh, how he wanted to hit that bastard that stared back at him, so smug and so smart.
From close behind him, she whispered, “Don’t break my mirror, please.”
He whirled on her, craving an outlet for his fury. Before he’d fully turned, he’d lowered his hand and was reaching to her. He needed to feel her closeness, to touch, to be touched. She took a few shuddering breaths and fell into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” they said.