Note to self; shiva males had no compunction about knocking out defenseless wee human girls.
Her eyes felt gritty as she forced them open, a deep ache in her head informing her of what had happened. The air around her was cool and dry, stones underfoot dampening the sounds of life around her.
Given how sore her hip was, Dulog had probably tossed her unceremoniously unto the stone surface. Sitting up carefully, she was pleased to find no broken bones and she inhaled deeply before analyzing her surroundings.
A cell, about ten by twenty feet. So spacious!
The walls were rough, interconnected stone. So stylish!
The stone under her was smooth, and pleasantly warm to the touch. Such comfort!
She’d had worse.
Outside the cell, where the bars spanned roof to floor, were several forms who looked very much like Ademar. Despite there being no physical outward characteristic to tell her that any one of these was not Ademar, Melody was certain none were.
Crawling into the corner, she curled up and stared at the ceiling. She could only hope that her friends had escaped. Well, brother and lover? Blech, it was all so confusing. Regardless, she had forced the males to flee without searching for either of the males they had been targeting. They would be back, but hopefully by then Ademar would have escaped far away, and Fenri would do the same.
That man. Brown hair swayed as she shook her head. He was as dangerous as they came, and she seemed to have developed a taste for tall dark, handsome, chubby-bordering-on-fat men. Rather than taking the time to enjoy the moment and put Fenri behind her, she found herself dwelling on him more.
He had gained a fair amount of weight in a short period of time, and she had been dying to ask him how, or rather, why. It was as if he had popped straight out of a fantasy into life. Every inch of his softening skin attracted her, and his personality, which vacillated between rage, aggression, and a melting softness, sparked her curiosity.
Hell, she had blocked his exit to the cave for a while, ensuring that he would not feel the power and come over. He would have either been hurt, caused hurt, or discovered Ademar, and she had not wanted any of those outcomes. Especially as she’d only just slithered out of explaining how she knew the squan he was looking for! The idea of disappointment on his face was oddly off-putting.
The halfling must have struggled to fit into his shiva clothing. She shivered, nipples puckering at the thought of him unable to fasten his pants, belly aggressively surging between the panels of his open shirt. A small fantasy began to play in her head, morphing nonsensically as her arousal grew. Speaking of struggling…what if he had gotten that tubby middle stuck as he tried to wriggle through that barrier? He would have been in such a temper to escape that he would have not taken the time to make a huge hole, just big enough for his body. He wouldn’t even think to use magic, or take into consideration that he was no longer lithe and lean…that burgeoning belly would get stuck as he tried to wriggle through, his plump ass on one side, his plump and scowling face on the other…
Oh…she moistened at the mere thought of him liking his size. What if they met again? Perhaps she could feed him…just one time…making the most out of stuffing him silly.
She was busy living out the details of this little fantasy when small dust motes danced in front of her eyes, a beautiful little beam of light cutting across her field of vision from right to left. Turning her head to follow it, Melody realized that there was a small hole in the brickwork. Throwing up a brief prayer to any deity listening that she would NOT be stabbed in the eye for doing this, she pressing her eye to the opening.
It took a moment for her eyes to focus, but it revealed an austere room made mainly of stone. On the farmost left was a stone door, and to the far right was another door. Dead centre in the middle of the room was a large table with only one chair.
That chair, to her surprise, was occupied within moments of her noticing it. A swearing Fenri staggered into sight, covered by a volumous cloak, a loaded crate in his hands. Depositing it on the table, he gracelessly flung the cloak over the back of the chair. She squeaked in excitement as he sat heavily, the sides of his stomach taking advantage of his upper thigh’s support. The poor man looked frustrated, however. His head was in his hands, and his foot was drumming impatiently. The little corresponding ripples that moved across his belly momentarily froze her in place, mouth drying as moisture moved from one area of the body to another.
Her vantage point was ideal, for the peeping tom that she had suddenly become. His back was to the farthest wall, his face turned towards her. Raising his head, he drew in a deep breath, as if to settle himself for a battle to come. Adjusting his strong legs to a more comfortable position, and fiddling with his earring, he tipped the crate towards him. Inside were a variety of pastries, pies and other tasty bits and bites. Melody could not, of course, see that from her vantage point. She only got to see what was in the crate as it made its methodical journey from crate to his mouth.
For a meat eater, you sure do eat lots of sweets, chunky boy, Melody purred in delight, willingly settling in for the duration. That must have been where this lovely padding came from, she added, eyeing his strong but softening pectoral muscles, and noting the surging love handles that were just beginning to show a hint of their future potential. That line between the roll of fat on his shoulders and the swell of his love handle was only visible when he twisted – for now.
If he kept gorging himself as he was now, that would soon become a permanent feature.
It was the first time that the horny little witch had gotten the opportunity to watch him eat, and melted down south at his almost aggressive way of eating. Each bite seemed to have done him a personal wrong, and he gave his firm verdict of oubliette as it slid down his throat – not seemingly to realize each bite would revolt, adding inches to his plump ass, softening and widening his broad middle, and making him more sexy and desirable with each ounce.
The man groaned suddenly, hand rubbing absently at his stomach. Unlike the slaps he had administered before, this was the same sensual touch Melody would have given, if she could have reached him. His warm palm slide from his firming upper belly to his belly button in one, smooth, sexy gesture.
It drew her eyes downwards, and she licked her lips at the sight. She was not the only one enjoying this, if his erection was any indication. In fact, he was leaned forward, elbows on table. If he only spread his legs a little more, and ate a wee bit more…that smooth head would kiss that soft, lower curve.
The male gave a discrete burp, shifting around to a more comfortable position. Straightening his back, he gave another small belch before pulling out a cake. Part of her wanted him to dig into like an animal, but he did one better. Slicing it neatly, he picked up each slice and bit into it firmly. For all intents and purposes, it looked like he was eating an apple, but it was not sweet flesh which slid down his throat, but moist pastry.
His back was still straight, as if that would give him more room. The second to last slice, Fenri slowed, his left hand massaging his stomach lightly. Lucky hand…
Come on, eat it, you greedy thing, Melody moaned internally. Her eyes watered, but she was barely willing to blink, lest she miss a single bite.
Panting, he rocked his ass backwards in the chair, placing his left elbow back on the table. His stomach, heavy and full, swayed slightly as he stuffed the last two pieces into his mouth. But he wasn’t done; apparently parched, he scooped up a large jar of milk and began chugging.
He is the man for me! Melody shouted wildly, pumping a mental hand in victory.
Several things happened at once; he swallowed the last mouthful, his stomach shivered a fractional increment lower as his overworked muscles gave way, and his member throbbed. When that kiss finally happened, both Fenri and Melody moaned out loud.
“I’m getting so fat,” Fenri murmured with a sort of helpless drunkenness, hands skimming the now taut surface of his middle. “Why, why is this happening? Why does this feel so damn good?”
They both jumped at a knock on his door. A light female voice sounded from the other side. “Fenri? Mother knows you get hungry after being away for a few days, so she has had us bring you dinner. She promised death to any who tried to interfere, so it’s safe.”
Levering himself into a standing position, Fenri twirled the cloak to cover himself. He moved carefully to the door, one hand stilling his aching belly. “I’m not hung…” The smell was clearly enticing, for his nose began to twitch, and he swallowed.
Go on, naughty boy. Eat it. That cake was lovely but you ate your desert before dinner. You can’t get away with that without being punished…
The man swallowed, extending shaking hands to accept the heavily laden tray. Moments later, he had laid it down on the table. “I can’t…”
Yes you can, Melody urged. One bite at a time. And anything you can’t finish, you can have as a midnight snack.
Ademar loped effortlessly across the terrain. It was an odd position to be in, to actually appreciate his incorporeal form, but he could not deny that it was so. He had never been able to open portals, and he would have been unable to run the past month.
The sun rose with it’s cruel light, blazing overhead and finally switching shifts with its cooler sister without being noticed. The forest gave way to field, field to river, river to forest without note. The only thing Ademar could think about was finally reaching Giselle.
The steady beat of his soles along the ground was his only companion.
That mirror had gotten lost in the scuffle. Not having that little mirror was a blessing and a curse; had he had it, he would have been able to see her beautiful face and hear her soft voice. However, deep within his soul he knew that once Giselle knew of Melody’s plight, he would be sent packing right back to rescue her. And he was also positive that things would not end well for either of them.
However, a month without his consort was like a month without water. It chafed, it ached. It hurt. It destroyed him to know that Giselle was alone, without any contact. It was one thing to empathize with another, to understand how their pain might make them feel. Like with Melody.
Rain and sun beat alternately down upon his head and shoulders.
It was quite another to actually feel ripped to ribbons, to vacillate with her in lockstep as she experienced the desolation of abandonment, the burning rage of her pride which cooled to an icy fear for her friend – and for him.
It was wrong to enjoy his mate’s discomfort, but a small part of him delighted in knowing that he was in her thoughts as much as her friend was. The last opportunity they had been given to speak, she had expressed a deeply felt disgust and need for peace that had rendered him unable to violate her wish. Melody had spoken correctly when she told him that Giselle would overcome her difficulties, however. Instead of disgust and fear, Giselle longed for him. There was something deep in her that connected them across the intervening distance, leading each step unerringly towards her. Regret. Fear. Hope. Despair. Depression.
The ground beneath his feet rose sharply, and he was obliged to use his hands to haul himself upwards to scale the intervening mountain
It was that depression which drove him with relentlessly along dangerous paths. Each time she made her emotional rounds, that darkness grew a little deeper. The brightness of her spirit dimmed, and it took her longer each revolution to come out of that pit. Worse, he could tell her thoughts of hope were shifting towards her own ‘escape’, rather than that of her friend.
The squan was thee quarters down the mountain range he had originally seen when scouting the connection to his mate all those months ago, when his huge form stumbled to a halt, clawing at his chest as if he could remove a crossbow bolt from between his ribs.
DO NOT. DO NOT. DO NOT! I AM COMING! DO NOT! DO NOT! Ademar began sprinting down the remaining slopes, uncaring about any accidents which might have occurred. The fact that she could not hear him did not prevent him from roaring the plea over and over as he vaulted a tree, scrambling towards a huge stone tower.
Giselle had always known this time would come. She had prided herself on being a strong person. She had sneered in the face of control, taking what she had needed from life in order to feel whole. She had laughed in the face of danger with her best friend. She had loved, however briefly. Perhaps she might have been able to hold out a little longer, with her friend and lover to support her.
After not hearing from them for weeks…there was only one reason why Melody would have not contacted her by now. Or Ademar. Her…consort? Melody’s words still rang in her mind; Fen is your consort. One. Hundred. Percent. That means that all he wants to do is make you happy. And that even if you fuck up, he will still want to make things work. And that you being trapped in that tower doesn’t matter. There is not a single person in the world that he is, or will ever be interested in.
If that was true, then there was only one reason that he would have not have contacted her. The backs of her eyes burned, and she stared up at the ceiling with a resolute chin He had come to her, formless, and given her pleasure and companionship. He seemed to understand her; he would have at least done her the courtesy of telling her that Melody was dead, if he had been alive.
The water witch hugged her wrap to her more closely, shivering at the biting wind which was swirling through the open window. It teased her golden curls, rising the smaller hairs on the top of her head into a golden halo. It made her blink repeatedly, her blue eyes standing out in stark contrast to the red rims. Only the rims were red, as the rest of her skin was delicately translucent, the apple cheeks given their colour by the same make up which hid the splotchiness of her skin. Her normally fairy light eyelashes were coal black, her lips a stunning shade of burnt peach.
Stepping another step towards the window, the plumper’s normally pouting lips were flattened with pain, her eyes solemn as they gazed out. The landscape seemed to escape her notice, her reflection turned deep within. Turning her attention to the mirror above her desk, she bit back a sob. Melody’s laughing face, her stupidly big grin, her freckled and wrinkled snub nose. I love you, stupidhead. She had been the only one who had for as long as Giselle could remember.
It was one thing to be a part of a set of broken dolls. It was another to be just another broken doll.
Her father had visited her only last week to tell her that the marriage offer still stood, and that if she was going to make good on it, she must do so soon, for it would only be valid another fortnight. The man had waited a stupid long time anyway, as Melody had pointed out repeatedly. It was one thing to be romantically committed, and another to be stalkerishly obsessed. Her father had even pointed out that despite her “piggish appearance” her skill was undiminished, and therefore her value was still intact.
Raising a plump hand, a quick shot of water shattered the mirror over her nightstand. Bending to retrieve a shard, the woman gave a soft grunt and a derisive chuckle. Pig like indeed.
Her bath was already drawn, the hot lavender steam rising in the corner. It was time. The water enveloped her softly, and peace slowly overcame Giselle as she eyed her reflection in the small shard. Her relationship with her magic was more distant than her friend’s had been. Melody treated her magic like a father, sibling, pet, and battalion. She laughed, argued, and talked to it, and it was just as active in her life as she was with it.
Giselle, on the other hand, had always felt like she was merely a conduit to her own. Which, based on her schooling, was how it was supposed to be. Humans did not produce magic, they simply channeled existing magic. Most magic users had a breadth of skills which allowed them to work effectively in multiple trades, even if the amount they could channel varied. It was not unusual to see students playing tricks with fire, water, earth, air…all at the same time.
She flipped the small shard over and over in her fingers, barely noticing when it nicked a finger and s small rivulet of red stole down her wrist.
Melody was the only other student that Giselle had known who had only been able to channel one element. Like Giselle, she could not create new things from her magic, only channel existing items. No portals, no light spells. The ability to retrieve that shard of glass with a whisper of magic was as far from their reach as the stars above at night.
Yet even Melody had a friend in her own magic; Giselle herself had seen a plant snake out and catch her before she tumbled, or prevented her from burning herself on a camp fire by nudging her backward. The water was not her friend. She had no friends left.
“If you do not make the decision by the allotted time, it will be accepted on your behalf, and you will be retrieved, bound, and the ceremony will proceed. Your only choice in this matter is to end this with dignity,” her father had said.
That glistening shard began to caress her skin.
She had told him she would rather die. Yet, oddly enough, she agreed with him. Ending it with dignity was imperative. What had more dignity than dying, enveloped in her own element? And there would also be the side benefit of her father finding her very ripe carcass in several weeks. All the dignity for her, none for him. And it was not as if she would be hurting anyone who cared, now.
Her own blue eye stared back at her, looking almost like another person. She nodded at that stranger, exhaling the deep breath she had taken. It was time. Yet, the impromptu blade paused, the wielder frowning at the wall.
Ademar roared as he charged up the stairs. DON’T YOU DARE! GISELLE DO NOT DO THIS!
Her light voice squeaking in surprise only melted his anger for a brief moment before it came surging back. What the hell do you think you are doing? He roared, his broad shoulders scraping the narrow stairway.
In the bath, Giselle stared wide eyed as the water around her danced in response to that silent demand. Turning her head once more to the door, she half sat up. “Ademar? Is it really you?”
Her voice sounded as raw as her emotions, and the former Shiva kicked the heavy wooden door between them in response. It rattled ominously, dust seeping into the room.
Blue eyes widened in response, alarm chasing the shock from her features. “How can you be here? There is a spell on the tower and the door, it kills anything that crosses the threshold…”
Already dead, remember?
His voice sounded grim, dangerous, and unbearably sexy in person. It hooked under her damp skin as she struggled out of the bathtub, diving for her robe with a squeak as the door’s hinges finally gave way. The beautiful woman wound down, one arm in her robe, the rest of it clutched across her bosom to hide her body.
The squan stepped over the threshold, straightening to his full height.
Giselle felt her knees lock together, shivering, as he strode towards her. The matte armour did odd things with the light nearby, and a sort of pulsing anger roiled off of his body. His big, strong body. He had never seemed quite this tall, or broad, or dangerous in the mirror! “I thought you were dead,” she finally squeaked, sounding more like a mouse than a woman. Unnerved, she backed up a step, hugging the sheer garment closer to her body.
Already dead. I told you before not to kill yourself. Tone clipped, he stopped in front of her, the eyes of his helm staring down at her unblinkingly. He had seemed a little bitter, a bit jaded in the past, but nothing like the rage seething off of him.
“You’re angry,” she whispered, tears once more stinging the back of her eyes. Oh, oh no…
Of course I am angry! He snapped, right hand snapping out to accentuate his point. My mate almost died!
Her whole body was shivering now. Having anyone in her small space, after so long being alone would have been overwhelming enough. The sheer intensity slamming into her, coupled with his angry disappointment, made a single tear slide down her cheek. Giselle had not even realized how much joy the sight of him gave her, and he already hated her. He hated her!
I don’t hate you, he relented with a sigh, shoulders slumping and fisted gauntlets opening. You just scared me very badly.
“Yes you do,” the water witch stuttered, more tears sliding down her face, each one hotter and saltier than the last. “I made you hate me; you don’t even want to touch me!”
I can’t touch you, he hissed, sounding almost pained this time. You don’t want me to touch you. I cannot displease you.
Of course she wanted him to touch her! A stray caveat suddenly came to the forefront, and she grimaced at the thought of him discovering how disgusting her body was, now that he was here in person.
Blast it, Giselle! Stop hurting us both with those thoughts! Yes, I can feel them! He added, beginning to shift in place. I waited my whole life, then years trapped in this vessel; let me touch my beautiful mate!
There it was again; when he said beautiful, his whole tone changed. The silly man really seemed to think she was beautiful. His voice thrummed with longing, and something deeper.
She was not conscious of when she released that nasty thought, but he was. With a groan, he stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms, his entire form trembling. My mate, mine,my love, my life, he kept murmuring, petting her hair and back, rubbing his cool cheek on the top of her head.
The feeling of being embraced felt almost alien at first, and the witch held herself perfectly still. Slowly, her heartbeat began to slow from its panicked racing, and she began to relax into his protective hold. It was not the tight armed hug that Dee used to give her as she giggled. And it was not like the one arm sprawl over her shoulder that her father had used to give in public.
He was a vessel? She felt like a vessel. Odd emotions rushed in over the brim, filling her with a warm riot of emotions. Hot tears burned her cheeks, and hysterical laugher began to burble forth between her lips. Maybe this was how squan took over their hosts; if that was true, she gave herself up whole heartedly! Her soft arms slowly rose, hands moving in a questioning manner, before wrapping themselves around his waist. Her cheeks pressed into his chest, and a pleasant warmth seeped into her bones.
“Is this what a hug is supposed to feel like?” She asked the slab of metal before her eyes, not raising her head.
I don’t know. Shiva do not hug. The only hugs I have received have been from Melody, and they did not feel like this. He had frozen at her touch, then reached past her with a long arm to catch up a towel. I thought you have been with other human males before; did you not hug them?
Not like that. Not like she might melt into them and become one! “Are you jealous?” Giselle asked without rancour, luxuriating in the feel of being pampered. That soft cloth slowly swept over every curve. When he reached her frankly massive ass, she gasped, a subtle burning spreading through her left ass cheek.
My mate is beautiful, he growled, tone suddenly husky with universal male pleasure. Why would I be jealous? I am pleased that my mate has experienced the world. It gives me no small satisfaction to know that my mate will never question the pleasure I can give her, because she has already tried and found the competition lacking.
That ass slap had woken her up, and she pushed away from his chest slightly. He took the opportunity to spread his massive hands over her breasts, which, although were large, were still small in comparison to her ass. Her proportions were lacking, in her opinion.
The man sounded insufferably smug and pleased – and how did he know what she was thinking?
It is a perk of matehood. I have an advantage in knowing what you want, and in pleasing you.
“How is telling me my opinion is wrong something that I want?” She demanded, the haze finally clearing from her eyes as her normally tart tone returned.
Mm, was the noncommittal answer. His head turned this way and that, and he raised her arm above her head to give her a gentle twirl.
The feeling of gravity pulling at her belly, breasts and ass as she turned made her cheeks pinken, as did the feeling of her entire body sluggishly jiggling to a halt. “What are you thinking?” She demanded, staring up at him. “I can’t read your expression.” It was a blank stare…
I am so sorry that I am not what you desired, he suddenly murmured, voice low and heartbroken. His grip suddenly loosened, and then tightened at her panicked protest.
“Please, don’t stop touching me!” she cried out, even though he had already caught her up again. “I don’t want to be alone ever again!”
He caught her up as if she was a small child, her voluptuous thighs and ass hanging over his forearm as Ademar carried her to her bed. Laying his length out beside her, he propped his helmeted head on his right hand, elbow resting on the bed. His left lightly stroked her from shoulder to hip, as if she was a kitten.
When her heart slowed again, Giselle released her death grip on his chest to pat it lightly. “You move like you are so real,” she muttered, feeling guilty that he felt guilty. How could the poor man help how he was born? And it wasn’t as if his birth body mattered now, did it?
I am very much real – just not alive.
“Can I…see inside? Can I see…you?”
The request seemed to startle them both, and Ademar hesitated a long moment before drawing off his helm. The metal, which had seemed firmly affixed just moments before, came off in his hands as easily as one pulled off a glove.
His hesitation made her hesitate. “Is…am I being rude?”
No. The tone however, was troubled.
“It’s ok!” Giselle rocked back, smiling at him. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable!”
I am not uncomfortable, he said, sounding very uncomfortable indeed. I just fear that you will be afraid, or…repulsed.
She had had a small nugget of that same fear, but at his admission, she set it aside with a shake of her blonde curls. How could she be afraid of or repulsed by the guy who had listened to and talked with her for hours? Who had given her the first (and best) carnal pleasure she had experienced in years? Who, despite the weird circumstances and all…truly seemed to like her? A guy who Melody treated like a brother?
Catching her plump lower lip in her teeth, she rocked herself forward as he squiggled down. There was the tiniest hint of a red glow coming from inside, and she scooted closer to get a better look. His approving grumble made her bold, and after a moment of straining her neck, she giggled and climbed over him to get to the other side. From this angle, she could just make out the binding symbol on the chestplate.
Although it was scratched off, she could clearly see Melody’s mark, and it relaxed a tension that she was not aware that she had been holding on to. It was normally Melody who was the impulsive and recklessly positive member of their two woman show, so Giselle shocked herself by reaching inside to draw a finger along the etched glyph that tied him to this form.
The tiny ruddy glow burst forth into a glaringly bright light, and she gasped, jerking her hand backwards. The glow almost extinguished itself, so she swallowed and placed her palm on the hot surface. “Ademar?”
Yes, he whispered, sounding almost as if he was afraid to breathe. Not that he breathed.
A tiny hint of a glow returned, and she giggled, suddenly realizing that Melody was right. Ademar was shy.
I am not shy, was the grouchy retort, the light wobbling wildly.
“But what if I like shy Ademar?” She asked sweetly, once again stroking a finger along the edge of the forbidden glyph.
The red light warmed, pulsing. I…do not repulse you?
Guilt slammed into her, and she gently pushed his helmet back towards his chest piece. The metal from both attached, bridging where his neck would have been. Once reattached, she curled into his broad back, burying her face in the hard surface of his neck piece. Her throat tightened, and she shook her head silently for a moment. “No, sweetie, you do not repulse me.”