Chapter 2: A Warm Welcome
Dawn came grey and slow through the pines, and Melara woke because something was squeezing her.
Not her hand. Not the blanket. A hot, wet, rhythmic clench that ran the whole length of her cock from root to tip, tight as a fist and slick as a mouth. Her hips bucked before her eyes were even open, and she heard herself make a small broken noise into the wool of her bedroll.
She pushed herself up on one elbow, blinking grit from her lashes.
The clearing had gone pale. The bioluminescent mushrooms along the fallen log had dimmed to a faint blue pulse, like a heartbeat losing interest. The fire had burned down to embers that breathed orange when the wind moved.
And Lyra was standing at the edge of camp, ten paces off, fully dressed in her leathers, calmly snapping dead branches over her knee and feeding them to the coals. She had her back half turned. Her hair was braided tight against her skull.
Melara looked down at herself, towards her lap, but her cock wasn't there. It had gone off on it's own again, the damned thing, she tried to concentrate, made all the harder by the insistent waves of pressure rippling through her detached cock, but as she looked over to Lyra she knew where it was; inside Lyra.
She felt it. Gods, she felt it. Walls of muscle gripping her, a slow pulse of wet heat working up and down the shaft, the little shivering squeeze at the base where Lyra's thighs pressed in. It was the same feeling she'd had last night in her own cunt when the thing had detached and buried itself there, except now it was someone else's body and someone else's heat and it was moving with the small, absent-minded sway of a woman doing chores.
"Lyra," she said. Her voice came out thin and cracked.
The elf didn't turn. She set the branch down, brushed her palms, and picked up the stew pot, tipping the night's cold dregs into the fire. Steam hissed up.
"Morning," she said.
"That's. That's my. You've got my."
"I do." Lyra crouched, laid the pot aside, and began rolling her bedroll with quick, practiced flicks of the wrist. Every motion traveled down her body and arrived at Melara as a stroke. "It wandered over in the night. Kept bumping my hip, poor thing. Shivering. Cold as a river stone."
Melara's mouth opened and closed. Her cock, lodged deep in Lyra, twitched, and she felt the answering flutter of Lyra's cunt around it, a soft, unbothered clench, and her whole spine lit up like a struck match.
"It doesn't get cold," she managed. "It's. It's part of me; kind of."
"Mm." Lyra stood, tucked the roll under her arm, and finally looked at her. Green eyes, flat and amused, the way a cat looks at something it has already decided about. "Then it must've just wanted company. I gave it somewhere warm to sleep. You're welcome."
Melara sat up fully. The blanket slid off her shoulders and she made a grab for it, too late, her breasts bare in the cold morning air, nipples drawn tight. A faint blue line of energy, visible only to Melara, stretched from her lap to Lyra's tight leather pants, the magical tether connecting them. She could feel every inch of it, the wet clench, the small slick slide when Lyra shifted her weight.
"You can have it back if you'd like," Lyra said. Not cruel. Almost gentle. She set the bedroll down and undid the laces at her collar, unhurried, one eye on the treeline, the other on Melara. "Unless you'd rather sit there and let me finish packing."
Melara's face burned. She gathered the blanket around her shoulders and got her feet under her, she felt her cock stiffening, maybe even growing, as her eyes traced Lyra's lithe figure. Lyra bent to stuff her things in her pack, and Melara could just barely make out a slowly shifting bulge, her cock burying itself in her like a sentient sex toy.
"How long," Melara said, trying to force words out to maintain the illusion of sex control.
Lyra tilted her head.
"How long have you."
"Had it in me?" Lyra cinched the ties of her pack tight, settling into a kneeling position, resting her weight on her heels. The cock took the presented angle eagerly and started fucking Lyra in earnest now, long, deep strokes. "Since second watch. Fell asleep with it tucked against my belly, woke up with it poking my thigh like a dog wanting out. So I let it out." She smiled, small and sharp, her face a mask of calm and control even as the magical cock pounded into her.
Melara's cunt clenched around nothing. She felt her own wetness trickle down the inside of her thigh, absurd and obvious. She struggled to think clearly, she needed to cum, she craved cock even as her own was milked relentlessly by Lyra's tight body, she needed to fill, to be filled, to use and to be used.
The tether pulsed, and Melara felt her cock swell inside Lyra, thick and hot, the shaft straining against that tight wet grip. Lyra's breath caught, barely, a hitch she swallowed before it could become anything. But Melara felt it. She felt the flutter run up the length of her, felt Lyra's cunt clamp down and then relax, wetter than before.
"There," Lyra said softly, almost to herself. She shifted her weight on her heels, and the motion dragged Melara's cock halfway out before it slid back in to the root. "That's the thing about it. It doesn't just want to sit there. It wants to work."
Melara couldn't answer. Her knees had gone weak, and she sank back onto the edge of her bedroll, blanket clutched around her breasts. Through the tether she could feel everything: the drag of Lyra's inner walls, the small ache at the base of the shaft where it pressed against the elf's cervix, the slow gather of slick. Her own cunt clenched around nothing, empty and wet, and a fresh bead of moisture ran down her thigh.
"You're going to make me," she started, and stopped, because the word cum sat in her throat and she was a blue mage and blue mages did not beg.
"Make you what?" Lyra stood up, slow, and the movement was a long stroke from tip to root. She walked the four paces to the fire and picked up the water skin, unhurried, and every step was a fuck. Melara watched her own cock move inside the leather, a faint bulge shifting high in Lyra's crotch with each stride. "Go on. Say it."
Melara pressed her palm flat against her own stomach, as if she could still feel the thing rooted there. The phantom weight of it, the memory of it filling her. Her magic thrummed under her skin, blue and hungry, and it always wanted this. It always wanted to be inside and to be filled, both at once.
"Lyra." Her voice broke on the second syllable.
Lyra drank, wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist, and watched her over the skin. "You look like you're about to cry."
"I'm not."
"You are. It's alright." Lyra crouched in front of her, close enough that Melara could smell the woodsmoke in her braid. The shift in angle drove the cock against a spot that made Melara's whole body jerk. "Listen. Neither of us slept well, and there's goblin sign all over that ridge, and Kaelen will be up in a quarter hour wanting breakfast." She said it flat, businesslike, as if the thing buried in her wasn't pulsing with every word. "So here's what's going to happen. I'm going to finish packing. You're going to stop pretending you're not about to come."
"I'm not pretending anything."
"Good. Then it won't be hard." Lyra stood, and the withdrawal was so slow Melara felt each ridge of her pass, so slow she wanted to scream. Then Lyra rolled her hips forward and buried her again, to the hilt, and Melara saw stars at the edge of her vision. "There. Isn't that better?"
Melara gripped the blanket and made a sound she didn't recognise. Through the tether her cock throbbed, thick and urgent, the pressure gathering at its base like water behind a dam. She could feel Lyra's heartbeat through her, steady and slow, and her own racing to meet it.
"You've done this before," Melara managed.
"What, kept a stray warm?" Lyra turned away, reached for her pack, and the motion dragged another stroke out of her. "Once or twice. It's not complicated. You offer it a roof and it stops wandering."
"That's not. I meant. With me, last night. Watching me."
Lyra's hands paused on the straps. Just for a breath, no more. Then she cinched them tight. "You weren't subtle."
"I was." Melara's face burned. "I thought I was."
"You crawled past the fire on your hands and knees with your arse in the air and your mouth on Kaelen's cock." Lyra said it the way she'd say the weather. "The man sleeps like the dead, by the way. You could have sung him a ballad and he wouldn't have stirred." She turned, and her green eyes were bright and terrible in the grey light. "I watched because you weren't subtle. And because it was the first interesting thing that's happened on this trip."
The word interesting went through Melara like a hand. Her cock pulsed, once, hard, and a thin bead of pre-cum slicked the way inside Lyra. Lyra's lip curled, pleased.
"There it is again," she said. "It does that when you like something. Did you know that?"
Melara shook her head, mute.
"Every time you decide you want something, it goes stiff as a poker." Lyra stepped in close, boots nearly touching Melara's knees, and looked down at her. "Which means right now you're deciding something. What is it?"
Melara's mouth was dry. She could feel the answer sitting behind her teeth and she couldn't say it.
"Say it," Lyra said, and rolled her hips, a slow grind that dragged her wet walls along the full length of the shaft. "Or I'll put it back on the bedroll and let you cool off."
"Don't."
"Then say it."
Melara's hands shook. The blanket had slipped to her waist and her breasts were bare and the cold had drawn her nipples to hard points. "I want," she said, and the tether flared bright, and her cock jumped inside Lyra so hard that even Lyra's mask cracked, just for an instant, a dark widening of the eyes. "I want to finish."
"Finish what?"
"You know what."
"Say the word." Lyra's voice had dropped, low and rough. "You're a wizard. You know the word."
Melara closed her eyes. "I want to come inside you."
The pressure broke all at once, the way a held breath breaks. Melara's hips bucked up off the bedroll and her cock swelled and kicked and then she was coming, hot and thick, pumping into Lyra's body in long pulsing ropes. She felt every spurt arrive, felt Lyra's walls milk her through it, felt the slick overflow and run down the elf's thigh. Her own cunt clenched and released in sympathy, spilling down her leg, and she made a long, cracked, humiliating noise that echoed off the treeline.
Lyra rode it out. She stood still and let it happen, jaw tight, one hand braced on Melara's shoulder for balance. When the last pulse faded she exhaled through her nose, slow, and only then did her own thighs tremble, just slightly, just once.
"That was for last night," she said. "The stew."
Melara lay back on the bedroll, chest heaving, sweat cooling on her skin. The tether still glowed faint blue between them. She could feel her cock beginning to soften inside Lyra, spent and heavy, and the small wet clench of the elf's body still cradling it.
Lyra straightened, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and looked toward the ridge. "Kaelen's up," she said. "I heard him roll over."
Melara scrambled for the blanket. "Lyra. Wait. I need it back."
"Do you?" Lyra's hand dropped to her belt, and, unhurried, she loosened the laces. Then she reached down and Melara felt fingers close around the base of her own cock, inside Lyra's smalls, and ease it out. The withdrawal was slow and wet and obscene, and Melara's breath caught the whole way.
Her cock came free with a soft, wet sound and hung there in Lyra's hand, slick and gleaming, half its length still twitching. Lyra looked at it, then at Melara, and did not hand it back.
"You can come get it," she said. "Once you've got your clothes on."
Melara grabbed her robe off the pack and dragged it over her shoulders. The linen was cold and stiff and smelled of woodsmoke, and she fumbled the sash twice before she got it knotted. Behind her, Kaelen coughed in his bedroll, the deep rattle of a man not quite awake.
She crossed the clearing barefoot. Frost nipped at her soles. Lyra stood by the log with her pack on one shoulder, patient as a cat at a mouse hole. Her cock lay across her palm, still slick, half-hard, twitching at the air.
"Give it here," Melara said.
Lyra closed her hand around the middle of it and held it out, arm straight, like a fish she'd caught. "Here it is."
Melara reached for it. Lyra pulled it back an inch.
"Do you want it back?"
"Yes."
"Then show me." Lyra tilted it up, thumb riding the underside where the skin was thin and tight. Melara's own knees buckled a little at the touch. "Show me how much."
The clearing pulsed blue at the edges of her sight. Melara looked at her own cock hanging in another woman's fist and felt the double pull of it, the familiar's throb and her own cunt answering from deep inside. She swallowed.
"Down," Lyra said.
Melara knelt in the frozen grass. The robe gaped at her chest and she didn't fix it. Lyra brought the head of the cock to her lips, smearing pre-cum across them, and the taste hit her tongue an instant before the touch did, salt and iron and something sweeter underneath.
"Open."
She opened. Lyra fed it into her mouth an inch at a time, slow, and Melara felt the wet heat close around her own shaft just as her tongue closed around it. Both at once. The sensation crossed inside her like two rivers meeting and she moaned around the mouthful, which only made it worse.
"Good," Lyra said. "Keep going."
Melara took it deeper. She ran her tongue up the vein along the underside, the way she liked it done to her, and felt it done to her in the same breath. Her hips rocked against nothing. The grass cut into her knees. Lyra's hand stayed at the base, steady, controlling the depth.
"You're doing it sloppily," Lyra said. "Use your hand at the bottom."
Melara wrapped her fingers around the base. Her own fingers, her own cock, Lyra's fist over them both. The overlap was obscene and she didn't care. She worked her mouth down until the head nudged the back of her throat and stayed there, breathing through her nose, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.
"That's it."
Lyra moved her hips. Just barely, a shallow roll, and the cock slid out of Melara's mouth to the ridge and back in. Melara gagged once, softly, and Lyra waited for her to settle before doing it again.
"You like this," Lyra said. Not a question.
Melara pulled off with a wet gasp. A string of spit hung between her lip and the tip, catching the grey light. "I'm not. This isn't."
"Your cunt's dripping down your thigh. I can see it." Lyra nodded down at her. "Look at the grass."
Melara looked. The frost under her knees had melted in a small dark patch. Her face burned. She bent her head and took the cock back into her mouth before Lyra could say anything else, and Lyra laughed, low and easy, and got a hand into her hair.
"Now," Lyra said. "Let's see if your aim is as good as your mouth."
She used the hand in Melara's hair to set the pace. Not rough, but not gentle either. Long strokes that put the cock past Melara's teeth and into her throat, then short ones that kept the head pressed to her tongue so she could taste herself. Melara's jaw ached. Her cunt clenched and leaked with every pass, and she pressed her thighs together to feel something. It didn't help.
Through the tether she could feel Lyra's heartbeat quickening. That steadiness had a crack in it now, a small uneven flutter every time the shaft bottomed out. Melara heard it in Lyra's breathing, a hitch she was trying to hide.
"You feel that," Melara said, pulling off to breathe. "You feel it too."
"I feel the thing twitching in my hand. It's not subtle."
"Not the. You know what I mean."
Lyra looked down at her. Something moved behind the green, quick and private, and was gone. She pushed Melara's head back down without answering.
The pressure built at the base of Melara's cock, low and tight, the same gathering she'd felt all night. She knew the shape of it now. She moaned around the shaft and worked her hand faster at the root, and Lyra, reading the shudder that ran through the thing, took her hand away and let Melara have it.
"That's it," Lyra said. "Go on. In your own mouth."
Melara's eyes went wide. She shook her head, but her hand kept moving, and the cock swelled thick and hot against her tongue.
"Coward," Lyra said, soft.
Melara came. The first spurt hit the back of her throat and she swallowed on instinct. The second crossed her tongue, hot and salt-thick, and this time she held it, let it pool, tasting it, feeling it from both ends at once. The third spilled past her lips and ran down her chin onto her knuckles. Her cunt clenched hard around nothing and she shook through it, knees spread in the wet grass, making a small ruined sound around the mouthful.
When it finished she sat back on her heels. Come dripped off her jaw and onto the robe. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked up at Lyra, who was already letting the cock drop from her fingers like a finished chore.
"Now can I have it?"
Lyra stepped back and picked up her pack. "Take it."
Melara got her hand around herself and pulled, and the thing came to her like a hound called home, sliding wet through her fist and then up under the hem of the robe, burying itself back where it belonged with a slow, wet click of magic. Her whole body flushed warm. She sagged where she knelt, empty and full all at once, and hated how much she'd missed it.
Lyra shouldered the pack and looked toward the ridge. "Wash your face in the stream before Kaelen sees you."
Melara's hand went to her chin. "He won't. He never notices."
"He noticed the stew bowl was clean." Lyra smiled at her, small and sharp. "You've got until he's dressed."