Chapter 137: They say Goodbye
The silence in the sun-drenched bedroom was a living thing, thick with the smell of their joining—sex, sweat, and the lingering perfume of crushed dahlias from the garden below. Susan lay between them, one hand on Jake’s chest, the other tracing the hard line of Bruce’s hip, her breathing slowly settling. But her eyes, when they opened, held a glint that hadn’t been there before. Not satiation. A spark that was rapidly becoming a wildfire.
She turned her head, nuzzling into Bruce’s shoulder, then nipping the skin. Her voice was a husky whisper, edged with playful challenge. “I heard you have a legendary recovery. Are you ready?”
Bruce chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. He looked down at her, seeing not just the shy girl from Mejis, but the woman forged in death and rebirth, hungry for all the life she’d been denied. He slid a hand into her wheat-colored hair, his thumb stroking her temple. “Why don’t you find out?”
His meaning was clear. He guided her head gently but firmly down the length of his body. Her blue eyes, wide and eager, locked on his cock, which was already thickening, rising again to its full, monstrous girth against his stomach. A drop of pearly fluid beaded at the tip. Without hesitation, she licked it clean, a shiver of pleasure rocking her frame at the taste—salty, musky, purely him.
Then she took him into her mouth.
She was eager, but inexperienced. Bruce didn’t rush her. “Easy, girl,” he murmured, his voice a gravelly command. “Use your tongue. Flat, like that. Yeah.”
Jake watched, propped on an elbow, his own renewed interest evident. He ran a hand down Susan’s spine, over the curve of her ass, his fingers slipping through the wetness that still slicked her thighs. He positioned himself behind her, his cock nudging against her from behind. She gasped around Bruce’s length, arching her back, offering herself.
“That’s it, Susan,” Jake whispered, and he pushed into her pussy in one smooth, solid stroke.
She cried out, the sound muffled by Bruce’s flesh filling her mouth. Bruce held her head, not forcing, just anchoring her as Jake began to move. The rhythm was established quickly: Jake’s deep, driving thrusts from behind rocked her forward, forcing Bruce’s cock deeper into her throat with each push. She gagged, tears springing to her eyes, but she didn’t pull away. Her hands scrabbled at Bruce’s thighs, her nails biting into his skin.
“Take it,” Bruce growled, his own hips giving slight, involuntary upward jerks. “You wanted it all. So take it all.”
The dual penetration, the overwhelming fullness, the raw, filthy physics of being used in both holes simultaneously, sent her hurtling toward the edge with shocking speed. Her muffled moans became a constant, desperate vibration around Bruce’s shaft. Her inner walls clenched viscously around Jake. Her body went rigid, then shattered.
Her first orgasm ripped through her, a silent, convulsing storm. Jake felt her cunt spasm around him, a series of tight, fluttering pulses. Bruce felt her throat constrict wildly. She shook between them, a vessel overflowing with sensation.
When the tremors subsided, she slid off Bruce’s cock, gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening head. “More,” she panted, her voice wrecked. “I need more.”
She pushed Jake onto his back, straddling him before he could react. She sank down onto his rigid length with a loud, wet cry, taking him to the hilt, her head thrown back. Bruce moved behind her, his hands spreading her ass cheeks. He spat into his palm, slicking his enormous cock, then pressed the blunt, purple head against her tight, untouched rosette.
“Breathe out,” he instructed, his voice calm amidst the frenzy.
She exhaled in a shuddering rush, and he pushed.
The invasion was slow, relentless, monumental. She was so full from Jake beneath her, the additional stretching was an exquisite, impossible burn. Her mouth dropped open in a soundless scream. Bruce didn’t stop until he was fully seated, his balls pressed against Jake’s where they met inside her.
The feeling of being utterly speared, filled beyond any rational limit, triggered her second climax instantly. It wasn’t a wave. It was a geyser.
Susan came with a shriek that echoed off the antique mirrors. A hot, clear gush of fluid erupted from her pussy, soaking Jake’s stomach and the sheets beneath them. She squirted in continuous, pulsing jets, her body convulsing between them, her inner muscles clamping down on both cocks in a frantic, milking rhythm.
“Fuck me,” Jake groaned, stunned by the hot deluge. “Susan, god…”
Bruce began to move, and Jake matched his rhythm. They fucked her in a brutal, perfect synchrony. As Bruce withdrew from her ass, Jake thrust up into her pussy. As Bruce plunged back in, Jake pulled out. She was the nexus of their motion, a being reduced to a series of collapsing, continuous orgasms.
They weren’t separate peaks. They were a chain reaction. One contraction would trigger another, and another, a rolling, endless seismic event of pleasure that had her babbling, screaming, sobbing. “Don’t stop don’t stop oh please gods I can’t I can’t—!” Her words dissolved into raw, animal noise.
The room was a symphony of obscene, wet sounds: the slap of flesh, the squelch of her overstimulated cunt, the tight, rhythmic gasp of her ass taking Bruce’s girth. The velvet drapes of the four-poster bed seemed to tremble with the force of it.
Bruce’s control was a fraying wire. Jake’s breaths were ragged sobs. They were both too close, the sensation of her endless, clamping heat pushing them toward the brink.
“Now,” Bruce gritted out, his pace becoming frantic, jackhammer-deep.
“With you,” Jake choked.
With a final, simultaneous drive, they buried themselves to the root and came. Bruce’s release flooded her ass in hot, pulsing ropes. Jake’s erupted into her pussy, mixing with her own fluids. She felt both eruptions, the distinct, searing fills, and it pitched her into one final, cataclysmic climax that left her limp, boneless, and shuddering between them.
In the quiet sitting room downstairs, the fire had burned low. Susannah sat on a thick fur rug, her back against Roland’s knees as he sat in a high-backed chair. The echo of soft cries and the old bed’s rhythmic protest from the floor above had finally ceased.
A comfortable silence sat between them, filled with memory and the quiet awe of a world restored. Susannah turned, looking up at Roland. The firelight played over his weathered features, softening the hard lines of a thousand trails.
“They’re giving her quite the welcome,” Susannah said, a small, knowing smile on her lips.
“She has a lot of lost time to make up for,” Roland replied, his voice a soft rumble. His hand came to rest on her curly hair, a gesture of old, deep affection.
Susannah shifted, turning fully to face him. She leaned forward and began to unbuckle his gunbelt, laying it aside with the reverence it deserved. Then her hands went to the buttons of his jeans. He didn’t stop her. His gaze was heavy-lidded, watching her.
She freed him, his cock springing out, thick and already hard. It was a soldier’s cock, familiar and beloved. She didn’t speak. She simply leaned in and took him into her mouth.
She was an artist with her mouth, a gunslinger of pleasure. She used her tongue, her lips, the gentle scrape of her teeth, swallowing him deep until her nose pressed into the coarse hair at his base. Her hands cupped and rolled his balls. Roland’s head fell back against the chair with a thump, a long, slow breath hissing from between his teeth. His hands tangled in her hair, not guiding, just holding on.
“Susannah,” he whispered, the name a prayer from a past life.
When she felt him swelling, the muscles in his thighs tightening, she pulled off with a soft, wet pop. She stood, shedding her own clothes with quick, efficient movements. Her body, powerful and lush, was painted in firelight and shadow. She climbed onto the chair, straddling him, guiding him to her entrance.
She sank down onto him in one slow, deep motion, taking all of him inside her. They both groaned, a harmonic of rekindled connection. She began to move, riding him with a smooth, rolling intensity that was all her own. Her breasts swayed, her eyes locked on his. This wasn’t a frenzy of rebirth. This was a reaffirmation. A steady, powerful claiming of a bond that had survived death and worlds.
“My ka-tet,” he breathed, his hands gripping her hips.
“Always,” she promised, driving down harder, faster.
It didn’t take long. The emotional tide of the day, the profound relief, the sheer joy of being alive together in a healed world, crested quickly. Roland’s climax hit him like a shuddering quake. He pulled her down hard against him, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he emptied himself deep inside her with a guttural cry. She clenched around him, milking every pulse, her own release a warm, fluttering counterpart to his.
They held each other as the fire crackled to embers.
Later, washed and dressed, they all stood in the rejuvenated Great Square by the flowing fountain. The goodbyes were thick with unspoken emotion. Susan, clean and glowing, her skin still faintly flushed, could not stop staring at Bruce. There was awe there, and a deep, hungry gratitude.
She stepped forward, took his large hand in both of hers. “Please,” she said, her voice earnest. “Come back and see us again?”
Her meaning was clear. It was an invitation for him, for all of them, to return to this reclaimed world and this expanded circle.
Bruce smiled, a genuine, warm expression. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “How could I say no to that? We’ll bring the whole family next time.”
Susan nodded, a satisfied gleam in her truthful blue eyes. “Good.”
There were hugs then—fierce, clinging hugs. Jake with Roland, a silent understanding passing between them. Susannah with Susan, a kiss on the cheek and a whispered, “Be happy, sister.” Finally, Susannah with Roland, a long embrace that spoke of a journey finally, blessedly, at peace.
Bruce placed his hands on Jake and Susannah’s shoulders. With a last nod to the gunslinger and his reunited love, he folded the world around them. The marble of Gilead, the scent of jasmine and water, the feeling of a righted universe, dissolved.
They reappeared on the sun-drenched terrace of their villa, the sound of the sea a gentle murmur. The wire-bond swelled with a warm, inquiring welcome from Camille, Anya, and the others. Home.
In the square in Gilead, Roland put his arm around Susan’s shoulders, pulling her close as they watched the empty space where their friends had been. The setting sun gilded the restored towers.
Susan leaned her head against him. “So,” she said, her voice quiet. “Is he a god?”
Roland nodded, gazing at the horizon. “More than that. He’s the best man I’ve ever met. And I’ve seen him do things you wouldn’t believe.”
Susan smiled, a private, inward curve of her lips as she thought of the feel of him, the impossible size, the relentless power, the generous intensity. “I believe it,” she said, squeezing Roland’s waist. “He screws like a god.”
Roland let out a loud, genuine laugh, the sound echoing off the bright marble, unfamiliar and wonderful in his own ears. “I’ve seen that too.”
The laugh lingered in the cool Gilead evening, a fragile, precious thing. Roland brushed a strand of Susan’s hair behind her ear, his calloused thumb lingering on her cheek. “Come on,” he said, his voice softer now. “Let’s go in. The night’s getting chill.”
She nodded, tucking herself against his side as they turned from the square. Her body ached in a dozen wonderful, new ways, a living testament to the afternoon. Each slight throb between her legs, each tender muscle, was a tattoo of reunion. She felt real. She felt claimed.
Back in the villa by the sea, the transition was a soft shock. One moment, the dry, incense-scented air of another world filled their lungs. The next, it was salt and citrus and the profound, woven warmth of the bond. They stood on the terrace, blinking in the golden hour light.
Camille was there instantly, a glass of wine in hand, her eyes scanning them. She saw the peace on Susannah’s face, the quiet, settled look in Jake’s eyes, the faint, otherworldly dust still on Bruce’s boots. “Well?” she asked, a smile playing on her lips. “Get everything done?”
Bruce pulled her into him, kissing her deeply, his hands firm on her waist. He tasted of power and distant, healed places. “The Beams are whole,” he said against her mouth. “Gilead stands. And Roland… he has his Susan back.”
Camille’s eyebrows shot up. She looked past him to Susannah, who gave a slow, confirming nod, her expression a complex mix of joy and wistfulness. “That’s… that’s a miracle, Bruce.”
“It’s a start,” he murmured, but his hazel eyes were distant, seeing not the sea, but the infinite, thrumming lattice of reality he had just stabilized. The mantle felt heavier, more integrated. He could feel the faintest echo of every joyful cry in a world saved from decay. It was a good weight.
Anya appeared from the shadows of the pergola, her form coalescing from shimmering heat. “You redirected a significant amount of cosmic entropy,” she stated, her voice the sound of stable atoms. “The background radiation of those universes has normalized. Interesting. It was not healing. It was… a rebuke to decay itself.”
“He told it to be whole,” Jake said, walking to the terrace edge and leaning on the railing. He still felt the ghost of Susan around him, the memory of her squirt soaking his skin. “And it listened.”
Later, after simple food and shared stories, the household settled into its nocturnal rhythm. Bruce found himself on the wide, low sofa in the main living area, Camille curled under one arm. Anya sat at his feet, her head leaning against his knee, her hair cool to the touch. Susannah and Jake were across the room, speaking in low tones, their fingers interlaced.
The wire-bond hummed, a contented circuit. But beneath the contentment, Bruce felt a new, specific frequency—a hungry, grateful echo from across the worlds. It was Susan’s residual desire, a faint but distinct pull on the edge of his consciousness. It made his blood heat.
Camille felt the shift in him. She tipped her head back to look up at his face. “You’re still… buzzing,” she whispered.
“It’s a lot,” he admitted, his hand stroking her arm. “Fixing something that broken. Feeling it click into place. And then…”
“And then giving the gunslinger back his heart,” Camille finished. She smiled, a wicked, understanding curve of her lips. “In every way imaginable.” She slid her hand down his chest, over the hard plane of his stomach, and palmed the thick bulge already forming in his pants. “You poured a lot of yourself into that world today. I think you need to be grounded. Here. With us.”
Her meaning was clear. Anya looked up, her crystalline eyes reflecting the dim light. “Your biological systems are flooded with adaptive enzymes. Channeling them through pleasure would be efficient.”
Bruce chuckled. “Efficient. Right.” He stood, pulling Camille up with him. He reached down, drawing Anya up as well. He glanced over at Jake and Susannah. “You two planning to just watch?”
Susannah stood, stretching like a cat. “Was wondering when you’d get around to us.” She pulled her shirt over her head, her full breasts swaying. “Feels like we’ve been holding the home fires all day. I’m ready to burn.”
The movement to the bedroom was a silent, understood migration. The room was large, dominated by a wide platform bed, the sheets a dark, cool silk. The doors to the balcony were open, the sound of the waves a rhythmic counterpoint to what was coming.
Camille pushed Bruce onto the edge of the bed. She and Anya shared a look, a silent coordination born of deep bond and shared purpose. They knelt before him together, working his pants open. His cock, already fully erect and thick-veined, sprang free, jutting upward.
“Fuck, look at that,” Susannah breathed, coming to stand beside him, her fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw. “Still hard from thinking about that little blonde from another world?”
“Thinking about home,” Bruce corrected, his voice rough. He grabbed a handful of her curls and brought her mouth to his for a searing kiss. “About all of you.”
Camille didn’t wait. She took the head of his cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the corona, while Anya, with clinical precision, licked a long stripe up the rigid underside before taking his balls into her cool mouth. Bruce groaned into Susannah’s mouth, his hips jerking.
Jake stripped and moved behind Susannah, his hands on her hips. He was already hard, his length pressing against the cleft of her ass. He kissed her shoulder. “How do you want it?”
“From behind,” she gasped, breaking the kiss with Bruce. “I want to watch them work. I want to see everything.”
She got on the bed on her hands and knees, presenting herself to Jake, but her head was turned, her dark eyes fixed on the two women worshiping Bruce’s cock. Jake positioned himself and drove into her with a single, solid thrust that made her cry out. Her cunt was already slick, welcoming him easily.
The room filled with the sounds of them: wet, hungry sucking sounds from Camille and Anya, the sharp slap of Jake’s pelvis against Susannah’s ass, their mutual groans. Bruce watched, his hands now fisted in Camille’s and Anya’s hair, guiding their pace. Camille took him deep, her throat working around him, while Anya’s curious, intense mouth explored every ridge and vein.
“That’s it, suck your king’s cock,” Bruce growled, his Saiyan aggression, usually channeled into cosmic repair, finding a more primal outlet. “Take it all. Make it yours.”
Camille redoubled her efforts, her moans vibrating along his shaft. Anya mimicked her, her technique becoming less clinical, more fervent, lost in the sensory data of taste and pressure.
Susannah was getting close. Jake’s thrusts were perfect, nailing a spot inside her that made her vision spark. “Jake, right there, don’t you dare stop!” she screamed, her body bowing. Her climax hit her, a sudden, violent clenching that made Jake shout. He kept pounding through it, his own release building fast.
Bruce felt the tension coiling at the base of his spine, fed by the sight and the feels. He pulled Camille and Anya off him by their hair. “Enough. Up on the bed. Now.”
They scrambled up, lips swollen and glistening. He laid Camille on her back, her legs spread. He mounted her, not with a slow tease, but with a single, devastating plunge that buried every immense inch of him inside her in one stroke. Her eyes went wide, a scream caught in her throat as she was stretched, filled, pinned.
“Oh god, Bruce, yes!” she finally shrieked, her nails raking down his back.
He fucked her with a relentless, driving pace, each withdrawal almost complete, each thrust a brutal reclamation. The bed shook. Anya knelt beside Camille’s head, leaning down to kiss her, sharing the taste of him. Then Anya moved, positioning her own core over Camille’s face. Camille’s tongue lashed out instinctively, diving into Anya’s slick folds.
The tableau was raw and perfectly coordinated: Bruce hammering into Camille, Camille eating Anya out with desperate hunger, and Jake, with a final, broken cry, erupting inside Susannah as she shuddered through a second, rolling orgasm.
Bruce’s rhythm faltered, his control snapping. With a roar that was more beast than god, he slammed into Camille one last time and came. His orgasm was a torrent, a flood of hot seed that pumped into her depths, wave after wave, so much it leaked out around the seal of their joining, soaking the sheets beneath them. Camille convulsed beneath him, her own climax triggered by the scalding, internal rush, her cries muffled against Anya’s core.
He collapsed, rolling to the side, pulling Camille with him, still joined. They were a mess of sweat and come and tangled limbs, breathing in ragged unison. Jake and Susannah slumped together nearby.
Anya, her face serene, lay down beside Bruce, her hand resting on his heaving chest. She felt the titanic energy within him, the cosmic and the carnal now cycled and settled. “Efficient,” she murmured again, a hint of something like satisfaction in her atomic voice.
In the quiet, Bruce stared at the ceiling, feeling the gentle lap of the bond from his sleeping wives, the solid presence of Jake nearby. He felt the distant, grateful hum from a rebuilt Gilead, and the fainter, hungry ping from Susan—a connection now forged, a door left open. The mantle was quiet. The universe, for this moment, demanded nothing.
He closed his eyes. The warrior spirit, the protector’s drive, the lover’s heart—all were sated. For now. Tomorrow’s horizon was quiet, but he knew, with a certainty that was both thrilling and wearying, that it would not stay that way. Something always came knocking.