A Matter for the Goddess chapter 8
Aug. 11th, 2008 09:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeStill not caught up on stories and comments. Stop posting awesome stories and awesome thought-provoking comments while I'm trying to catch up!
(Please do not stop posting awesome stories and awesome thought-provoking comments while I'm trying to catch up. Or ever. Bless.)
Still, this shouldn't put me too much further behind, as I don't think more than five or six people are reading this story. *blows kisses to the five or six people who are*
Title: A Matter For the Goddess, OR, Babysitter of Themyscira!
Fandom: JLA/Teen Titans
Summary: Alternate reality. After the events of Infinite Crisis, Wonder Woman took Wonder Girl (Cassie Sandsmark) back to Themyscira to recover from the Crisis and from the death of Superboy (Conner Kent). Four years later, Cassie has built a life for herself on Themyscira. When Diana, still acting as Wonder Woman, brings back a homeless waif to Cassie's adopted home, Cassie is furious, until drastic action by Queen Hippolyta forces her into a closer understanding of her visitor's demons.
Rating: Gentlemen, we have NC-17.
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
I woke up shivering on the hard floor, a warm hand on my shoulder. My eyes flicked open-- I used to have reflexes that would have had him on the floor first, my hands around his neck, ready to squeeze, but I didn't any more, and I guessed it was just as well. He looked so damn happy.
"Cassie," he said softly. "Cassie, it worked. I had the best dream. Just like you said. About flying."
I smiled up at him, still not all the way awake: cold skin, damp hair, hard floor, happy Ian. "Tell me."
"You were still Wonder Girl," he said, "and you were still wearing your stupid pajamas, and you were flying with me."
I giggled and sat up, knuckling my eyelids. "You know what they say about flying dreams."
"That they're awesome?" he suggested.
I yawned. "That they're really about sex."
"Yeah?" he said, and wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me on the lips.
He was so warm, and I admit it, I kissed back, morning breath and all, I clung to him, for longer than my sleep-dulled brain excused. So warm, and hard, and smelling of boy. No super strength like Conner, no alien Superboy gleam to his skin; just a kid, like me, in a ratty T-shirt and underwear, a normal kid in the land of the Amazons. I didn't pull away. I couldn't. He pulled back first, searching my face, hopeful and scared, and I just burst into tears.
"Oh, Cassie!" he said, his hands up in the air, quivering, not knowing whether to touch me again or apologize or what. I'm officially the nightmare date: the girl who cries when you kiss her and can't explain why, with added "can supernaturally compel you to unconditional obedience or horrible agonizing punishment" fun.
"It's okay," I said-- I didn't sob, or anything, I refuse to sob, even if I'm crying at the time. "I'm just fucking frustrated, I-- why did you do that? Why, when I'm trying so hard not to let this spell thing make me-- take advantage of you? Why do you have to kiss me?"
"Because I want you," he said, simply, like it was simple. "And you want me. Don't you?"
"Oh, God." I pulled my knees up, buried my face in them; I couldn't look at him. "Ian, it's not right. Not when you can't say no."
"I can say no," he said.
"Not if I tell you not to."
"But you haven't."
"But I could," I said firmly, "and you know it."
"But you wouldn't," he answered, just as firmly, "and I know that too."
"How do you know?" I demanded. "You think you know me after-- what has it been, three days?"
"Yes, I think I know you," he snapped back. "I think under the circumstances, I know you pretty well, Cassie."
"You know-- what? That I can't cook? That I'm a potter? That I fucked Wonder Woman? What's doing it for you, the lesbian thing?"
He pulled back at that, blinked at me. "Are you asking me why I'm attracted to you?"
"I'm saying I know why you're doing this," I said, already exhausted, but not about to lie back down. I would have stood up, but I didn't want him at my feet, either. "And it's not because you're attracted to me. You practically admitted it, before. You're just tired of fighting, and you're trying to kiss up to me-- literally. And I'm trying like hell to fight this spell, but I don't have super strength any more, so just--" I stopped myself right before giving a potentially problematic order. "So I wish you'd just-- leave me alone."
"That's not it," he said, looking genuinely shocked. "That's not it at all, Cassie. I mean, maybe it was then, a little, but-- I'm not afraid of you now. And I'm not tired. I had the best fucking night's sleep since I was ten, okay, and you're so fucking beautiful, Cassie, and– if you'd– let me–"
"Ian!" I yelled it, and then I said, on purpose, "Back off! Get back! Ten feet away from me, and stay there!"
He scrambled backwards on his hands and knees to the prescribed distance, looking more annoyed than alarmed. I breathed hard for a minute, clearing my lungs of his scent, and then I said, calmly, "It's because of the spell, Ian. The binding of Aphrodite. Hippolyta said her powers were greater than she knew. She pumped too much juice into it. You think you’re attracted to me, because Aphrodite is the goddess of desire."
"So it's working like a love spell?" he said thoughtfully, gazing at me.
I nodded. "Kind of."
"So you're not really beautiful," he said. "I just think you are. Because of the spell."
"Seems like the simplest explanation," I answered. "Ockham's razor."
Ian blinked, and then he started laughing so hard I thought at first he was in pain. I sat there glaring at him, trying not to start laughing too, even though I sort of saw what he meant.
"Cassie," he gasped finally, "a few days ago, Wonder Woman tied me up with her glowy gold truth-enforcing rope and flew me in her invisible glass plane to a mythical island inhabited solely by very tall women who speak a dead language--"
"Okay, okay," I said.
"No, wait-- and introduced me to a tiny blonde American girl who turns out to be a retired Teen Titan and Superboy's ex and the daughter of the king of the gods--"
"There are a lot of Zeus' illegitimate kids around, okay," I interrupted. "It's not such a big deal."
"--and then took me to see the queen of the tall chicks, who shot blue lightning bolts out of her hands at me so now I am physically unable to disobey anything ex-Wonder Girl orders me to do, and," he added, starting to laugh again so hard that he could barely get this out, "wait, wait, she's sexually attracted to me, and I am to her, but she refuses to have sex with me because it would be wrong and taking advantage of me, and then--"
He was laughing so hard now that he actually fell, or flopped, down on the floor, wheezing inaudibly.
"And then she starts talking to you about Ockham's razor," I supplied grumpily. "Okay, ha ha, very funny. But my point still stands. It's not a good idea to start having sex in circumstances this weird. What happens when the goddess arrives?"
"She kicks me off the island," he answered, and coughed, trying to get his breath back, "and we either had sex first, or we didn't. What's the big difference?"
"It's not like that," I said, irritably. "She's not like that. She cares about-- stuff like this. Sex, and-- and attraction. She'd be mad at me."
That startled him. "Mad at you?"
"For taking advantage of you," I said.
"But it's her spell."
"No it's not," I said. "I mean, it sort of is, because it's her power, but Hippolyta's the one who-- shaped it. It's like-- well, if I make a plate out of the clay of Themyscira, it's her island, so it's her clay, and it's sort of her plate. But if I fuck it up, it's not her fuckup."
He was quiet for a long time after that, and then he said, "And you're hers, too. Isn't that what you said?"
"Yeah," I said. "I am."
He nodded. "What does that mean?"
I guess that should have been an easy question, after four years, but the thing was, it wasn't a question I'd ever been asked. Not because it wasn't important, but because since it had happened-- since I'd been accepted-- I hadn't talked to anybody who didn't already know. We all belonged to her. Themyscira was her island, and we-- the Amazons and I-- were her people. That was what it meant for me to be here. Being Diana's protegee wouldn't have done a damn thing for me if I hadn't knelt at the feet of the goddess, and bowed my head to her hand. And everything that came after.
"It's--" I shook my head. "It's hard to explain."
"But you don't want her mad at you," said Ian.
"No."
"Would she--" He hesitated, and I could see his Adam's apple go up and down, even at this distance. "Would she hurt you?"
"No, no," I said, and then, "Well. Not like you mean. Not on purpose. She just-- the way she is-- it's hard to explain."
"Try,” he asked. “Tell me about her.”
I didn't know if that was any easier, although I knew what there was to know about her; even before I'd met her, I'd studied, I'd read books. Books couldn't really give you any idea, though. There were hints here and there; when she revealed herself to Adonis, after their first night together, he threw himself face down onto the ground and begged to be destroyed for having touched her so carelessly. When she came to her son Aeneas in disguise, to advise him, and dropped her glamor as she walked away from him, and the glory of the soles of her feet drove him to his knees, weeping. I'd never really understood any of that, until I met her myself.
"She's beautiful," I said eventually. "I mean, perfect. And, well, scary. Not because she'd hurt you, exactly, but because-- well, she doesn't look human. I mean, she's more beautiful than any human could possibly be. She glows a little, too. At least she looks like she does. I'm not sure if it's actual-- you know-- light, or if it's just..."
I trailed off. Ian was listening intently, and I thought what else to tell him, running down the list of her other epithets: Urania, Kypris or Kyprogenes, Polos, Pandemos. Heavenly Lady, Cyprus-born, the High-Crowned One, She of All Peoples...
"What's so funny?" Ian asked, and I realized I was grinning.
"Sorry," I said. "It's just, there's this pun, in Greek, on one of her titles-- or two of her titles. Philommeides, or Philommedes-- it's easy to misspell, or mispronounce. Philommeides means 'she who loves laughter.' But Philommedes means, uh--" I grinned again. "Well, basically, 'she who loves penis.'"
Ian blinked. "She-- wait, do people call her that? Like to her face?"
"She's the goddess of sex," I said. "It's not a secret or anything. But the other one is true, too-- laughter-loving. She laughs a lot-- well, around me, anyway. She thinks I'm funny."
"You are funny," Ian said.
"Thanks. She's--" I hesitated. "Ian, I don't know what she's going to say about you, about whether you can stay here or not. She's not exactly... predictable. But I know this spell isn't something she'd approve of, not for me. I can't-- take you-- like this, not without being sure you really want it—and there’s no way I can be sure of that."
"Sure there is," he said. "Ask me."
I peered at him. "Ask you?"
"Yes," he said. "Order me to tell the truth."
I blinked at him for probably about a full minute, and then I said, "Tell me the truth about how you feel about having sex with me, Ian. The whole truth."
"I want you," he said softly, his green eyes locked into mine. "I’m scared of going back to America, and I’m scared of staying here, and I’m scared of your goddess, and you’re the only thing in my life right now that I feel good about. I’m not scared of you. You make me laugh. You’d rather hurt yourself than risk hurting me. And I want to get as close to you as I can, for whatever time we have. Please, Cassie."
I watched him, and then I opened my arms, and from the prescribed ten feet away, he lunged into them, wrapping his own arms around me.
“And you want me too,” he said, and kissed me again, shooting a lightning bolt of sparks down my spine.
We kissed for what seemed like forever, holding each other hard enough to hurt, and I was ready to come just from the taste of his lips, their warmth and softness on mine. I was in heat, rubbing my breasts up against his chest, the worn cotton of his T-shirt and the smell of almonds and I wanted to eat his neck--
--and then I got scared and angry, for no reason, right as he pulled away. Not angry. Frustrated. I looked up at him, and he had the exact expression on his face I thought must be on mine: an “oh, goddammit” expression. Except I didn’t know why we were feeling like that, until he said it.
"Cassie,” he said, “we don't have a condom."
I could have burst into tears again, I think, but I just kind of let my head drop against him and laughed instead. Of course we didn't have a condom. It's not like the Amazons keep stocked up.
“We can’t have sex without a condom, Cassie,” he said, holding me at arm's length.
"I know that," I said, trying to get back into his arms. I was horny enough to hump his leg, but I wasn't quite far gone enough to suggest that unprotected sex with a guy who'd spent the last three years getting fucked by strangers for drug money was an acceptable risk. "It's okay, we don't have to have sex, just-- oh, fuck, Ian, I need something, your fingers, anything, just-- please-- I'm about to fucking explode here--"
He slid his hand in, between the elastic waistband of my pajamas and the mound of my belly, and had three fingers inside, fast as if that had been an order, even though I was sure it hadn't been, even in my desperation I'd made sure-- and I screamed. It occurred to me in the midst of a blinding orgasm that had me sagging in his arms that maybe the sheer force of my wanting was enough for his poor abused mind to read as an order-- a series of orders. Except that couldn't be true, or he would have been fucking me, really fucking me, balls deep, his hips pushing me up off the ground, because I don't think I've ever wanted anything as bad as I wanted his cock right then. There wasn't room in my mind for anything else as I hung on him, literally hung on him, like swooning or some romance novel shit like that, while he fucked me hard with his fingers, and I screamed again as the ground started to shake.
Ian's fingers pushed deeper into me, as if to hide, as the floor trembled under us. "What..."
"Don't stop!" I ordered, and so he didn't, and I came again, a screaming quivering bundle of nerve and muscle and need and wetness, and he whimpered as the house quivered, too, the floor trembling, dishes dancing in the cabinets.
"Please, Cassie--" His fingers were still pounding into me as hard as ever, but he was scared, and it worked into me, too, a little edge of fear, even though all it should have been to me was joy. "Something's happening--"
"Stop," I gasped, and so he did, and I pulled him into my arms, kissing and kissing his hair, whispering, "It's okay, Ian, it's okay, it's going to be okay--"
"What is it?" he pleaded, and I dragged myself away and to my numbed feet, tottered on unreliable legs to the window. He followed me, and I pointed at what I'd known would be there. From the direction of the royal hall a pillar of glittering golden smoke, bright as a firework, arched to earth from an oddly solid-looking cloud.
"The goddess," I said, as gently as I could, to his white face. "She's early."
(Please do not stop posting awesome stories and awesome thought-provoking comments while I'm trying to catch up. Or ever. Bless.)
Still, this shouldn't put me too much further behind, as I don't think more than five or six people are reading this story. *blows kisses to the five or six people who are*
Title: A Matter For the Goddess, OR, Babysitter of Themyscira!
Fandom: JLA/Teen Titans
Summary: Alternate reality. After the events of Infinite Crisis, Wonder Woman took Wonder Girl (Cassie Sandsmark) back to Themyscira to recover from the Crisis and from the death of Superboy (Conner Kent). Four years later, Cassie has built a life for herself on Themyscira. When Diana, still acting as Wonder Woman, brings back a homeless waif to Cassie's adopted home, Cassie is furious, until drastic action by Queen Hippolyta forces her into a closer understanding of her visitor's demons.
Rating: Gentlemen, we have NC-17.
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
I woke up shivering on the hard floor, a warm hand on my shoulder. My eyes flicked open-- I used to have reflexes that would have had him on the floor first, my hands around his neck, ready to squeeze, but I didn't any more, and I guessed it was just as well. He looked so damn happy.
"Cassie," he said softly. "Cassie, it worked. I had the best dream. Just like you said. About flying."
I smiled up at him, still not all the way awake: cold skin, damp hair, hard floor, happy Ian. "Tell me."
"You were still Wonder Girl," he said, "and you were still wearing your stupid pajamas, and you were flying with me."
I giggled and sat up, knuckling my eyelids. "You know what they say about flying dreams."
"That they're awesome?" he suggested.
I yawned. "That they're really about sex."
"Yeah?" he said, and wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me on the lips.
He was so warm, and I admit it, I kissed back, morning breath and all, I clung to him, for longer than my sleep-dulled brain excused. So warm, and hard, and smelling of boy. No super strength like Conner, no alien Superboy gleam to his skin; just a kid, like me, in a ratty T-shirt and underwear, a normal kid in the land of the Amazons. I didn't pull away. I couldn't. He pulled back first, searching my face, hopeful and scared, and I just burst into tears.
"Oh, Cassie!" he said, his hands up in the air, quivering, not knowing whether to touch me again or apologize or what. I'm officially the nightmare date: the girl who cries when you kiss her and can't explain why, with added "can supernaturally compel you to unconditional obedience or horrible agonizing punishment" fun.
"It's okay," I said-- I didn't sob, or anything, I refuse to sob, even if I'm crying at the time. "I'm just fucking frustrated, I-- why did you do that? Why, when I'm trying so hard not to let this spell thing make me-- take advantage of you? Why do you have to kiss me?"
"Because I want you," he said, simply, like it was simple. "And you want me. Don't you?"
"Oh, God." I pulled my knees up, buried my face in them; I couldn't look at him. "Ian, it's not right. Not when you can't say no."
"I can say no," he said.
"Not if I tell you not to."
"But you haven't."
"But I could," I said firmly, "and you know it."
"But you wouldn't," he answered, just as firmly, "and I know that too."
"How do you know?" I demanded. "You think you know me after-- what has it been, three days?"
"Yes, I think I know you," he snapped back. "I think under the circumstances, I know you pretty well, Cassie."
"You know-- what? That I can't cook? That I'm a potter? That I fucked Wonder Woman? What's doing it for you, the lesbian thing?"
He pulled back at that, blinked at me. "Are you asking me why I'm attracted to you?"
"I'm saying I know why you're doing this," I said, already exhausted, but not about to lie back down. I would have stood up, but I didn't want him at my feet, either. "And it's not because you're attracted to me. You practically admitted it, before. You're just tired of fighting, and you're trying to kiss up to me-- literally. And I'm trying like hell to fight this spell, but I don't have super strength any more, so just--" I stopped myself right before giving a potentially problematic order. "So I wish you'd just-- leave me alone."
"That's not it," he said, looking genuinely shocked. "That's not it at all, Cassie. I mean, maybe it was then, a little, but-- I'm not afraid of you now. And I'm not tired. I had the best fucking night's sleep since I was ten, okay, and you're so fucking beautiful, Cassie, and– if you'd– let me–"
"Ian!" I yelled it, and then I said, on purpose, "Back off! Get back! Ten feet away from me, and stay there!"
He scrambled backwards on his hands and knees to the prescribed distance, looking more annoyed than alarmed. I breathed hard for a minute, clearing my lungs of his scent, and then I said, calmly, "It's because of the spell, Ian. The binding of Aphrodite. Hippolyta said her powers were greater than she knew. She pumped too much juice into it. You think you’re attracted to me, because Aphrodite is the goddess of desire."
"So it's working like a love spell?" he said thoughtfully, gazing at me.
I nodded. "Kind of."
"So you're not really beautiful," he said. "I just think you are. Because of the spell."
"Seems like the simplest explanation," I answered. "Ockham's razor."
Ian blinked, and then he started laughing so hard I thought at first he was in pain. I sat there glaring at him, trying not to start laughing too, even though I sort of saw what he meant.
"Cassie," he gasped finally, "a few days ago, Wonder Woman tied me up with her glowy gold truth-enforcing rope and flew me in her invisible glass plane to a mythical island inhabited solely by very tall women who speak a dead language--"
"Okay, okay," I said.
"No, wait-- and introduced me to a tiny blonde American girl who turns out to be a retired Teen Titan and Superboy's ex and the daughter of the king of the gods--"
"There are a lot of Zeus' illegitimate kids around, okay," I interrupted. "It's not such a big deal."
"--and then took me to see the queen of the tall chicks, who shot blue lightning bolts out of her hands at me so now I am physically unable to disobey anything ex-Wonder Girl orders me to do, and," he added, starting to laugh again so hard that he could barely get this out, "wait, wait, she's sexually attracted to me, and I am to her, but she refuses to have sex with me because it would be wrong and taking advantage of me, and then--"
He was laughing so hard now that he actually fell, or flopped, down on the floor, wheezing inaudibly.
"And then she starts talking to you about Ockham's razor," I supplied grumpily. "Okay, ha ha, very funny. But my point still stands. It's not a good idea to start having sex in circumstances this weird. What happens when the goddess arrives?"
"She kicks me off the island," he answered, and coughed, trying to get his breath back, "and we either had sex first, or we didn't. What's the big difference?"
"It's not like that," I said, irritably. "She's not like that. She cares about-- stuff like this. Sex, and-- and attraction. She'd be mad at me."
That startled him. "Mad at you?"
"For taking advantage of you," I said.
"But it's her spell."
"No it's not," I said. "I mean, it sort of is, because it's her power, but Hippolyta's the one who-- shaped it. It's like-- well, if I make a plate out of the clay of Themyscira, it's her island, so it's her clay, and it's sort of her plate. But if I fuck it up, it's not her fuckup."
He was quiet for a long time after that, and then he said, "And you're hers, too. Isn't that what you said?"
"Yeah," I said. "I am."
He nodded. "What does that mean?"
I guess that should have been an easy question, after four years, but the thing was, it wasn't a question I'd ever been asked. Not because it wasn't important, but because since it had happened-- since I'd been accepted-- I hadn't talked to anybody who didn't already know. We all belonged to her. Themyscira was her island, and we-- the Amazons and I-- were her people. That was what it meant for me to be here. Being Diana's protegee wouldn't have done a damn thing for me if I hadn't knelt at the feet of the goddess, and bowed my head to her hand. And everything that came after.
"It's--" I shook my head. "It's hard to explain."
"But you don't want her mad at you," said Ian.
"No."
"Would she--" He hesitated, and I could see his Adam's apple go up and down, even at this distance. "Would she hurt you?"
"No, no," I said, and then, "Well. Not like you mean. Not on purpose. She just-- the way she is-- it's hard to explain."
"Try,” he asked. “Tell me about her.”
I didn't know if that was any easier, although I knew what there was to know about her; even before I'd met her, I'd studied, I'd read books. Books couldn't really give you any idea, though. There were hints here and there; when she revealed herself to Adonis, after their first night together, he threw himself face down onto the ground and begged to be destroyed for having touched her so carelessly. When she came to her son Aeneas in disguise, to advise him, and dropped her glamor as she walked away from him, and the glory of the soles of her feet drove him to his knees, weeping. I'd never really understood any of that, until I met her myself.
"She's beautiful," I said eventually. "I mean, perfect. And, well, scary. Not because she'd hurt you, exactly, but because-- well, she doesn't look human. I mean, she's more beautiful than any human could possibly be. She glows a little, too. At least she looks like she does. I'm not sure if it's actual-- you know-- light, or if it's just..."
I trailed off. Ian was listening intently, and I thought what else to tell him, running down the list of her other epithets: Urania, Kypris or Kyprogenes, Polos, Pandemos. Heavenly Lady, Cyprus-born, the High-Crowned One, She of All Peoples...
"What's so funny?" Ian asked, and I realized I was grinning.
"Sorry," I said. "It's just, there's this pun, in Greek, on one of her titles-- or two of her titles. Philommeides, or Philommedes-- it's easy to misspell, or mispronounce. Philommeides means 'she who loves laughter.' But Philommedes means, uh--" I grinned again. "Well, basically, 'she who loves penis.'"
Ian blinked. "She-- wait, do people call her that? Like to her face?"
"She's the goddess of sex," I said. "It's not a secret or anything. But the other one is true, too-- laughter-loving. She laughs a lot-- well, around me, anyway. She thinks I'm funny."
"You are funny," Ian said.
"Thanks. She's--" I hesitated. "Ian, I don't know what she's going to say about you, about whether you can stay here or not. She's not exactly... predictable. But I know this spell isn't something she'd approve of, not for me. I can't-- take you-- like this, not without being sure you really want it—and there’s no way I can be sure of that."
"Sure there is," he said. "Ask me."
I peered at him. "Ask you?"
"Yes," he said. "Order me to tell the truth."
I blinked at him for probably about a full minute, and then I said, "Tell me the truth about how you feel about having sex with me, Ian. The whole truth."
"I want you," he said softly, his green eyes locked into mine. "I’m scared of going back to America, and I’m scared of staying here, and I’m scared of your goddess, and you’re the only thing in my life right now that I feel good about. I’m not scared of you. You make me laugh. You’d rather hurt yourself than risk hurting me. And I want to get as close to you as I can, for whatever time we have. Please, Cassie."
I watched him, and then I opened my arms, and from the prescribed ten feet away, he lunged into them, wrapping his own arms around me.
“And you want me too,” he said, and kissed me again, shooting a lightning bolt of sparks down my spine.
We kissed for what seemed like forever, holding each other hard enough to hurt, and I was ready to come just from the taste of his lips, their warmth and softness on mine. I was in heat, rubbing my breasts up against his chest, the worn cotton of his T-shirt and the smell of almonds and I wanted to eat his neck--
--and then I got scared and angry, for no reason, right as he pulled away. Not angry. Frustrated. I looked up at him, and he had the exact expression on his face I thought must be on mine: an “oh, goddammit” expression. Except I didn’t know why we were feeling like that, until he said it.
"Cassie,” he said, “we don't have a condom."
I could have burst into tears again, I think, but I just kind of let my head drop against him and laughed instead. Of course we didn't have a condom. It's not like the Amazons keep stocked up.
“We can’t have sex without a condom, Cassie,” he said, holding me at arm's length.
"I know that," I said, trying to get back into his arms. I was horny enough to hump his leg, but I wasn't quite far gone enough to suggest that unprotected sex with a guy who'd spent the last three years getting fucked by strangers for drug money was an acceptable risk. "It's okay, we don't have to have sex, just-- oh, fuck, Ian, I need something, your fingers, anything, just-- please-- I'm about to fucking explode here--"
He slid his hand in, between the elastic waistband of my pajamas and the mound of my belly, and had three fingers inside, fast as if that had been an order, even though I was sure it hadn't been, even in my desperation I'd made sure-- and I screamed. It occurred to me in the midst of a blinding orgasm that had me sagging in his arms that maybe the sheer force of my wanting was enough for his poor abused mind to read as an order-- a series of orders. Except that couldn't be true, or he would have been fucking me, really fucking me, balls deep, his hips pushing me up off the ground, because I don't think I've ever wanted anything as bad as I wanted his cock right then. There wasn't room in my mind for anything else as I hung on him, literally hung on him, like swooning or some romance novel shit like that, while he fucked me hard with his fingers, and I screamed again as the ground started to shake.
Ian's fingers pushed deeper into me, as if to hide, as the floor trembled under us. "What..."
"Don't stop!" I ordered, and so he didn't, and I came again, a screaming quivering bundle of nerve and muscle and need and wetness, and he whimpered as the house quivered, too, the floor trembling, dishes dancing in the cabinets.
"Please, Cassie--" His fingers were still pounding into me as hard as ever, but he was scared, and it worked into me, too, a little edge of fear, even though all it should have been to me was joy. "Something's happening--"
"Stop," I gasped, and so he did, and I pulled him into my arms, kissing and kissing his hair, whispering, "It's okay, Ian, it's okay, it's going to be okay--"
"What is it?" he pleaded, and I dragged myself away and to my numbed feet, tottered on unreliable legs to the window. He followed me, and I pointed at what I'd known would be there. From the direction of the royal hall a pillar of glittering golden smoke, bright as a firework, arched to earth from an oddly solid-looking cloud.
"The goddess," I said, as gently as I could, to his white face. "She's early."
