To Fly Together
From 2012, a story written for Celestina, of her characters Cassandra and Aire's first meeting.
Story (c) 2012 by GingerM
Cassandra and Aire belong to Celestina
She hadn't expected to be a nurse. In fact, she hadn't really _expected_anything at all. Life stretched out before her and there was no hurry; there never was. For now she was content with her farm and her books and visits to the village where she was flattered outrageously by handsome young men. Yet somehow, she'd wound up being a nurse. Cassie took a look into the whatever room, so-called because she used it for whatever purpose she needed. And right now, it was a sick room.
The figure on the bed dwarfed her, though it was hard to tell with him lying down. Even hunched over in pain and sickness, though, he'd been easily a head taller than her. She let the curtain fall again, covering the archway into the room. His wound had almost completely closed and his colour was much better than it had been; he didn't look pale and sickly any longer. He still seemed a bit thin but that was only reasonable; he'd been sick for quite some time.
Memory came back to her as she wandered into the main room, then into the kitchen. He'd shown up literally stumbling through her garden, trampling the freshly-planted furrows under his great armoured feet, and punctuated his arrival by fetching up against the well and nearly pitching in head-first. She'd dropped the pot of hot soup and dashed outside immediately, just in time to save him from that head-first trip into her well. Somehow, by dint of strength she'd never suspected she had, she'd gotten him inside, where he'd collapsed on the floor, in the now-cooling pool of soup.
She'd recognized his kind at once; who would not? He was a Wardran, and she recalled there was a clan of them in the mountains not far off. But he was big even for a Wardran, which made him simply enormous by Annonian standards. She, on the other hand, was slight for her people, which made her positively diminutive next to him. Nevertheless, she'd managed to get him off the floor and onto blankets, then looked him over. People didn't generally come traipsing through a garden and almost-but-not-quite-fall into a well unless there was something wrong. Finding that something wrong hadn't taken long, either; when she managed to roll him over, mindful of his wings, she saw - and smelled - the problem right away.
Unlike her folk, Wardrans possessed natural, built-in armour on chest, arms and legs; a chitinous cladding that protected usually protected them from serious injury. However, sufficient trauma could, and in his case, had, broken through the living armour, and the wound had turned septic. From the smell and the discolouration, it had become _very_septic. It had taken her several hours, but by the end of it, she had managed to get him onto a made-up pallet in the whatever room, cleaned and dressed the injury as best she could, then cleaned up the rest of the mess.
Cassie hadn't gotten much sleep for the next week; he was feverish and several times she was afraid he was going to die. As much and as often as she could, she drew buckets of water and bathed him with the cold, clear well water in an effort to bring his temperature down. She'd fed him soup - a broth at first, until he started coming to; not fully awake, but aware and able to chew - then with vegetables and bits of poultry. Herbs, too; elderberry tea, which she knew would help fight the infection, and feverfew to reduce his temperature. Bathing him had been... distracting; though he was at best semi-conscious, his body's reaction as she washed him proved he was on the mend, and a couple of times she'd come into the sickroom to find his sheets standing up proudly from his slumbering form.
She sighed as she set the bowl down on the table. The infection was reducing; she could tell because he was becoming more restive, even though he wasn't yet conscious. "Who are you?" a deep, resonant voice spoke behind her, and despite herself, she jumped and dropped the bowl. It shattered on the floor as she turned.
_Gods, he's even bigger than I thought when he first arrived!_Her home was built to suit her, and his head bowed to avoid the rafters; his wings, feathered in dark charcoal, brushed against them. The bandages holding his dressing in place were a startling white contrast to the darkly bronzed chitin of his armour, and the wicked scar she'd first noted running down his left cheek stood out, pale against his complexion.
"I, um, I'm Cassa - Cassie," she stammered, unaccountably flustered. It didn't help that he was holding the sheet rather loosely around his waist, or that his physique, though weakened by illness, was still quite imposing... and responding to her, too, she noted with a swift, darting glance down. "You, you shouldn't be up yet, um, let me take you to bed." She winced. Dear Gods, I didn't just say that, did I? "Back to bed. Um. I mean, you should be resting in bed..." she trailed off, wishing she could just fall through the floor. Just my luck; my stupid tongue makes me sound like I want to jump his bones and I don't even know his name!"I'm Cassie," she repeated a bit more firmly. "You were very sick with fever," she went on, and he nodded, then swayed. "Here, lean on me," she told him, hurrying to his side, " - now, sit down here." The stool behind him had three books sitting on it; they were unceremoniously dumped on the floor, then she was stooping slightly, her large, luminous eyes searching his face. "Do you know your name?" she asked.
"My name is Aire."
He glanced sideways at Cassie. Three weeks had passed since he had forced himself to his feet and risen from his sickbed, and though she had tried to make him go back to bed, he wanted to be up, to be doing. The Annonian woman was walking back toward the house, a basket of radishes held against her hip, and he couldn't help but watch the lovely, complex rhythm of her steps. Sunlight shimmered through the diaphanous material of her simple shift, outlining the silhouette of her body in a glowing nimbus of light. _Sky above, she's beautiful!_he thought again for the hundredth time. Dimness slid up her curved shape as she moved from sunlight to the shadow cast by the house. Then for a brief, glorious moment, she was haloed again as she opened the door and the sun beamed through the front windows and out the opening, and she turned to smile at him for an instant. Then she was gone.
He turned his attention back to the carrots he was weeding; the row was nearly done. One more row, and that would be a good day's work, he thought, and then it would be time to prepare supper. Sighing slightly, he set the weed basket down and returned to his work, his eyes on the leafy green tops, but his mind was elsewhere, seeing a slim, diminutive figure, a pixie countenance with wide green eyes that could be quizzical and merry by turns, and silky brown hair that spilled over her shoulders in a warm, shimmering cascade.
He didn't know what to make of Cassie in some ways. She was, if anything, prototypical of the Annonian people; their long lives gave them a long view. He was, he knew, still in his prime, but he was no youth. She, on the other hand, was quite possibly older than he, and yet still a young woman by Annonian reckoning. Certainly she gave every appearance of youthful impetuosity; her mind was like quicksilver, leaping from thought to thought. She was also scatterbrained betimes; he had come from the house one morning to find her sitting by the garden with paper and charcoal in hand, sketching while the sun climbed toward mid-morning, the vegetable basket completely forgotten. When he had asked her if he should start, she'd jumped, then blushed brightly, stuffing the paper under the basket.
She seemed almost unconscious of her effect on him as well; on another morning he had risen to exercise and when he came back inside, it was to encounter an utterly nude Cassie standing in the main room enjoying a thorough, luxurious stretch. He'd stopped hastily and in the process knocked a stool over, but she hadn't started or blushed then; she's simply smiled and bade him good morning.
What am I to make of her? he asked himself, pulling weeds with metronome regularity. _Sometimes she seems to be teasing me, other times she's embarrassed or hiding something..._Aire was more sure of his feelings for her; he wanted her. At his clan elders' direction, he had mated with two women of his clan in two seasons, because that was the way of things. He was no stranger to desire, either; no man of his clan was. But that was the problem; no matter how much he might desire, it was for the elders to decide who would mate and who would not. That he had been chosen twice was a compliment, a testimonial to his qualities as a man, a warrior, a hunter and a protector. Both his mates had been an enjoyable experience, too. But it hadn't felt like this, not at all. Previously when he desired he'd simply relieved himself, as any man would; now, though, he found himself imagining things; imagining _her_in his arms, her lips warm and sweet on his; her flesh hot against his; her legs wrapped around him, her voice low and soft and freighted with need, crying his name while they moved together as one whole being, and simply relieving himself wasn't enough... with a start, he realized he'd not only finished the previous row but was nearly done the last one.
He rose to his feet, still feeling a bit stiff in his abdomen, casting a glance at the horizon. The wound in his armour had healed over but it was still new, still curing, and the flesh beneath also new, the muscles regrowing. Well, there was one cure for that and just time enough; the sun was setting; and he moved clear of the garden to run through his exercises.
Dear Gods, he's gorgeous! she thought, watching him from the kitchen. The fading sun gleamed off his armour, flashing copper fire from his legs and arms. She knew from schooling that the Wardran people were nomadic - hunters and gatherers, not farmers; they followed migrating herds in the mountains. It was a hard life, and meeting Aire had given her a first-hand glimpse of just how hard. Annonnians would have sought help for such grievous injuries; when she'd asked, he had told her how he had chosen to leave and fend for himself, and she didn't know what had amazed her more - that he had made such a choice or the matter-of-fact acceptance that this was how it was.
That same view drove him to reduce his burden on her now; once up, he hadn't looked back. In a very few days he had fashioned for himself a long spear and a target, and began practising, to regain both muscle and aim. She remembered the first time she'd seen him exercising, his muscles rippling in the early morning light. He'd run through a series of stretches and what looked very much like stylized fighting moves... and then he'd paused, and she realized that had been a warm-up. It didn't help any that he exercised in the nude, either; and she couldn't tear her eyes away as she watched him run through a gruelling set of exercises, capped by repeated spear casts... while his loincloth - which seemed to be the Wardrans' sole concession to modesty - lay cast to one side on the grassy field.
With a quiet sigh, she turned back to the table to resume cutting up vegetables. He'd be done soon, and then he'd come in and help her prepare supper. She'd tried a couple of times to make him rest after a day's work in the fields. She didn't _need_his help, but he was determined to make a contribution, and she was glad of how much faster chores went with him helping. And, if she were going to be completely, utterly honest... catching sight of him at those chores - muscles shifting under his skin as he chopped firewood, or dipped well water - made her heart race in a very pleasant way indeed.
What do I do? she asked herself as her hands moved automatically, peeling and slicing. He was a strange mixture; calm and undemanding - gentle, even - and yet he was no humourless stoic; he had a wonderfully dry wit and a penchant she would never have suspected initially for puns so truly awful as to be labelled crimes. And though he smiled or chuckled more than he outright laughed, he did laugh; she'd heard it, a rich, deep, vibrant laugh that had startled her the first time.
Then there were the times when she caught him unawares, looking at her... not simply watching, but drinking her in, as though she was a well and he sought to quench his thirst. She felt warm and tingly all over then, from the roots of her hair clear down to her toenails. That he desired her she had no doubt; that she was herself equally desirous was also unquestioned. But... would he act on his desires? Or should she? Or should she simply let him know his interest was welcome? The trouble, she realized, was that she actually knew very little about Wardran tribes; for all she knew he did not share the Annonian view that the physical pleasure of sex was a good thing, to be shared willingly and freely. Is he holding back because of his tribe's customs? Or because he thinks he would be unwelcome?
They ate in near-silence; "Can I slice you another piece of bread?" "Would you pass the peas?" and similar trivialities. Aire seemed reluctant to look at her, and Cassie found herself unaccountably reluctant to look at him. Yet they couldn't not look either, and so the meal was a series of swift, passing glances, each hoping the other wouldn't catch them, while they grappled with their thoughts.
At length Aire pushed back and rose, unfolding himself to his full height, as best he could under the low roof. "Let me - I'll wash up," he offered. Swiftly he cleared the table and moved the kettle onto the hob to heat the washing water. He felt strangely off-balance; he wanted to be near her, but didn't dare, and for now the busywork of cleaning up following the meal offered a temporary refuge of something to do, to distract him.
Cassie nodded distractedly as well. Of their own, her eyes followed him as he scraped the remains into the composting pot, then fidgeted at the counter while the kettle heated. "Um... I think - thanks, Aire," she got out, tripping over her tongue. "Ah... I'm going to change. Don't -" don't what? Don't bother with them, she wanted to say. Come with me, she wished silently, take the step! But the words wouldn't come out... "Don't tire yourself," she finished lamely.
Aire nodded. "I'm well enough for this, Cassie," he said in his deep, gentle voice, and a bit of a grin quirked the corners of his mouth. "But I promise not to tire myself by lifting the kettle too far."
She laughed at the absurdity, the awkwardness dispelled by humour. "Okay, okay! I'll poke up the fire in the main room as I go past, then," and so saying, she rose gracefully from the table. The sun had set while they ate and though a rind of fire burned along the horizon through the windows, night had fallen and the stars were coming out in all their glory.
Washing up didn't take as long as he'd thought it would and the last plate chinked gently as he set it in the rack. Then all there was to do was bank the kitchen fire, and then he could settle to read for a bit. Books weren't common among his people, though not unknown, but Cassie's shelves were a wealth he hadn't dreamt could exist and he was indulging himself shamelessly. Some of the books were guides, storehouses of knowledge; others were tales captured in ink and illuminations. It didn't matter to him; he enjoyed them all, equally.
He stopped at the archway into the main room; Cassie was there. She stood on the hearth by the edge of the fur rug, looking into the fireplace, absorbed in something visible only to her. The warm, friendly light clothed her in glory; the only clothing she wore. She heard his footsteps and turned part-way, looking at him, silhouetted in flame. Yellow-orange light kissed her all over, even her hair, and his heart hammered suddenly in his chest.
She didn't know how long she stood there. The firelight reflected from his armour, casting coppery highlights along his chest, arms and legs. The wicked scar down his cheek seemed alive, twisting along its length as he returned her gaze. She felt a strange calm; she had no idea what would happen, but she was ready. Then he wrenched his eyes away from her and almost convulsively turned toward his room. Cassie let fall the hand she had partly raised toward him. She had no doubt at all; the way he had looked at her was a clear message, for all that it was unspoken. He had been on the edge of the precipice, and she didn't know why he'd stepped back. If he hadn't... he would have taken me. And I would have let him.
Next morning had a surreal quality to it; both of them trying so hard to be normal, both acutely aware that 'normal' was like a brittle skim of ice on a lake. Cassie seemed particularly flustered for some reason; she broke her fast with a slice of bread and butter only, then caught up her basket and hurried out. Moments later she came back in, grabbing the net bags she'd forgotten. Aire finished his breakfast in a more leisurely manner, sipping slowly at the steaming, fragrant tisane Cassie had introduced him to.
Eventually, however, he found there was no more in his mug, and he rose slowly. There were the chores he insisted on doing, and he needed the distraction most particularly today. His eye lit on Cassie's basket - she must have forgotten it when she came back in- and he glanced in it as he picked it up. A cream-coloured block of paper peeked out from under the other items and, curious, he pulled it out.
Despite himself, he whistled softly. The sketch lacked minute detail, but seemed to breath with vibrant life. A Wardran in flight, revelling in the freedom of the sky, and with a start, he realized it was him, flung aloft in Cassie's imagination. He flipped the page. The next sheet was a set of smaller studies - his face, eyes hooded and curiously intent; a rough sketch of him exercising, another of him drawing water from the well. Every one of them was done with skill and care, the lines of muscle, tendon and bone suggested with sweeping strokes of charcoal.Flip. His eyebrows rose. Another sketch, but not of him alone; Cassie, in his arms. Flip. Cassie tending him in his illness. Flip. Cassie leaning against him, her head on his broad chest. _Flip flip flip..._studies of him, done with exquisite care, sketches of them together... the last sheet, with a tissue sheet over it - so, it must be fresh - and under that tissue, another sketch, a moment frozen in charcoal, of firelight on smooth, bare skin, of small, delicate legs entwined with strong, armoured ones...
The sun was warm, and she'd decided to swim for a bit. The water was deliciously cool and without a second thought she shrugged out of her shift and slipped into the moss-banked pool, sighing happily. Her favourite spot was almost like a chair in the clear pond and she leaned back happily, eyes closed as she relaxed. Only she wasn't relaxed, not at all; her mind was fixed on Aire. He was the most contrary, stubborn, obstinate, conflicted...! She didn't know what to do next; only that things couldn't continue much longer this way. Maybe I need to make the first move, she thought. Maybe he doesn't get it- but even as the thought formed, she dismissed it; exasperation had prompted it, and whatever faults Aire might have, he was not stupid. And from the look on his face - such a look! - last night, he got it, alright. In fact, if she was any judge, he more than got it. So if he wasn't taking the next step, it was because he needed her to take it -
The thought cut off abruptly as she felt strong hands around her and she was lifted bodily from the pond, naked and dripping, and before she knew what was happening, she'd been lowered to the ground and it was Aire, a look of hunger on his face. But not denial, this time; this was hunger that demanded to be fed.
"Aire, what -" she started, but his hands took her face between those strong, work-callused palms and then he was kissing her like a starving man sat down to a feast. Not a word from him; the primal urgency radiating from him was message enough, and the thought flashed through her mind that she didn't have to take the next step after all. Then she was twining her hands in that glorious, rich mop of hair, digging her fingers in, pulling his head down, and she was kissing him back with equal urgency. He wasn't trying to hurt her but he was clumsy. His hands slipped between her legs, fingers questing insistently, thrusting two of them inside her almost immediately. That didn't hurt, but it was faster than she liked, and a bit rough at first. She felt herself responding, though, the rough stimulation arousing her. It helped that she was wet from the pool, and he made use of that.
Now he was straddling her, braced on one hand while his other thrust crudely within, and she could feel him against her leg, and Gods, he was big! she realized. He was also extremely aroused already; she could feel the pulse of his heartbeat in the veins under the skin of his member, burning against her thigh. His face was a study of lust and desire; his scar glowing redly, and she had a sudden impression of some wild, fierce raptor above her. Then with a CRACK! he spread his wings and she realized he was mantling, as if she were hisprey, and the image was complete. She could almost see the curved beak of a peregrine, the uncompromising glitter of his eyes as he withdrew his hand from her. She held her breath a moment, not daring to speak - not for fear of frightening him, but that she might shatter this... this wilding moment. But she had to give him some sign, some signal that she was ready too, and she dug her fingers into his back and ass, a wordless, silent demand and plea.
She gasped as he thrust, entering her swiftly, prising her open, and he was big, bigger than she'd thought... bigger than she'd fantasized. He was still silent, save for breathing and low groans, his hips and thighs flexing as he stroked into her, and she concentrated on the sensations, of feeling him within her, surrounded by her; every nerve of her inner passage, aware of every bump, every vein, the silky softness of his skin wrapped around the strong, driving muscle that pierced her to the core. Nor was that her only awareness; she was keenly conscious of every blade of grass under her - there was a clump of them that were tickling her, just exactly where she gaped open around his plunging cock, and between her butt cheeks - and the softness of the moss and lichens interspersed in that grass.
She writhed under him, increasingly aroused by his raw, crude, untutored lust and need. Aire was something primitive, something wild, that craved and wanted, and wasted no time on finesse, on slow teasing or buildup. There was something exhilaratingly refreshing about his passion, something elemental to simply being taken like this, and the images in her mind spurred her lust to match his. Pants gave way to moans as pleasure coursed through her, and reflexively she brought her legs up, locking them around him, hips rising to meet his pounding, primal rhythm, and then she felt him releasing, his seed spurting into her as he groaned and bucked and thrust atop her, and then without warning he shuddered, bucking, while sudden warmth spilled into her, once, twice, thrice...
She panted, catching her breath, while he softened within her, spent, his seed oozing from her nether lips in a slow, wet trickle down her ass. He folded his wings, trembling a bit now as he lowered her back down onto the grass. The wildness left his eyes and a sudden prescience told her exactly what would happen next - he would, in his low, rich voice, say something to the effect of an apology for acting on the tension between them and he would assume a guilt that wasn't his; that didn't even exist, because he was too conscious of being on her charity... but only if she let him, and so as his lips parted to speak, she placed her fingers against them, feeling his breath warm against them, and shook her head. "No." she said.
"No, Aire," Cassie said again. It was important, crucial, absolutely vital that the next few moments be right, she knew. "Thank you." She smiled up at him warmly, then giggled a bit at the dawning confusion on his face. "That was right," she said, her hand moving to his cheek. "It was exactly right - for a first time. But the next time can be, _will_be, more." She chuckled softly as his brow furrowed. "Then -" he started, and she covered his mouth again. "Don't worry - I'll show you," she grinned, suddenly feeling as if she could do absolutely anything at all.
Cassie laced her fingers into his hair, tugging him down gently. "Kiss me," she murmured, guiding his head to her breasts. "Taste me," and Aire, hesitant at first, but then with more assurance, flicked his tongue over her nipples. "Yesss..." she breathed. "Oh yes... now, suck on them just a little... then nip them," she urged him, and Aire followed her lead eagerly, settling himself next to her while he lavished his attention on her breasts. Aire proved an apt pupil, she discovered that afternoon. Hesitant at first, but willing and soon eager to learn, Cassie showed him the distinction between mating and love-making, discovering in the process that for all his strength, he was also marvellously sensitive once she showed him what to look for, how to listen.
Later she'd shown him other things she liked, and purred in pleasure as he kissed his way down her belly, pausing at her navel to tickle her there with his tongue, eliciting a shriek of laughter and delight, then resumed his explorations, shifting position and lifting her legs onto his shoulders as he delved between her thighs, kissing and licking and nipping down one golden leg, then back up the other while she panted, toes curling, and reflected that he was a very quick study. Then he was supporting her thighs while he exhaled a gently zephyr of breath against her, then flicked his tongue lightly across her clit, making her gasp sharply and clutch his hair.
"Nnngg.... ooo, oh that's it," she half-chanted, reflexively rising, rocking her hips up. He continued teasing her, then withdrew and she panted in frustration. "Hnnfff... Aire, don't you dare leave me like this!" she growled, but he only laughed his deep laugh and began kissing her again, working his way agonizingly slowly down one leg, varying kisses with licks and occasional nibbles along the smooth turn of her calf, exploring the complex topography of her ankle, then made her shriek again as he licked and kissed the sole of her foot.
"This little piggy went to market," he half-sang, and as she thought wait a minute - that's not a Wardran nursery rhyme!_he sucked slowly on her big toe, his tongue exploring the web between it and the next, and a fresh set of shivers ran through her. "This little piggy stayed home," and it was the turn of the next toe to be worshipped. "This little piggy had roast beef," "this little piggy had none," and there was only her baby toe to go, and it was "this little piggy cried 'wheeeeeeeee' all the way home!" and he ran his tongue along her instep, along her calf, up her thigh and Gods his tongue was in her, exploring and making her tremble; his mouth, his lips sealed against her vulva while he probed inside, tasting her and she was going to explode if he kept it up! Only she didn't, though she seemed to feel a sort of warm liquid glow radiating out from her groin, and he withdrew, placing a slow, lingering kiss on her nether lips, then began working his way down her _other leg...! Knowing what he was about this time didn't make the end of the journey any the less enjoyable, she discovered as his tongue traced along her foot, her calf, her thigh, then plunged into her folds again.
That had been far more intense than his savage, primitive mating, but Aire hadn't stopped there; oh no! He was hard again; more than hard, in fact, and eager, but he remembered what she'd shown him, and didn't simply plunge himself into her. Instead, he guided her over, onto her side, and then he was against her, warm and alive and his lovely, big, strong hands were cupping her breasts, his fingers amazingly gentle as he kneaded them slowly and she felt her nipples hardening against his callused palms. He was pulling her against him, too, and she felt him, warm and powerful and strong against her back, her ass, her thighs... and there was his cock, sliding slowly, rubbing against her labia, teasing her, and he paused as he pulled his hips back, just brushing her nether lips... and then he was entering her slowly, a sweet, pleasure-filled agony while she gave a deep, shuddering moan and savoured the intense pleasure of his advance until he was _in_and his lips brushed her ear with soft kisses while he held himself so, and she moaned, "Aire...!" in a voice she scarcely recognized as her own.
His hands stopped while he let himself simply be for a long moment, memorizing the silken texture of her breasts in his hands, the pert insistence of her nipples swelling slightly against his palms, feeling her moving, shifting, squirming slightly, and he inhaled the marvellous fragrance of her, tasted the sweet excitement of her. His heart raced madly, pounding in his chest as it never had with his previous matings. Those had been pleasant but somehow... less; less exciting, less... complete, and he wanted_completeness, he wanted to complete Cassie, more than anything he'd ever wanted before. He had felt a brief flicker of... annoyance? Resentment? he wasn't sure, exactly, when she had told him she would show him - had she thought him an unfledged youngster, needing to be schooled? But he _had been unschooled, he realized as she showed him things, showed him pleasures he hadn't imagined... when she took him in her mouth and brought him to a straining, gasping orgasm with only her lips and tongue and he groaned, helpless in her warmth, while he erupted... and now he wanted so much to show her the lessons he'd mastered, to give her full measure.
Slowly he began thrusting into her from behind, turning slightly so she was leaning against him, supported while he resumed caressing her breasts; no longer simply cupping them but catching her nipples between his strong, lean fingers, pinching and rolling them while he listened to her soft gasps of pleasure as she'd taught him to. Cassie was enjoying this, he was sure; he could feel her muscles quivering as she rocked, pushing her ass against his abs, seeking to take him deeper inside, and he could feel himself hardening further, if that were possible. "Cassie...!" he husked, his fingers sliding down to her hips, gripping her, and Sky, she was wet; wet and warm and hungry for him, turning, twisting to face him, her hand pulling his face down to her, and a green fire in her eyes...!
"Gods, Aire, yes...!" she breathed, eyes flashing, demanding, and he met her desire, the fire rekindling in his eyes in response, and the time for slow sensuality was past. Aire rolled onto his back, his strong hands on her hips lifting and supporting her while he thrust upward, and she was riding him, legs spread to straddle his muscular thighs, his cock spearing up into her, slick and gleaming with her juices, and she rose up, then let herself drop, gasping in pleasure as she timed it perfectly and she felt him deep within her. Her mind was hazy, clouded with lust and need, but the magic flowed readily, more so than it ever had, and with a mental flick she summoned them, and white glory burst into being from her shoulders, gleaming feathers white as snow, pure as clouds that spread to either side while her lover drove into her, piercing her while she clutched him close, fingers entwined in the raven-dark locks and he buried his face in her cleavage, his breath hot against her skin.
"Now, Aire!" she demanded, feeling the wonderful, shivery delight of what bid fair to be a mind-crashing orgasm, and he nodded, his eyes locked on hers with a frightening intensity, his hips rising up off the grassy meadow to force himself up into her. Then something hot and wild inside her rose up, seizing her mind and senses and then it was here! it was now! and she screamed, clamping around him and _Gods_he was shuddering inside her, growling, his fingers digging into her ass, clutching her convulsively, and hot liquid fire lanced from him, one searing wave after another while he bucked under hir, thrusting repeatedly while he pumped his seed in a heart-stopping tsunami of ecstasy and Bright Ones he was _still_coming! and through the glorious, star-bright supernova of pleasure that exploded in her belly and raced outward she heard his heart-wrenched cry of "CASSIE!!!" while they rose the hurricane together through eternity...
... and they floated back to earth, alighting once again as eternity came to an end. Cassie was gasping, gulping air in great, shuddering breaths while the ecstasy of orgasm faded and Aire panted under her, his fingers relaxing their grip. She felt absolutely drained, limp as a dishrag... and gloriously, wonderfully satiated and alive, and a slow, warm smile curved her lips and crinkled the corners of her eyes as she relaxed atop him, and he smiled back up at her.
"That," she said softly, "was very much more, Aire."
Aire stirred, coming slowly to consciousness. The morning sun was coming from the wrong direction, he realized... and he wasn't in his bed. Something soft and warm was draped over his legs, and something else warm and silky-skinned and soft was curled next to him. Sleepily he opened his eyes, to see a head crowned in soft brown hair resting on his chest, and a slim, fair arm across the heavy fur pulled over them. Cassie smiled at him, bare and snuggling against him under the fur, and he realized they were on the floor of the main room.
"Good morning, love."