The Sailor and the Pixie
Imported from SF2 with no description.
One of my early stories - one that I never really intended to share, as it was, at the time, very personal. But time changes the way we think of things.
A door slammed open.
A caucophony of noises erupted from the inside. Glass clinking. Music from an old, abused jukebox. And drunken chatter. Not a clamor, mind you. Not singing, or carousal. That had been earlier in the night. Now it was past time for most people's brand of excitement.
The man that staggered out was tired of talk. He fell halfway against the door, catching himself with his forearm. He pushed himself up and steadied himself on his feet. He pulled off his cap, pushing his hair back, which had become long and blonde in the sun.
In his state, the cap went on at what one might call a jaunty angle. He set off down the street, weaving. Oddly enough, he seemed at ease with his wavering step.
This was because he was a sailor.
The sailor had enjoyed much of the local beer. And the spirits. And the overproofed stuff that generally wasn't offered, and had to be asked for. But as the energy of the night had declined, and he had grown more restless for an exciting conclusion to the evening, he had decided to search for better entertainment.
He staggered away from the bar, away from the well-traveled part of town, down a darkened alley, around a broken-concrete corner, through an inconveniently placed drainage ditch, down a set of steps, and so on, until, lost and thoroughly confused, he stood at a deadend. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a flask, taking a long swig. He shook the last few drops from it as he turned around.
There, in front of him, was a sign. Had he been more lucid, less liquid, perhaps he would have thought, “That's odd. That sign wasn't there before.” But instead, all he noticed was that the sign seemed to be for a bar. It seemed to be on this street. And that was enough for him.
As he entered the murky depths of the poorly-distinguished barfront, he heard a haunting melody that rang like a crystal, clear to him even through his fogged senses. There was a beautiful voice in it, but hidden amongst the melody. It teased him, enticing him to stay, and suss out its true nature.
But it faded, and the sailor guided himself to a barstool.
He asked about a drink. He was answered.
But he never gave an order.
What arrived to him was a beauty, a rare production of both alcoholic alchemy and artistic allure. The large cup it was served in was cool, textured, and grey, as of stone. The drink, however, glowed a bright electric blue. It had depth to it that seemed unconstrained by the physics of its container. It seemed to steam out into a vapor, without any heat.
The sailor looked at the cup in confusion. He looked up to the proprietor in wonder, but there was nothing across the bar from him but rows of unlabeled bottles.
It was this moment he heard the music again. He knew, somehow, that the music would sound just as clear were it coming from a half cable away, but yet, at the same time, he was just as sure that the source was closer than before.
He looked down at his drink.
On the lip of the cup sat a pixie, no more than a few inches tall. She was nude, wisps of the blue steam curling over her pale skin. Her red hair cascaded down her slender back. She had green dragonfly wings, gossamer thin and translucent. They fluttered with her voice as she sang, looking into the blue liquid.
The sailor could do nothing but stare.
The lilting, playful melody faded away.
The pixie looked over her shoulder at the sailor. She looked up at him with a look that was not quite innocent. His eyes widened and her expression turned into a playful one that was definitely far from innocent. She had a tattoo on her shoulder, hidden before by her hair. He tried to look closer at it, but he had to squint, it was so small and he could not entirely trust his vision.
Suddenly, she arose from her perch and dove into the drink, her wings folding behind her. Then her slender legs were disappearing into the blue. She left scarcely a ripple, seemingly becoming part of the drink.
The sailor blinked.
What had just happened? Had he really seen a pixie?
He waited, to see if she would come back.
Seconds passed into minutes, and though the drink continued to steam, there was no return of the pixie.
The sailor brought the cup to eye level. He sniffed at the concoction. It smelled of fresh fruit, gin, and... ocean.
He looked at the liquid more closely. No matter how he swirled or tilted it, he could not see the bottom of the cup. And there was no indication of the mysterious light source.
The sailor could only think of one thing to do.
He took a long sip.
* * *
The next thing he was aware of, he seemed to be surrounded by the same glowing blue that he had just ingested. He had the feeling of being immersed, but not drowned, and he realized that he could breathe a second before he realized he was naked.
The light surrounded him, filling his sight. He could see his hands, chest, legs, but nothing beyond that but blue.
He felt something touch him and he whirled around, but nothing was there. He experimentally kicked in the water, and found that he could swim in this magical liquid, although it was hard to tell if he was
actually moving. He swam in the direction that he thought whatever had touched him had come from. Slowly, something came into view through the glow.
A pair of slender legs came into view.
The pixie was lying in the blue, suspended as comfortably as if she were draped over a couch. Her red hair floated around her, but did nothing to obscure the nape of her neck, her bare shoulders, her perky breasts... she looked at the sailor and giggled soundlessly.
She gave him a look that said, quite simply, “Well?”
She was no longer four inches tall. Or maybe the sailor was four inches tall now. It didn't matter. He grinned as he swam to her. He was almost afraid to touch her... but as his fingers brushed over her thigh and up along her hip, a hunger burst forth inside him, burning. He gripped her and pulled her closer. As he looked into her eyes, he could see a feral hunger inside her as well.
Her hands grasped his shoulders.
She pulled herself into him.
The pixie and the sailor kissed.
He could feel her tongue darting, dancing with his. Her slender fingertips dug into his skin and he held her tight, pulling her body against him. He felt her shiver at the rough touch and she broke off the kiss, biting his neck, making him buck against her and grab her hair to pull her off him. He spun her around, grabbing her small perky breasts and pinching her nipples between his fingers as he bit down on her shoulder, right above the tattoo.
She ground against him, and he felt himself throb against her ass. His hands slipped down her sides, feeling her soft slender curves under his touch. One hand held her hard against him. Another felt the soft flesh of her thigh, slipping up to tease her clit. She gasped, throwing her head back on his shoulder, one hand reaching behind her to grab his hair, gripping it in need.
He kissed her neck as she ground against his hand. She seemed to growl, and pushed his hands away, turning towards him, kissing his neck, spreading her legs and straddling him. He gripped her ass as she ground against his shaft, until he lifted her up, until the tip of his cock made contact with her cunt...
He thrust into her, groaning in pleasure. She gasped, mouth wide, eyes screwed tight as he drove himself deep deep into her. She gripped his arms, his back, wherever she could find purchase as he pulled back and thrust again. His fingertips digging into her buttocks, he fucked her hard with long, savage strokes, watching her writhe. He could feel her sweat even in the blue drink that surrounded them, and surely he was sweating too. The fire she had sparked inside him was making him into an animal, thrusting into her more and more wildly.
She first time she came, she grabbed him and held him deep inside her, so hard that he couldn't do more than rock against her hips. As she eased her grip, he grabbed her neck and pulled him into a kiss, the dance of tongues no longer teasing and mischievous but instead filled with pure lust.
He rolled her on top of him and she gasped, gripping his chest as she rode him. She came again soon, as he bucked up into her, and then again. Her eyes glazed over with waves of pleasure.
He growled, seeking his own release.
He rolled on top of her, pinning her down as his hips slammed into hers. The pixie had long lost the ability to do anything but quiver as she came for the sailor over and over, even as he started thrusting even more wildly, his own orgasm imminent.
He pulled out from her cunt and brought his cock to her lips. Without hesitation, she took his throbbing length into her mouth, her tongue lashing at the head before she took him deep. She wrapped a slender hand around the shaft as she sucked him hard, and he bucked. It wasn't long before he gripped her other hand, just to have something to anchor him in reality, as he came, bursting into her mouth.
The sailor's world went blue, and then black...
… he awoke. In a strange bar that was empty and dusty, the windows boarded up and a sign on the door announcing the property for sale.
He staggered back to the docks.
The sailor could never find the bar on any other night, and if he did, he doubted it would ever be open for him again. He wanted to believe it was real. Two things convinced him that it could have been: a stone cup that smelled of juniper, grapefruit, and salt air; and a teasing, mischievous melody that he could never quite remove from his head.