My Little Human: Disjointed Memories

Several centuries after the events of the main story line.

A soft click was swallowed by the darkness as the door closed, restoring the room to pitch blackness. The soft susurrous of bare feet on thickly carpeted floors would have been inaudible to someone less keen or well trained than I, but I used the sound to track her movements as she approached me. A sliding of wooden legs on the carpet, then a small sigh and a tiny creak told me that she sat down. I didn't need to see to know the look on her face, the tiny pout she got when she was tired and the night was done, the lolling of the neck as muscles relaxed, the hooded eyes, I knew them all by heart.

The wine bottle was heavy as I slowly picked it up. I moved the bottle carefully, not spilling a drop as I filled first her glass, then mine. Its aroma slowly filled the space between us as the bottle was returned to the space it had previously occupied.

We didn't need words, not after all this time. We no longer used gestures either, beyond the most minute of muscular twitching. I could feel her arm move in the swirling of sent and air, sense the glass bend at the molecular level as her hand delicately grasped the crystal chalice and lifted it off the table. I raised my hand to my own glass, the tips of my claws fitting precisely into the tiny indents they had carved over an uncountable number of mornings.

The silence rang with the pure note of semi-filled crystal colliding almost delicately. I sipped at mine, but I knew that this day would not be one for quiet contemplation and exchange, no, this day would serve another, perhaps even more enjoyable purpose. I heard a most unladylike gulp as she finished the glass in a single pull. I could practically taste the fire and ice as it flowed down her throat. I couldn't help the rumble of amusement deep in my chest. Our physiology didn't allow for the consumption of mind altering substances to be anything less than... excessive, if we wanted to feel any of the effects at all.

My eyes finally adjusted properly to the tiny lights that danced in her eyes as I lifted the wine bottle to fill her glass a second time. She held it up again and I could almost make out the tiny smirk that would be gracing her soft lips. 'Like a child, she must always have her way.' I lightly tapped the edge of my glass, my own mouth quirking a bit at her antics.

This went on for several minutes. I would pour a glass, she would raise it, I would lightly tap it with my own and take a sip, and she would down the entire glass before proffering it to be refilled. It was like a ritual, the way this would sometimes happen. Like a perfect machine we would repeat this very night, over and over, thousands of time, never deviating, never changing the motions or motivations.

Each drink relaxed the woman further. First, her legs would stretch out to lightly rest her feet atop my own. Then, her wings would spill from her back and onto the ground like the train of a dress. As the bottle would inevitably run dry and my own glass would be just slightly less than half full, her neck and arms would relax and the goblet would rest back where it had started.

She would look almost forlornly at my half full glass, then up at me, tiny diamonds sparkling in her deep, blue-green eyes. My smile grew wider, but the silence was unbroken, we knew the words.

"Are you going to finish that?" She would ask, her voice like velvet and light and sex that rolled into my ears to take root in my mind.

"Perhaps." I would respond, "Would you like some?"

"Mmm" She would moan, all the invitation I would need.

I would tip the glass toward myself, taking the last of the wine into my mouth. Then I would slowly stand from my chair and take the three steps necessary to reach her side. There I would kneel next to her and touched her chin with my hand, gently turning her face to me. I would lightly pressed my lips to hers. I would open my mouth slightly and she would do the same as I slowly gave her the wine. Most of it would run down our cheeks, drip from our chins, and stain the clothing we wore, but we wouldn't care.

After the kiss, she would slowly lift her hands to her crown and slowly, ever so slowly, lift it from her brow. allowing a cascade of blue hair to obscure her dark face and twinkling eyes. The crown would clink upon the table, and the night would truly begin.

I brush the hair from her face, my clawed fingers gently trailing along her cheekbone. She presses her face into my soft touch, nuzzling my palm, licking lightly at my wrist. I rest my other hand on her face and we share another kiss, deeper this time, our tongues neither battling nor dancing, simply reacquainting themselves with each other. She tasted of a night breeze and moon beams. Her moan sounded like warm rain against the skin, and the feel of her cool body pressing closer into my embrace felt like a diamond on my tongue, minty and sweet.

I slide one arm under her knees, the other along her back, and lift her easily. She is light in my arms, and cool as she nuzzles into my chest. I never wear a shirt on these occasions, for I know how she loves my scent. A few steps to the giant, canopied bed, the star patterned coverlet invisible in the black, but I could trace each constellation from memory, had I the need.

I smirk in the dark. At this point the gentleman is supposed to place the lady gently upon the bed, removing her clothing delicately, perhaps kissing each inch of exposed flesh. Needless to say, some things just aren't our style. I toss the woman onto the bed as though she were a girl of half her size and follow with a pounce. Claw meets fabric and lips lock as I pin her to the bed, relishing the feeling of dominance that she let me exert over her.

Mine. I did not need to speak it. It was in the hand that roughly squeezed a breast, in the knee that forced her legs apart, in the fang that pinched lightly on her lower lip, eliciting a breathy moan from the woman's lithe form. I prick her several times with my claws, going so far as to open a tiny slice on her inner thigh, she loves it.

Her breath puffs out as I slowly lick up her long neck, ending just behind her ear lobe. A gentle nibble makes her groan deep in her throat and clutch at my upper arms. Then I reach down and slice the gown from her body, she never wore undergarments to these little get-togethers, nor did I, as she revealed when she roughly pulled the dark slacks I was wearing from my body.

I groan as she runs her razor sharp nails lightly over my inner thighs, my mind hazing and filling with thoughts of want and need. I lean down to a bared breast and run my tongue around the outside of her dark areola, skimming the sensitive skin with my sharp teeth. Claws, nails, teeth and fangs, we touch, lick, and bite at one another, until sweat and saliva and a few traces of blood mix into a sweet nectar that coats our tongues and stokes our lust into a blazing fire of need.

Lips lock and tongues lash against each other, eliciting moans from us both. Reaching down, I catch at the back of her knee and raise it, revealing her sweet flower to my throbbing phallus. She inhales in a shuddering gasp as I slowly entered her, sliding on the juices produced by our extended foreplay. I groan as I hilt myself within her and she pulls me down for another kiss, this one sloppy, all tongue and saliva that coats our lips and leaves a trail from our mouths as we pull away.

"Fuck me." It wasn't a sound, nor a memory of a sound, but it rang in the room like an orchestra of bells, signalling the pleasure to come.

And I did; I pull my cock almost all the way out of her before pressing back in, over and over, long, slow pulls that make her raise her hips and latch onto my arms. I set a steady rhythm, slowly building speed and changing my angle as her groans became moans, then shouts, then screams as I pound her, flesh slapping against flesh.

I knew she was getting close, but I only felt the initial building of my own release, and she never liked to leave me behind, so I grabbed her knee again and twisted her body so that I straddled her left leg and her right thigh was held loosely in my left hand. I feel her inner walls contract around my pistoning cock and I rumble out a guttural sound of pleasure. She moans again as her pleasure builds, climbing higher and higher until she's hitting notes that most birds would envy. My own pleasure builds quickly, but I want more.

I continue to turn her body until she is face down and I's straddling both her legs as I fuck her into the bed like a beast. Her screams were muffled by the bed, but she still pulled off the kind of volume you'd hear at a rock concert. Her inner walls clamp down on me, milking me for my thick seed, and I oblige, pouring my hot spunk deep inside her as I press the tip of my cock against her cervix and fill her womb.

She lays under me, shuddering with the force of our coupling, no doubt grinning like a fool, or with her tongue lolling out of her mouth in animal satisfaction, but I didn't care.

Her body is no longer cool to the touch, heated as it was with excitement, but it was still delicious to touch as I slide my softening phallus out of her and fall onto my side. She wiggles around until we were face to face before pressing into me, nuzzling into the hollow between shoulder and neck, and tangling her legs with mine. For my part I slie my arm around her and pull her tight against my chest.

I listen as our breaths slow and deepen, moving into the rhythm of sleep, and our minds move into the place between waking and sleep, the place of dreams, the pace of thoughts, and I find myself thinking. Thinking of the woman I held in my arms, so much older than myself, yet still with a childlike love of fun and friends. Thinking of myself, and what I have become after all these years. Thinking of how she matches me so perfectly, as if we had been created for one another.

We never spoke of love. Not to one another, and not to anyone else. No, to call it love would be almost... insulting, to what we shared. Love was powerful, yes, but the candle that burns twice as bright... But what do we have? Words cannot explain. Not how we know each others thoughts before a single word has been spoken. Not how we know the physical and mental health of the other without even needing to be in the same room. Not how we anticipate the others actions so that to look at us you would see the reaction before the action. Not how, with the lightest touch, or softest word spoken in a world filled with noise, we could comfort and reassure the one another. No, words could not describe the completeness we feel, not in such a way that the one reading such words could understand what it feels like to be properly whole.

I know such a feeling, and it is not love, no, it is something far greater and deeper. If the candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long, then our candle is only the twinkle of a star in the night sky, for ours shall outlive all others.