An Indomitable Fire
Copyright © Emmi Lawrence
All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.
Short Story (Approx. 4200)
Moonlight stretched across her room. A thin shaft of it that rippled as the clouds rushed across the sky. Cerci blinked, clearing her vision before she focused on the face hovering so close to hers she could feel hot breath and smell fresh lemon from his after dinner ritual snack he stole from Witch Ales’s stash.
“I need your help,” whispered Bradd.
She smiled and snuggled deeper under her blanket, anticipating a leisurely fuck to drag her back to sleep for the rest of the night. “Come on in.”
He hesitated. “Not that kind of help.”
All the warm, honeyed feelings Cerci had begun to feel flashed away, leaving nothing but irritation in their wake. “It’s in the middle of the night, Bradd, that’s the only kind of help you’re getting.”
“Don’t whine.” He stood up and yanked on her blanket. “I really need your help. Witch Ales is going to kill me for sure if she finds this.”
Cerci groaned as he pulled her into a sitting position when she refused to let go. “What did you do?” When he didn’t answer immediately, she scrubbed her eyes so she could see him more clearly in the sparse moonlight.
Bradd shifted his weight and gave a smile that only had half as much cockiness as normal. “You really have to see it to believe it.”
“Fine, fine, but you are doing morning duties if this takes too long.”
She pulled on a pair of pants under her flimsy nightgown and followed him out of her room. They crept down the dark hall, keeping to the right side where the floorboards wouldn’t creak as they passed Witch Ales’s room. Down the staircase, past the giant workroom and storage pantries and out the back door.
Cerci hugged herself as the wind blew across her bare arms and rushed right through her nightgown, instantly firming her nipples. “Where are we going?”
She wiggled her toes against the footpath and glanced suspiciously at the grass, wondering if she should have grabbed her boots. She glanced to her right at the wood pile and cocked her head to listen to the multitude of crickets and the gentle murmur of the stream that sat out of sight within the lower hills in the forest. Occasionally, an owl would hoot or a wolf would howl or a fox would give its vixen yowl, but tonight they seemed mostly content leaving the music to the newly excited frogs after all the rain they’d had the past couple of days.
“Just here,” said Bradd.
She followed him behind the gardening shed, taking care to skirt the herbs Witch Ales made them care for every evening. There sat one of the old and cracked rain barrels that they had retired from use but not actually gotten rid of yet.
The cover had been folded back, the wood rotting enough that it probably wouldn’t have done much even had it been on properly. An odd scent lingered around the opening. An odd scent accompanied by a liquid sloshing noise that was far too loud to simply be a bug or twenty swimming around inside.
Bradd gestured to the barrel. “Well. Look inside.”
“I don’t want to look inside. What is it? Do you expect me to rescue some scared animal who fell in?”
He rolled his eyes. “Ha, ha. No. If that was all this was I wouldn’t need you.”
Cerci pulled back. “Oh? Because that’s how you should talk to me if you want me to help.”
“Don’t go storming off,” he hissed, with a worried glance up at Witch Ales’s dark window. “Just look inside really quick, tell me if you think that it counts as a liquid.”
Cerci had been in the process of leaning forward to take a look when she registered what he’d said. “If it counts as a liquid?”
He nodded and pushed on her back slightly, his hand a pocket of warmth in the chilly spring night. “Yes.”
Looking heavenward at the cloudy sky, she said, “Ominous.”
She took another small step and held her breath as she peeked inside. About a third of the way down, something roiled, kicking up just enough reflection from the blurry light of the partially covered moon that she could tell it wasn’t natural. Whatever it was glowed with a strange shade of salmon that seemed to match the smell wafting out. It moved sluggishly, but loudly, plopping against the walls of the barrel before sucking back into the glop.
“What is this?” she whispered.
Bradd scrunched up his face, his eyes finding everywhere to look but at her. “You know all those recipe orders Witch Ales had me filling while you and her were off to the coast collecting sea turtle shells all last week?”
“Yes,” said Cerci slowly, not liking where this was going.
“Well I didn’t exactly get them right every time.”
“You’re supposed to dump the bad pots into the burn drum.”
“I know,” he hissed, suddenly angry. “And I did dump a couple, but three of those recipes I hadn’t done before and it took me a while to get them right. Witch Ales would have killed me if she knew how much I wasted.”
“And I’m going to kill you for dragging me out of my nice, warm bed to look at your fuck up.” She turned to stalk back inside, mumbling under her breath, “You could have at least offered an orgasm, or hells, two of them, before you start begging for help with something that may or may not be even a liquid anymore.”
He caught her arm to stop her, whispering frantically. “I’ll give you as many damn orgasms as you want if you go get your gloves and shift this stuff near the stream.”
“Why don’t you get your own gloves?”
Bradd dropped her arm and scrubbed at his chin, saying something so softly she couldn’t hear him.
“What was that?”
“I said,” he started, then his voice dropped again and he rushed out, “that you’re better than I am.”
“No wonder that was hard to say.” She chuckled when he glared at her.
“Will you help or what?”
She let him squirm for another moment, giving him a mock angry face, her eyes narrowed and her mouth pinched. But she couldn’t hold the expression, her lips curling up as she laughed under her breath. “Yes, yes, I’ll help you.”
Bradd let out an explosive sigh and pushed her playfully. “Don’t scare me like that. This stuff was starting to really smell. If Witch Ales had come out here yesterday she would have found it.”
She laughed a little louder and then quieted when he hushed her with another glance up at Witch Ales’s window. The house seemed brighter when Cerci ducked back inside to grab her flow gloves, a gift from Witch Ales to both of her apprentices so they could learn to manipulate the liquids—the draughts, the tonics and elixirs—they worked with on a constant basis. Her eyes adjusted quickly, the moonlight clear as the last of a giant swatch of cloud finally blew away in an easterly direction.
Back outside, gloves on and barrel all the way open, she asked Bradd. “Where are we putting it?”
He pointed into the forest, toward the stream, but in a direction that held one of the steepest banks and thus an unfrequented area. “I dug a hole. Thought I could bury the stench.”
“I hope it doesn’t do anything to the plants,” she said as she lifted both hand, palms down, over the barrel.
“If it does, I’m blaming it on the rabid squirrels.”
“The ones you shot with an unboiled anger management tonic?”
“Yep. They’ve been eating through the trees like beavers.”
“I thought Witch Ales told you to shoot them?”
“She did and I did, but who knows, maybe I missed one.”
Cerci smiled to herself, but started to raised her hands, the tips of her fingers arching backwards to make the salmon-colored liquid-stuff curl like a wave as it swept out of the barrel. In the moonlight, they could see the way it shivered and shuddered, tiny nubs pushing out and rolling over as if searching for something.
Carefully, Cerci moved her right hand down as she pulled her left hand out, slowly turning it over so that the liquid would follow along, twisting into a loose spiral through the air. She stepped back, repeated the process with her right hand until the sound of sloshing disappeared and every ounce of Bradd’s mess was hung suspended in the air in a corkscrew curl.
“Okay, good,” said Bradd, as if he was the one concentrating to keep that much liquid in control. “Good, come this way.”
She followed his voice, walking backwards. One step at a time. Grass folding under her bare feet, the occasional twig rough against her sole. The further away from Witch Ales’s workshop they moved, the more copious those twigs became until she was flinching as sharp bark caught her skin and attempted to rip flesh.
Bradd’s hands landed on her hips, moving with her, his lemon-scented breath in her ear, his whispered directions more husky than useful. He stroked her through her nightgown, the thin fabric doing nothing to keep her mind away from how good he felt, how sweet it would be to fall into bed with him once they finished this inane task.
“How much further?” she asked.
She felt him twist his body to look behind them. “Not too far. Maybe another fifteen paces.” When he turned back, the hand on her hip tugged her, just enough to be distracting.
The liquid she’d been holding together sagged in the middle, drooping like a malformed pink snake. She moved her right hand quickly, instinctively going to catch the liquid and in the process letting go of the tail end of the corkscrew.
“Cerci, grab it,” Bradd said in a fierce whisper.
Trying far too hard because the liquid sloshed back and forth in the middle of the air in a reflection of her desperate, jerky motions to save it from being splattered across the grass and against the base of the tree trunks.
Bradd’s arms encircled her waist and he yanked her backwards as the liquid sloshed in their direction. Another instinctual reaction had Cerci throwing both hands up before twirling around in Bradd’s loose grasp and burying her face into his shoulder to escape being given a face-full of failed tonic recipes.
The liquid came down, warm and roiling against her back. It landed thickly within her loose hair. She could feel it weighing her down, but not dripping. Her face was clear though, at least. Letting out the breath she’d held in anticipation of a worse result, Cerci lifted her head to Bradd’s and planted a peck his scruffy jaw.
“Omf, you need to shave,” she said. Then she stiffened, suddenly feeling hot, but not temperature-wise. Uncomfortable, but not pained. More like…
Bradd groaned and caught her hips again, grinding into her in a delicious fashion, his cock rock solid. The liquid soaking her back and spilled around her feet became of no consequence as Cerci wrapped her arms around Bradd’s neck, already gliding back over the dark stubble on his cheeks, ignoring the way it roughed at her lips.
A fire filled her veins, sparking her nerves, inflaming them. She couldn’t think straight, she couldn’t catch her breath. She only felt want. No, she was the want itself. A swirling tight ball of want.
Bradd caught her mouth in a deep kiss, no trace of laughter, not even the tiniest hint of playful fun in his manner. Or hers.
Her panties became soaked. Her insides beat to the tune of her heart, an aching, needful beat that swept them both into its river of uncontrollable desire.
Cerci fumbled with Bradd’s pants as he lifted her nightgown over her head. They kissed and sucked what skin they could find, ignoring the puffs that escaped into the air or the salmon-colored ooze that worked its way across their flesh. Bradd shoved her down into the grass, panting out desperate moans as she caught his hard dick in her hand and pumped him. They wiggled and kicked out of pants, Bradd cursing when his became caught around his boots.
“Leave it,” she gasped, grabbing his head and pulling him down between her breasts.
Bradd gave a low groan in response and then guided himself into her already sopping vagina. The stretch caused Cerci to arch up, throwing her head back, heedless of the dirt as Bradd slammed home.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered. “This is…”
“Crazy,” she finished for him. “Go, go. I can’t stand it.”
He moved quickly, short, fierce pumps into her as she undulated beneath him, rocking her hips to match his frenzied pace. Nerves on fire like they’d never been before, Cerci sobbed out her release moments later, wrapping her legs about his middle and squeezing tight as she pulsed around him. Bradd sucked in a breath and followed her, his body going stiff, his hands clamping down on her hips so hard she could practically feel the bruises forming.
Then he shuddered and collapsed. They breathed heavy, the cloudy, moonlit night sky slowly coming back into focus as the world began to reappear.
There was a gentle moment of satisfaction where Cerci realized that the liquid that had been sopping her back was moving upwards against her stomach and pooling into her belly button. And worse, she could feel it sliding up her crack, meeting with her own fluids as they leaked out.
She had a moment, then her nerves began to scream again, that pulsing, desperate need rising so quickly she had barely enough time to give a squeak of confusion before Bradd grunted and started thrusting again, obviously feeling it too.
One of his hands came up to grab her shoulder, the other hooking around her thigh as he pulled himself back into position. “Cerci,” he gasped. “What’s…what’s going on?”
She pulled herself back from the brink of passion at his words and glanced down at her body. The liquid was indeed roiling its way across her skin, a strange hardness settling at her belly button. “What is this made out of?” Then she squeezed her eyes shut and lifted her hips as Bradd began to nail her harder, sending fireworks of a type she’d never felt before exploding up her spine as she came again.
Bradd cried out, a sound that ended on a gasp, as he collapsed once more, sweat beading on his forehead. “Nerve tonic,” he gasped in between pants. “But I couldn’t get it right.”
Her arms were shaking when she wrapped them about his back. “It’s supposed to calm inflamed nerves, not excite them.”
“I know. For fuck’s sake, I fucking know, that’s why I threw it out.” He stiffened and then shuddered again. “Fuck me,” he whispered, “it’s starting again. I need—”
She knew what he needed because she could feel it starting anew, her nerves tingling, her heart unable to slow its rhythm before she wanted to feel the slap of flesh on flesh and the moan-inducing thickness of Bradd’s shaft rocking in and out of her again. But when she tried to roll them over so she could do more of the work and give Bradd a reprieve, she found herself unable to pull her back free from the ground.
Bradd thrust, more of a gentle massage against her vaginal walls instead of the frenzied pace he’d had earlier. Cerci tried to meet him, match him, angle herself just so in order to get the most of that glide and push. But she couldn’t even do that.
“Bradd! Bradd, I can’t move!”
“Hush,” he whispered, his fingers going over her lips before he groaned and caught her in a kiss, his tongue seeking hers and when he found it those massaging thrusts of his began to pick up pace again.
Cerci swallowed down her protest and relaxed into Bradd’s arms, feeling her body rising for a third time in a space so quickly it should have been impossible. Yet, impossible or no, she came again, sobbing as the power of it tore through her, just as strong, perhaps even stronger, than the first two.
Her mind spun as Bradd stiffened and spat inside of her. She felt dizzy and exhausted. Sweat clung to her skin and glistened in between the salmon-colored splotches on Bradd’s shoulders and arms.
“I’m stuck,” she murmured. “I can’t move.” And her belly button felt strangely heavy.
Bradd lifted his head to see her. “I’m feeling it too. My balls are stuck to the base of my dick and the backs of my knees are hard.”
“What else did you put in there?” she asked.
Already, the desperate nerve tingling was back, gaining purchase in her body with every second. And with it came that ooze rolling across her lips and fusing the corner of her mouth closed. She forced a deep breath of air into her lungs, trying to keep down the panic.
“That’s what this is!” she said.
“Hush,” he whispered again, fingers once more going to cover her lips, only this time he turned them over when the liquid rolled in between his fingers, locking them in place. “Oh, no.”
“It’s going over my mouth. My mouth! Bradd—”
He kissed her, already thrusting again. So much fluid, hers mixing with his, poured around him, giving him a slick slide. The harshness against her lips sank away. She breathed through her nose, taking in the burnt flavor of the air.
When Bradd twisted to drag his teeth down her jaw line, she gasped out between his thrusts, “It’s gone. It’s gone from my mouth.”
Not for long. She could feel more of the liquid worming its way up her cheek, tickling the edges of her lips again.
“Bradd, what else…Ahh.”
She squeezed her eyes closed as the liquid touched her eyelids, her body continuing to shake with lust. Bradd pumped into her, his head now hanging, sweat dripping onto her skin as he struggled to keep the pace. The veins of his neck beat against her hand, so quickly, so strongly, she could imagine them attempting to flee his body.
“Fire…oh, hells, Cerci…I…Fire Breath.” Then he froze, his fingers digging harshly into her skin as he sobbed out his release.
Underneath him, she trembled, the need burning along her nerves. His cock sat thick and heavy inside of her, but so drenched in liquid that the stretch was long gone and the friction diminished. She wrapped her legs around him, desperate for more of those strong thrusts. Bradd moved, but sluggishly, his chest heaving and his entire body a mess of exhaustion.
“Fire Breath,” he said again.
She barely heard him. “Please, Bradd. Keep going.”
His fingers sought her lips again. “Shhh, let me think.”
“I didn’t know you knew how to do that,” she said as she pushed his head toward her nipple, silently begging for stimulation.
Bradd bit into the fleshy part of her breast. “Ha, ha.” Then he spluttered. “Ah, it’s on your…oh.”
Nerves singing, Cerci grabbed him by the hair and yanked him, getting her mouth on his, moaning into him when a long, drawn-out orgasm slid through her. She could feel herself pulsing around him, felt him groan in response. For those seconds, she felt out of her body, tossed by the wind through the treetops. Only to slam back down into reality a moment later, her limbs shaking violently.
“My eyes!” she cried. They’d been closed, but she hadn’t cared. Now though… “Bradd, my eyes!”
“Oh no,” he whispered. “Cerci, I’ve got to get Witch Ales.” He started to sit back, his torso beginning to lift from hers before he froze in place. “Oh fuck.”
“What?” she demanded. “What is it.”
“Okay. Let’s not panic.” He was still breathing hard, she could hear it, but now he was grinding within her, his hips twisting between her legs. “But I don’t think I can get off my knees.”
Cerci let out a shuddering breath, the panic giving way to ire. “Bradd, if we survive this, I’m seriously considering chopping your dick off and stringing it over the mantle.”
He stopped moving. “That’s a bit harsh. You like my dick.”
“I like breathing more.” The liquid was rolling over the corner of her mouth again and when she finished speaking, she felt a drop slid between her lips. It smacked her tongue and puffed away, the smell of burning once more in the air.
“Your mouth just steamed,” said Bradd.
“Fire Breath, it’s the Fire Breath reacting to saliva.”
“Not very effective.”
“Thanks to you.”
“I’ll have you know I perfected that recipe.”
“Fine, fine, just…”
The fire her in nerves was back, enjoying the ministrations that Bradd had continued as he ground against her vagina. She unclenched a hand from his shoulder, dragging it up her body, flicking her own nipple when the urge overcame her.
Bradd gasped. “Oh, gods, that was hot.” His thrusts started to take on a fiercer quality, even if they lacked the strength from when they’d started.
She ignored him, she had to. Brought her fingers to her mouth and spat on them. Then she rubbed the spittle into her eyes, feeling the hardened liquid there puffing away, warming her eyelids before the wind cooled them. She blinked as she finally opened her eyes, then became aware of Bradd’s hands massaging her breasts, his thumbs circling her areolas and flicking her nipples.
Cerci whispered encouragement and then said, “The Fire Breath will get rid of it. Use your spit. It’s why kissing removed it from our lips.”
“Kissing. Got it.” He leaned over her and kissed against her cheek where the liquid still rolled upwards. Her skin warmed as the steam lifted into the air.
As they moved together for a fifth time, she licked at his shoulder, feeling pinpricks of heat as the salmon-colored liquid puffed away. They licked and kissed and sucked each other’s flesh, paying special attention to the hardened sections of the liquid that had found the crevices upon their bodies to fill up. Bradd’s fingers stroked her belly button, the little hole releasing a stream of curling steam.
As the liquid disappeared off their skin, their nerves began to calm. The fire receded, the need diminished, leaving them shaking in each other’s arms upon the wet ground. Bradd’s face sat between Cerci’s breasts. Her hand carded through his hair. Occasionally, Bradd would lick his fingers before he’d take more strands of her own hair and run his fingertips through them.
He’d already stroked her back, releasing her from the ground. But there was one place still enflamed. She shifted against the earth.
“My butt cheeks are stuck together.”
Bradd laughed, burying the sound into her flesh.
She smacked him lightly in the back of his head. “It’s not funny. It feels weird.”
That only served to make him laugh harder. “Want me to lick it?” he asked, his eyebrows dancing.
“No, I’ll take care of it.” She brought her hand to her mouth.
Bradd pulled off her and yanked her legs up. She let out a scream as she scrambled to get away from him.
“Quiet,” he hissed. “You’ll wake Witch Ales.”
“If she’s not already awake.” She tried to push his head away, but he held her more firmly, chuckling as they struggled weakly together.
Cerci twisted, swiping her licked over hand down her crack, the steam puffing into Bradd’s face.
“Aww,” he said.
She crawled out of his reach and stood up, immediately falling to her knees as her body resisted the effort.
“Yeah,” said Bradd tiredly. “I think I could sleep for a week.”
He crawled over to her, his pants still caught around his boots at his ankles. She laughed at the sight, muffling the noise behind her hand.
“Can you put the stuff into the hole I dug?” he asked.
She cast around for her gloves, finding one coated with the hardened salmon-colored liquid and the other close to the edge of the bank. She quickly fixed the one and shook out the other, making a face at the couple of scuff marks. But she pulled them on as Bradd hiked up his pants and tried to pull the liquid from the ground. She got some water, but none of the other failed tonics.
“I think it’s all hardened.” She giggled. “You’ll have to use your oral powers of spitasticness.”
He pulled a face. “Fuck that. I’m going to bed. Witch Ales doesn’t come out here anyway.” He grabbed her nightgown and shook it. Cerci held up her hands, anticipating him throwing it at her, but he paused, an evil glint entering his eyes underneath the moonlight.
“Bradd…” she said warningly.
He laughed wickedly and ran off through the trees towards the workshop, swiping her pants from the ground as he went.
She chased after him, naked but for the gloves on her hands, fluid from them both streaming down her legs. Halfway back, she stepped on something sharp that had her skipping awkwardly and slowing down, unable to keep up with his sprint as he reached the path. He turned around once to wave, then bundled her clothes and tossed them onto the roof before ducking into the back door.
“Just you wait,” she muttered under her breath, already plotting revenge.