The Realm of the Impossible (cut scene)

Once we have shed our clothes, I cannot hold back from kissing him, pressing close to his warmth, drinking in his groans and sighs as our hard cocks meet at last. His skin is hot under my hands, soft and firm but yielding when I sink my fingers in to pull him closer. And then we are on the bed again, rolling around and laughing like children trying to win a struggle that is nothing like a fight.

He succeeds in pinning me down, of course, but then he raises himself. His hands are holding my forearms over my head keeping me immobilized, but his eyes are cautious when he finds mine.

“You did not prepare me,” I tell him, a little breathless but otherwise sounding normal. It is no use to insist I am fine; I must show him instead.

I can see the effect of the words right on his face, eyes widening and nostrils flaring. It would be amusing if it was not so arousing. He gives me a small nod and lets go of me to reach for the oil. His chest, all golden skin, is a display of agility and grace as he leans back.

It does not help that he’s sitting on top of my hard cock. I close my eyes and inhale but all I can smell is the scent of our sweat and our excitement. Of us.

If anything, it makes my shaft throb agains the warm skin of his buttocks.

“Bend your knees,” he asks me and I open my eyes.

I hesitate, suddenly very aware of how exposed that would leave me. “I will do it,” I tell him. “You readied yourself,” I point out when I see a flicker of hurt on his face.

He hands me the flask, dismounting with a little awkwardness—he’s as hard as I, I note with a mix of pride and relief. “You... you need to go slow and... And put a lot of oil.”

“I remember,” I assure him, trying to lighten the mood before I catch his nerves. “We had to send the sheets to be washed.”

I get to my knees, spreading my legs and resting my weight on my bent calves. I pour some oil on my right hand, rubbing my figners together and keeping my eyes firmly on the shiny substance. If the idea of Dzyer seeing me spread open under his hands was strange, the notion of looking him in the eye while I do it sends a flutter of anxiety up my chest.

Even though I am well aware the angle makes vision impossible, I turn my head as I reach behind myself. I find the hollow space at the bottom of my spine first, staining my skin, thenslowly slide my two dominant fingers down between my half spread cheeks.

The sensation is electric, like brushing a poisonous vine, but I persist, circling my hole like I would touch myself in female form. This much, I can extrapolate. I dip my index in, feeling the soft flesh give.

It is an odd feeling, as any sensation never experienced before it’s bound to be. And it is quite different from putting my fingers inside myself when I am female, more... mechanical, in a way. Strangely, this seems easier to accomplish by simply adding more oil and a second finger.

My brother whimpers and I accidentally meet his eyes—all blue gone, long eyelashes extended as he stares at me like he is afraid I will disappear if he so much as blinks.

I swallow, feeling the squeeze of my own flesh as I do.

Dzyer shakes his head. “Don’t stop,” he whispers. No, it’s not just a whisper, it’s a plea.

I give him the oil and push my fingers deeper without looking away, a dare, a promise... I don’t expect the jolt of pleasure that runs through me. Dzyer reaches out to grab my upper arm, keeping me from toppling over.

Taking my fingers out is almost more than I can manage... I want... I want more. I pull them out a little too hastily.

Dzyer rubs my arm. “Careful,” he admonishes me.

“Oil,” I respond, extending my hand towards him.

He dutifully pours some—too much in fact. It spills over my lap, a little cold on my sensitive erection. He glances down, smirking a little in a way that I want to both kiss and bite off his mouth.

I can, I realise, using my left hand to take him by the hip—his skin a little sweaty but giving under my fingers as Ipull him forward and lean in to take his mouth. HE startles but opens up for it, letting my tongue invade his mouth.

I kiss him deep, relishing his taste and letting him hold me up and then I allow him to control the kiss so I can concentrate in preparing my own body.

I have to twist away to be able to speak, “I’m ready.”

He shudders in my arms, exhaling slowly before carefully reclining back on the pillows. I watch him, his longs, slightly spread, and his shaft, swollen and dark with blood between them, his stomach marked with the muscle of the soldier he is no more... and then I meet his eyes, which are too dark now for me to see they are the same blue as my own.

I have to look down to manage my own limbs as I climb on top of him. I feel him tense under me and catch his expression flicker as I settle. My balls slide against the slick skin of his thighs and we both shudder.

”Lor...” I glance up at him, feeling too hot and too cold at once. “I... I am afraid of spending.”

I take hold of him with my sticky hand, pressing the base of his cock tightly. “Do not,” I order and he trembles as he struggles to obey. This feels more familiar, after all, before Dzyer, I had always been in charge of my sexual encounters.

It is no different now. I raise myself, letting go of him only long enough to get my hand behind myself for the right angle. The sense memory makes it feel a little off for a second, but then I envelop the head of his cock within my slickened flesh and it is the most natural thing in the world to lower myself and take more. He whimpers my name and I pause, allowing him a moment to compose himself.

He relaxes, eyes opening to watch me, dazed but focused. I do not look away as I take the rest of him. But he does, clenching his eyes shut like he cannot bear it. I reach out and trace his cheekbone with my clean hand. “Dzyer?”

He is panting a little. “I... I’m okay,” he hurries to say.

I do not move, no matter how much I want to squeeze him hard, to feel the pressure of him deep in me. I caress his neck instead until he looks at me. “Is it too much?”

“No!” he says, eyes widening with what I realise is fear. “No, don’t... I just need a second.”

“Dzyer,” I reprimand. “You can tell me what you need.”

“I...” He ininhales, eyes lowered. “I have wanted this for a long time,” he admits, his voice small.

For a moment, I do not know what to say. Not because I have not spent into my own hand imagining this, for I have had a year of loneliness and I gave up any pretense of dignity in private long before I did in front of him. I do not speak because I do not know if I should encourage him or try to aid him in his obvious desire not to have this end too soon.

I cannot say I have waited years, but I could say these past months have felt like such, that I ache for him to surrender and let me take everything he is until neither of us is capable of thought or hesitation.

I trace his brow, trying to calm us both down. “You will have this for a long time,” I promise. “So you needn’t fret about this one.”

He snorts, more air than sound, but he’s smiling a little. “Okay, you can move.”

I flex my muscles and raise myself above him, watching his face as I do. His eyes flutter closed, then open again with visible difficulty. To watch me. To share this with me. I have to close my own eyes for a moment as I take him fully again, his girth mine once more.

I flex my muscles, desperate to move, and then it comes back to me: one leads and one follows, but why? He’s on under me and even without the aid of gravity… For a moment I freeze, remembering how he held me down and...

“Lor?” he asks, breathless but focused.

I blink and see his eyes are fixed on my face. “Does— Is it… too much?” he asks. Too much? I think, and then I realise: too much like fucking him as a woman. And I could not say, it is close enough in that I am fucking him, but… I do not even think I would find it that strange anymore, not when I… Not when I want him this badly, when taking his body barely feels like enough in the face of the feelings clawing at my insides.

I gulp down my nerves and my tears, shake my head and he shifts his hips minutely, to plant his feet on the mattress, changing the angle in a way that seems to allow me to take a little more of him still—as if he will offer me every piece of himself. Fearless and free, trusting me completely.

His skin shines with sweat and I know well how desperate to move he must be, how desperate to get the stimulation he needs. I need it too, pleasurable as this is, I need some stimulation on my own cock if I am to finish this race with him.

“Move,” I manage to say and he takes hold of my erection at once, squeezing just this side of too tight and making me shiver hard enough I am forced to put my hands on his chest to keep my balance. And maybe this is my breaking point, because I do not vacillate to meet his eyes and demand. “Move.”

Dzyer watches me, frowning in obvious confusion. “What?”

“Move,” I insists. “Just do it, do it with me.”

“You—” He turns his face away, body tensing under me. I can feel his stand throbbing inside me, almost enough but not quite. “Lorax,” he groans, sounding like he is calling out to some deity.

It takes some effort but I take hold of his hair and pull until he looks up at me again. “I want you to help me, to… push up.”

His eyes are all pupil and I cannot tell if it is terror or awe in them, not until his hands find my hips and he gives a tentative thrust upwards that makes me scream, throwing my head back as I arch on top of him. He does not wait for me to ask again, fucking up into me, giving me everything I have asked for and more still—everything he is and does, every wish and every fear. And I push back, giving as good as I get, returning my own insecurities, my own half-buried truths, the needs of my body and my soul, the desperation only he can bring out in me and the love that surpases any force I know of.

And like that, we clash, against each other but together, towards an ending that seems to suspend us both in another world as pleasure rushes through me, stronger each time his cock presses inside and his hand works my own.

I open my eyes just in time to see his face as he crests, feeling the wetness inside as his teeth clench and his body bows as ecstasy beyond his control sweeps through him. I clench around him, wanting more, wanting everything, and he cries out my name once more, half choking on it.

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©2018 by N.J. Lysk. Contact NJLysk@lostinabook.org if there are any issues.