She sat at the end of the pier, smoking a cigarette as the blood dripped down her face. It wasn’t anyone special’s blood – just her own, a little light fun before their boat was ready to sail, coming from only she-knows-where but still adorning her like a warrior’s facepaint in the moonlight. She could see Quinn’s silhouette moving on their vessel, past thin windows wafting intricate curtainry. They couldn’t even leave the island in anything less than style. She laughed through half-puffs in fog-soaked night air until her lungs felt weak and her teeth stung with cold dark malice.
She rose, standing on her own feet for once, her arms stretched outwards. In the gentle breeze, cigarette ash fell to her breast and burned in passing glory. That was all she’d ever had – passing glories, little victories, tiny remembrances of long past days that grew likes flames among her chest. She could remember every pulse and hum of life, each and every forgotten moment in her own cunt that longed for one last fuck with the boys and girls she left behind. She could remember the forests, the hikes, the waterfall, the way her knees scraped with each thrust, and the marks she left behind indelible in turn.
She would miss Blaine, light of her life, fire of her loins, ass like a fucking peach that puckered so nicely around the shaft Quinn picked for him. One last parting gift, slick and wet along pitch-black length in broken and crumpled patches that an almost-dedicated top would inevitably bring to an ordinary but nonetheless firm fuck that he just wasn’t ready for. It was fine, really. He was drunk – they both were, the only way to celebrate the statement she was leaving – and her one last request was a half joke she hadn’t even expected to ever come true. Instead she saw that thin ring of pink tugging greedily at her length, a moan on her mouth, and a finger to her iPhone tapping record as he moaned. Sebastian used to moan like that. Must have run in the family.
She would miss the Island, all the bullshit that came with it – the way she’s sit on her balcony unable to see anything but flesh as her tongue glazed over folds and fissures, she’d miss the time she nearly broke a window with nothing but a butterfly clamp and sheer willpower. She felt the cigarette fall and bounce poorly on the pier, soundlessly striking water in the passing seconds. Arms outstretched, she saw Quinn watch her through the glass, unsure and confused, but no longer afraid. Neither of them had to be again. Quinn had her own life. Tess had learned to live her own. The future was their own. Perhaps to Switzerland. Perhaps to Rome. Perhaps to a private island, all of their own, away from it all. Away from slaves and masters, madness and amnesia, from the low winter sun of malcontent.
She stepped forward, falling into the water, an inky blackness swallowing her as the world rushed up around her, as faces flew past – in the dark shadows she saw Sebastian, she saw Max, she Clyde and the Whore, Emma and Chuck and Wes and Ducks and Mia and Andrew and Hunter and the rest, through the darkness she saw that grinning face of evil, felt it rush through her in ancient fury as he lay beneath them in strange aeons, ready to pull her down to the bottom with her.
She raised, choking for air, fingers twisting into her own, pale and strong like ice that burned cold against her body, porcelain and bone, a perfect toy that saved its Master.
They sat, floating in the water, staring out at the moon in each other’s arms until the freeze of night threatened them once too many times. Stars burst above them as the year changed, but neither felt any need to hurry onwards into the darkest night. Soon, Quinn would be inside out on the yacht’s bed. For now, their arms were much better twined and grasping in the dark. It was how Thessaly had started.
Thessaly Thane always finished what she started.
***
"Coming!" She called. The strasse was teeming, the hum of life was all around them, and her home was just around the corner. Roma hated the alps. Tess, though?
Did you know they use to use the sweat of gladiators as an aprohdisac? And everyone wanted to fuck gladiators. Sometimes I feel like I was born in the wrong time. I could have been the rock star of gladiators.
Yes you can. BUT, you have to wear the adorable matching Christmas sweater set I’ve bought for us, and the kids. And we will be taking a ton of family photos.
I can’t help it if I see red every time one of the stock decides to make things difficult for you.
Not too much restraint, thank goodness. By the way, it’s almost Christmas, and I have given myself the green light to be as sappy as possible over these next two weeks. And I start by saying I am so excited for our first Christmas as a couple, baby.
andulkaphoto
jbbartram-illu
gummygunk
baratheonpilled
