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In many ways, nothing much had changed at all. Falin looked over at her brother, who was sitting on a throne the villagers had propped up for him, watching two men argue over an apple tree. Laios wore an expression like a dull knife, but when his eyes darted up to the gallery and met Falin’s gaze, he gave her his special smile back, the memory of which had propelled her all the way through the Magic Academy. Kabru, a new friend, sat next to Laios and pored over a thick tome, trying to augment the new king’s understanding of property laws. Falin knew that Senshi was down in the castle kitchens, and Chilchuck was in town trying to catch the post. New faces. Old friends. The reality of the new world had settled gently, overlaying all of them like a coat of dust. In many ways, it was just like venturing into the dungeon: Falin woke up and she was never sure what the day would bring.
Falin rested her hand on the balustrade, digging her nail into the growth lines of the wood. Her nail was hard and sharp, and the wood splintered slightly under what felt like no pressure at all. Falin blinked at her hand, snatching it away, and breathed out a quick word of healing. The wood fused back into place, the harm undone. Falin folded her hands in front of herself, tucking the nails away behind her palms.
In many ways, the world was the same—except for her.
Falin left the gallery, and strode briskly towards the stairs down. Her stride was a little longer, eyes a little sharper. Falin had always noticed things, that was normal, but they had never been this clear. She had always felt herself to have a necessary place in the ecosystem of the magic of the world. Since waking up on the bed and looking down at herself, and feeling the flesh of the dragon inside her, that balance, that sense of placement in the order of things, were all disrupted.
Falin was careful not to trip down the stairs. Some people were coming up the other way. They bowed and curtsied at her, awkwardly due to the stairs. She gave them a small smile, wishing they really wouldn’t. Falin had never wanted anyone to bow and scrape for her. She should talk to Laios about that, actually. He would be able to say something to them, but she didn’t want him to say any more than he already had.
After all, these people had likely contributed to her awakening. She had to respect that.
Falin nodded at them, and pressed to the side to let them up, as they were carrying large baskets. Two of the women at the end of the ensemble bobbed their heads at her, and their eyes lingered. Falin stared hard at the gritty stones, counting rock striations until they passed.
As she stepped outdoors, Falin breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t far from the castle to the edge of the forest, and although she wanted to break into a sprint, she forced herself to walk placidly to the treeline. But as soon as the cool air and the smell of damp soil hit her nose, she started running.
◙
Laios found her, later.
The shadows had grown long, and high in the vaulting trees a choir of insects belted their loudest. Laios’ dogs were louder heralds of his approach. Falin heard them panting and crunching sticks, could almost smell the dog musk before they bounded up to her.
Laios came up behind his dogs. He wasn’t wearing his cape, and his head was bare. Falin buried her fingers into Bela’s coat, and smiled up at him even as she craned her neck away as Valor licked it. She was reminded of their childhood, suddenly, with the dogs not minding her yet loving Laios.
“Senshi saved some roasted pork for you,” Laios said in greeting. “It was really good. Tender.”
Falin nodded in response, suddenly back in her body and aware of her stomach curling around itself. She had found a tiny colony of sprites, and had been watching them. The hours had blown away.
Laios sighed outward as he sat next to her on the rock that jutted out from the forest floor. The dogs immediately swarmed him, and only when they calmed down and sat at his feet did Falin speak.
“You make it look so easy, even though I know it isn’t.”
“Being king?”
“Having the role,” Falin clarified.
Laios absently petted Valor’s head, his eyes fixed to a point in the middle distance. He blinked a few times, thinking. The moment was long and easy. One of the dogs snuffled.
“I can take it off, at the end of the day,” Laios finally said. Then, “This is the fourth time this week you’ve gone out here.”
It had not been very long since waking up on the bed. Falin couldn’t remember if this week was any different than the last. Laios waited for her to organize her thoughts.
Falin didn’t want a role in the kingdom, at least not yet. She could make out the edges of her healing work, the things she wanted to do. To roam Laios’ kingdom and make her living that way… Falin wasn’t ready. She blinked rapidly a few times, and the darkness of the forest coalesced, becoming less formless and crisp.
“Cool trick,” Laios observed, then added wistfully: “Your eyes are glowing a bit.” He was terribly jealous.
“I just need time to figure it all out,” Falin said.
She didn’t specify what “it” was. There was a bundle of feelings underneath her skin, and for all that the magical world made sense, her internal world didn’t. But she owed it to Laios, at least, to be stable before she went off into the world.
Laios nodded, not asking anything further. Falin felt a stab of envy curl into her heart. Of course, he thought that everything was just the coolest. Falin smiled softly at his enthusiasm, and stood. The dogs perked up, and Falin patted both their heads.
“Let’s go back in,” Falin said.
“Yeah, Kabru is probably worrying himself sick wondering where I am,” Laios grumbled.
Falin imagined Kabru’s worrywort face, and let out a real laugh.
◙
Marcille found Falin the next morning while she was eating yesterday’s leftovers. Marcille’s hair was unbound, straggly, and giant loops of it were sticking up out of her head. She looked like a thistlehead.
“There you are! I couldn’t find you last night,” Marcille exclaimed, face breaking out into a sunny smile.
She plopped down next to Falin, who shifted slightly to make room for her. Falin dug her fork into the last remnants of last night’s pork, and tried not to shiver when a stray piece of Marcille’s hair brushed her arm.
“I went to bed late,” Falin said.
Falin eyed Marcille’s hair again instead of explaining herself. Marcille had probably been exploring the castle, or looking at runes in the surrounding landscape. She had been busy in a way that Falin envied—when Marcille wasn’t fussing over Falin herself.
“I found some tomes which might explain the link between—” and here Marcille began a very thorough explanation of some magical concept that Falin thinks she understood, but she was honestly a little tired still and Marcille’s hair was everywhere, but she stared at Marcille’s animated face and her small hands gesturing everywhere, and some part of her hurt.
“—kind of like how the hairs on the back of your neck are stimulated by emotion,” Marcille was saying.
“I should do your hair,” Falin heard herself say and interrupt Marcille. It had come to her clearly: it was one thing she knew she could do, right now.
Marcille blinked up at her, the fine gears of her mind grinding to a halt. She had been speaking for some time, and her face was slightly reddened from the effort. Falin felt bad about interrupting her friend.
“Um—yes, yeah, I’d like that, you know I don’t really feel up to doing it these days,” Marcille said.
“I know,” Falin said. She picked up the last of her roll and stuffed it in her mouth, gesturing at Marcille to follow.
When she had reunited with Laios, after he had left the army, he had been a mess too. Falin had recognized him, of course, but only barely. His hair had been a mop, but for a very different reason than Marcille’s was. Falin led her friend into her room, where she grabbed the brush and comb and a collection of hair ties she definitely had not had before.
The ribbons were bright green, threaded through with blue embroidery in the shapes of little cornflowers. Falin dragged out her desk chair, and Marcille sat on it.
Falin picked up the comb, and started with the tangles at the bottom of the hair. As she worked, her mind lingered on when she woke up on the bed. Marcille had been the first thing she saw. The half-elf’s eyes were red and dry and Falin had a brief moment where she wondered if she had died, for real. It had been Marcille’s hair that shattered that thought, though. It had been done up, but with an unpractised hand that implied someone else had done it for her, which was so totally uncharacteristic of Marcille Falin knew she hadn’t died. Marcille had been sleeping, but Laios had noticed her come awake first.
Tangles removed, Falin moved on to the brush, contemplating what style would be most helpful to Marcille. Marcille herself said nothing.
When they had adventured, it had been Falin’s favorite part of the night to watch Marcille do up her hair. It was a perfect, even yellow-blonde, and in the firelight it shone like heated metal. In moonlight, it shone like polished silver. Falin, whose own hair was a color not unlike dust, had always admired it.
“You’ve been more quiet lately,” Marcille said, breaking the silence. “Is everything going alright?”
Marcille meant with Falin’s body, which was curious and worked okay. Aside from a few things.
“Yes,” Falin replied as honestly as she could.
Marcille didn’t say anything, but Falin could almost hear her brain working. However, Marcille didn’t speak again.
Falin started the braids close to Marcille’s head, so that the hair wouldn’t get in the way while she was reading. Marcille always liked to have her hair lay down her back; she never did it up fully, claiming that it put too much strain on her neck. Falin wove the braids to make a little cage around the rest of the hair, and tied them off with the green ribbon.
“Oh, are you done? Let’s see!” Marcille said, and strode over to the mirror over the vanity. Her green eyes searched the hairstyle, evidently proud of it.
“I can’t imagine how you’ve done it,” Marcille added as her fingers brushed over the work in the back of her head.
“It’s easy,” Falin said, though she knew Marcille couldn’t remember how to do her hair at all anymore.
“I love it. Thank you,” Marcille said quietly, turning away from the mirror. In the reflection, Falin saw herself next to the work of her hands on Marcille’s hair.
“Of course,” Falin said.
◙
Somehow, taking care of Marcille’s hair became routine. Some days, Marcille found her and she didn't even need to ask Falin. Falin just took up the comb and set to work. It became another anchor point in her life, like the mealtimes they all shared.
There was lots to see in the castle and the adjoining town. Falin found herself engrossed in watching and occasionally helping some of the residents rebuild an inn. One day, she was asked to help move a log, and startled the foreman by picking it up all on her own. After that, she found herself helping move heavy items to and fro across the town.
Falin liked being useful. Even if it wasn’t magic-work, she took satisfaction from helping restore the castle town to former glory. She could walk down the street and know a dozen people. Eventually, the season began to shift warmer, and Falin found herself with a new issue: she was beginning to overheat.
“Just sit, Falin,” her foreman told her one day, when she faltered while helping with a brick shipment.
He sent her to sit and sip tea in the shade. Falin felt the sweat on her forehead, but none in her armpits and chest, where the feathers were. In the early spring months, she hadn’t felt too off about it, wearing long sleeves she preferred. But as she felt a little lightheaded, Falin felt that maybe, she’d have to change her attire. She could’ve used magic to cool herself down, but it was too much of a bother for something as small as heat.
Back at the castle, there was a tailor, and Falin described to her what she wanted, and somehow it was all accounted for. The next morning, there was a sleeveless, high-necked tunic waiting in her wardrobe. Falin slipped it on. She wasn’t normally prone to showing… skin.
Falin took a deep breath, and went to the door, opening it—
And colliding with Marcille, who had the frizziest hair Falin had seen in a while.
“Oh!” Marcille exclaimed, bouncing backwards.
“Um,” Falin said, and was suddenly aware in a way she wasn’t before of the wind. It brushed over the feathers on her arms, and she felt exposed.
“Sorry,” Marcille apologized. She was looking at Falin’s arms.
“Don’t,” Falin said. She wanted to cover them up.
“Hair?” Marcille asked, still staring.
“Yes,” Falin said, standing aside and closing the door behind them so no one else would see her. Maybe she hadn’t been ready for this.
They arranged themselves, Falin standing behind Marcille, who was sitting in her chair. Brush, comb, hair ribbons. These ones were red, with white stitching.
“I like the new shirt,” Marcille said once Falin started working. The words came out of her mouth slowly, like each one had to be digested first.
Falin worried at her lip. “Thanks.”
“Is it getting warm out there?” Marcille hadn’t been out of the castle in a while then, it seemed. Falin hadn’t kept track of her whereabouts.
“It is,” Falin said. “I nearly fainted yesterday.”
“What?” Marcille spun in her chair to look up at Falin. “You should’ve come to find me.”
“I was fine,” Falin protested. Marcille had messed up the brushing she had done. Marcille only glared at her.
“I want to know if something isn’t fine,” Marcille said. “I want to make sure…”
She trailed off. Falin could place the words that might’ve come after: I want to make sure that I put everything back okay. Falin knew Marcille’s concern was well-placed. Falin didn’t want her to think anything was wrong. And nothing was wrong, because overheating was a common human problem, and Falin was basically already wearing a shirt, what with the feathers sprouting from her chest.
“I just overheated. I’m kind of…” Falin grasped around for an accurate term. “Insulated.”
“Mm.” Marcille made a noise that Falin registered as some kind of agreement, but turned back around to let Falin work.
Marcille had always been overprotective of her, that was the thing. She had always been the first to have Falin’s back, the first to offer her a helping hand. She had been Falin’s first true friend. Falin didn’t feel like Marcille was being that overbearing. After all, Falin was the only person she knew of who had been resurrected in such a way.
Falin ran the comb down the waterfall of blonde hair, her free hand supporting the stream, working out a few snags, carefully avoiding Marcille’s ears. Despite the fact that more of Falin’s skin was open to the air than normal, she was hot. The high collar of the shirt felt like a bind. Falin began separating Marcille’s hair into sections for plaits. Falin liked this part the best; when Marcille’s hair became like a separate entity itself. Falin worked the braids through, looping two of them together and tying them into place.
“There,” Falin said, and turned Marcille’s shoulders towards the mirror.
Inadvertently, Falin’s eyes were drawn to her own figure in the mirror. The feathers started at her elbows, and got thicker as they went further up her shoulders. They were a pale mustard color, and light and downy. They never poked her, but she could feel when they were laying the wrong way. It was the first time she had uncovered them on purpose.
In the mirror, Marcille wasn’t looking at the hairstyle. Their eyes met, and Falin looked away.
“You’ll be fine,” Marcille said, something thick muddying her voice. She reached out and grasped Falin’s hand with her own slim, pale one.
Falin didn’t say anything, because she didn’t have anything good to say.
“You did a beautiful job,” Marcille changed the subject, pointedly looking at Falin’s handiwork on her head.
Of course I did, Falin thought. It was only fitting.
◙
That was sort of a problem too; Marcille. Not that she was bad or—Marcille wasn’t a problem. Falin knew what she was experiencing, and that was the problem. She had read those thin-backed books the librarians were always recommending each other. Falin wasn’t ignorant of her attractions and she wasn’t even a virgin. She knew very much that part of the tangle was her feelings, her desires, for Marcille. In fact, Falin was sure that if it was anyone else besides her, Marcille would’ve noticed. It helped that they had been friends forever, and Falin was very good at maintaining her placid, even face. Falin couldn’t not admit that one of the reasons she hadn’t left the castle grounds to travel was because she would miss Marcille. It was like a bandage—sometimes you just had to rip them off, but instead Falin was inching gauze off, thread by painful thread.
What a way to repay anyone! Falin wore the effects of Marcille’s friendship on her very skin, and she had never seen a glimpse of Marcille being into anyone besides the beautiful, long-haired hero from The Daltain Clan series that Falin could never muster up the strength and endurance to read. Besides fictional elves, Marcille was like Laios when it came to her own relationship life. Desire was absent from Marcille, by all evidence.
Falin closed the door to her room and locked it behind her. It was midafternoon and the summer had come in and brought with it a souplike, heavy heat. Falin was sweating in all the places she could sweat. She was also, unfortunately, hot in other places that needed tending. She stripped.
Falin threw back to the sheets on the bed and threw herself on them. She looked down her body, past her feathered breasts and down, to where Falin’s new body was strangest.
At first, Falin hadn’t noticed anything particularly off about her bits. They appeared mostly like they always had: pink folds and a fat hood that Falin was fond of. It was only that first time that Falin had locked herself away to masturbate that she had discovered a remnant of the red dragon that Marcille had either missed or not wanted to bother with.
Falin reached down with two fingers and pressed them into the flesh of her clit, hissing at the contact. Already her flesh was darkening and growing thick against her fingertips, the hood pushing back to let out her clit. It was a pink so dark it was almost red, larger than it had been before and twice as sensitive. Falin pulled back skin, and the glistening head of it came free of the folds. Below, her cunt was already wet and aching.
Falin slid her hand down and pressed the heel of her palm against her clit, grinding up into her hand as her finders found the entrance to her cunt and pressed inside.
Falin thought about how earlier, those same fingers had been running through Marcille’s hair, brushing it up, and her mind brought unbidden the thought of Marcille’s own sweet cunt and the thatch of matching blonde hair above it—Falin rolled over, grinding herself into the mattress as she spread herself open on her fingers. Her mouth opened unwittingly to pant into the hot hair.
Falin thought of Marcille’s hands, the hands that formed her and the hair that powered all of the mana that was inside of her. Marcille’s hands fucking inside her. They had held hands once before, and Falin had been so taken aback from it she hadn’t savored the experience as much as she should’ve. Falin hitched a gasp and felt herself drool onto the pillow, rocking down into her fingers and rubbing the head of her clit against the mattress. Falin would do it, she’d do anything Marcille asked of her—she felt herself clench at the thought of Marcille even asking—giving her everything she had and more.
Marcille, standing next to her. Marcille, who had brought Falin back from a bestial existence. Falin dug her other hand under herself, ripping out a few feathers in the process to touch her clit. Her cunt made a wet slopping sound, and Falin screwed her eyes closed to hold onto the image of Marcille looking at her and seeing something she liked.
Her clit pulsed, and within moments Falin was clenching around her fingers and her body with the soft reverberations of orgasm. The afterimage of Marcille just looking lingered behind her eyelids, and Falin let out a muffled sound into the pillow.
She slumped on her back into the mattress, her clit still throbbing and sensitive. All the feathers on her chest were in disarray, and her bangs were stuck to her forehead. Falin panted, and let her hand rest on top of her clit to grind up into it in the aftershocks. Masturbation wasn’t ever enough like it had been before.
Falin turned her head onto the side. Already the image of Marcille’s cunt was enough to make her clit pulse again. Falin sighed and brushed her bangs off her forehead. She’d be here all afternoon.
◙
“Pass the greens, please,” Marcille asked her.
Dinner that night was an extravagant yet simple affair, like it always was. Falin didn’t think Senshi could outdo himself, and yet he delivered every night. Tonight’s meal was a glazed ham with mashed sweet roots and fried greens and a wine that Chilchuck had contributed.
Marcille was sitting to Falin’s left. Like everyone else at the table, she was thoroughly enjoying the meal, and Kabru had no issue passing a bowl with the greens in it to her for a second helping.
Falin stabbed her knife into the meat, and brought another piece up to her mouth. To her right, Laios was setting down his knife. He caught her eye, and Falin turned her head in his direction.
“Marcille’s hair looks good, it’s really nice, what you’re doing,” Laios said.
It was so unexpected, Falin nearly choked on her pork. Laios was not usually that observant.
“Um, yeah,” Falin said.
“No, I mean, she’s—it looks good,” Laios said.
“You already said that,” Falin pointed out.
Laios gave her a look that Falin knew meant whatever he was realizing whatever he thought he had said hadn’t actually come out, and so she waited for him to formulate her sentence.
“I’m just happy for you guys,” Laios said.
Falin stared at him. Laios stared blankly back and then he gasped loud enough that the whole table stopped chewing to stare at him.
“What?” Falin asked.
“Nothing, I’m happy all the kingdom stuff is going well,” Laios said to the whole table, and Falin knew he was embarrassed.
Falin chewed the rest of her mouthful and swallowed. Laios had thought… thought that her and Marcillle were together? Because she was doing Marcille’s hair? But they were best friends, that was just a thing that best friends did. Falin shook her head, and glanced over at Marcille, who looked questioningly at Falin. Thankfully, she didn’t appear to have overhead the context to Laios’ outburst.
“Nothing,” Falin told her.
Marcille appeared satisfied with that answer, and turned back to her vegetables. Falin watched Marcille demolish her second helping, and only noticed she was staring when Marcille turned back to her with an inquisitive expression.
“Sorry,” Falin said, shaking her head a bit.
“It’s no problem,” Marcille said. And then, “I think my hair needs a wash.”
Falin swallowed. Was Marcille asking if Falin would wash her hair? Obviously, Falin would, but then that would require a bath, and they hadn’t shared a bath since they were in the dungeon together, and—
“Let’s take a bath tonight,” Marcille decided. Falin wished for even an ounce of Marcille’s confidence.
“Sure.” Falin was a masochist.
They helped clear away the dishes and wash them, and afterwards Marcille directed Falin to get the towels and bathrobes and the “Nice soap, Falin! We can use nice soap everyday!” Falin brought all of this like an offering.
In the bathhouse, Marcille had drawn a few sigils around the tub and was pouring water over heated stones to create steam. She was already undressed, totally unselfconscious, hair undone.
Falin set down the towels. Her body was overheating. She was still wearing all her clothes. She needed a bath too, after masturbating and working and sweating herself, that was the worse part.
Falin undid the buttons at the top of her shirt, and hid her deep inhale by pulling the shirt over her head. As she did, she heard Falin stepping into the water. Falin turned away from the bath and set the shirt down on a chair.
“Falin?” Marcille asked. Her voice echoed around the high ceiling.
“Yes?” Falin fiddled with the waistband of her skirt. She turned to look at Marcille.
Marcille was sitting in the bath, the water kissing her neck, her large, pale green eyes focused on Falin.
“We haven’t done this… in a while,” Marcille said, hesitating.
Falin nodded.
“I don’t want… you to be uncomfortable. Around me,” Marcille clarified.
“I’m not uncomfortable,” Falin said. She didn’t think it was a lie.
“I feel like I might be asking a lot of you, to help with my hair and everything,” Marcille started again.
Falin took a deep breath and pushed her skirt past her hips, taking her smallclothes with it. She stepped out of the pool of clothes and said:
“I wanted to do it. Don’t think that.”
As if Falin would ever be uncomfortable around Marcille. What Falin was uncomfortable with was the fact that it was getting harder to hide how she felt around her friend.
Falin stepped over the lip of the bath and plunged her foot into the water. It was pleasantly warm, and Falin immediately plunged all the way in and took the side opposite to Marcille.
“I guess… I don’t know. I don’t want you to feel obligated,” Marcille continued.
Falin considered that. The fact that Marcille had reconstructed her did not weigh so heavy that Falin felt she needed to—or could ever—pay it back. That she was doing Marcille’s hair was her own selfish desire.
“Don’t think that,” Falin repeated. It was only after the words left her mouth that she realized they might have been harsh, and she looked at Marcille’s face for an answer.
The edges of Marcille’s face were softened by the steam curling up from the bathwater. It diffused the sharpness of her eyes and obscured her expression. Falin couldn’t look away from her face, and in response her heart strained against her rib cage towards Marcille.
Marcille broke the moment herself, by dunking her head under the water and moving closer to Falin, turning her back to her and presenting her hair. Falin scooped up the wet mass of it, the water streaming down her forearms and dripping into the bath. She used the soap to create a lather, digging her fingers gently into Marcille’s scalp. Falin tried not to let her arms tremble and belie the feelings she was trying to drown.
The smell of lavender and sage wafted up into Falin’s nose. Underneath it, she could pick out the unique scent of Marcille herself, and she was thankful for the heated water to cover the blood rushing to her face.
“Dunk,” Falin told Marcille, finished with the washing.
“Yes ma’am,” Marcille said in a joking tone, and made a splash.
Falin abruptly sat down, staunchly ignoring the pulse her clit gave when Marcille had said that. When Marcille surfaced, her face had sobered into a serious expression.
“I’m worried about you, Falin, you know,” Marcille said.
“I’m fine, really,” Falin began, but Marcille took an audible breath and interrupted her.
“You’ve been evasive, and you’ve been out of the castle more and more. Besides some mealtimes and when you do my hair, I feel like I never see you. And I…” Marcille trailed off. Falin sat and waited. Marcille continued. “I missed you, Falin. I miss you so badly, you don’t—I wanted—” She has to collect herself again, and Falin didn’t miss the way the tense had changed in Marcille’s outburst. “I just want things to be the way they were before, but they can’t be, can’t they?”
Falin sat in the water, dumbfounded and without response. What did Marcille mean?
“I—,” Falin didn’t think she had been that evasive, had she? She had simply been… Avoiding the castle and telling herself it was because of the people staring, when she hadn’t had issues with that in months. She just hadn’t wanted to wrestle with seeing Marcille. And dealing with it all. Falin couldn’t bring herself to say anything, though.
“Um. Yeah,” Marcille said, awkwardly finishing her outburst and sitting down in the bath again.
They stared at each other across the rippling water, and Falin wanted to scream. Marcille looked to the side, and drew her knees up to her chest. The water felt like it got a degree cooler. Falin had to think about and choose her words carefully.
“Nothing has changed between us though,” Falin said carefully, aware that that was exactly what she didn’t believe.
Marcille looked at her with glimmering eyes. “But it has, Falin.”
The double use of Falin’s name was concerning Falin. Her heart felt like it was going to beat a hole through her chest.
“How?”
“I just—” Marcille’s tongue darted out to wet her lips, and like a guilty man Falin watched it with envy before feeling bad about ignoring the clear anguish written across Marcille’s features. “I realized, when we were in the dungeon, that I was so afraid of losing you. I don’t want to lose you. And the extent to which I did, I realized—”
Maybe Falin’s heart actually would punch through her chest.
“—I couldn’t really do any of this without you next to me. I don’t want to.” Marcille’s voice was raw and broken now, and there were free tears running down her face.
Pushing aside the confession—the confession!—Falin sprung into action, moving through the water to grasp Marcille’s bare shoulders.
“Hey, hey,” Falin said, and somehow she was crying too. “I don’t want to let you go either.”
“What?” Marcille’s eyes were red, and with her hair plastered to her head she looked like a drowned rat.
She had never been more beautiful.
“I don’t want to leave you, either,” Falin said, the words stampeding out of her mouth, running wild without any control. “I love you so much, and I didn’t want to change anything. You’re my best friend, and I couldn’t, didn’t—”
“Oh, Falin,” Marcille cried, and reached up.
They embraced, and at some point the water cooled and the tears on their faces dried. The catharsis of the moment flooded through them toweling off and putting on the robes, and then Marcille asked in a small voice:
“Can we go up to yours?”
“Yes,” Falin nearly sighed it out.
She held out her hand, and Marcille fitted hers into it. They offered each other a smile, and something in Falin’s chest unwound.
◙
It felt like they were back in the Magic Academy, sneaking through the halls at night to observe the night bats. They snuck past the guards and the various castle-dwellers, up the stairs and into Falin’s bedroom with the big oak door.
Falin shut it behind them, and threw the lock for good measure. She had no notice when she turned around and found Marcille pressed against her, completely naked and not in the same way she had been in the bath, where steam and shifting water and politeness had obscured her.
Falin drew in a breath, feeling small despite having to look down at Marcille. And part of that was that she was allowed to look. Right? There was still a hitch in her thoughts, the neurons rewiring themselves to be able to feel for Marcille without shame.
“Falin,” Marcille said quietly. Her warm breath ghosted across Falin’s neck and lightly ruffled her feathers. She was looking up at Falin, lips parted, expectant and unafraid.
“Marcille,” Falin said back.
Marcille’s lips were soft and plump and somehow tasted like honey. Falin let Marcille kiss her sweetly, almost chastely, still barely believing her senses. Falin felt like a watcher in her own body. The tips of her fingers fuzzed where she had pressed them against the door. Marcille slid her tongue towards the seams of their mouths, and Falin let her enter with an unbidden, stifled moan.
Falin felt Marcille’s lips turn up in a smile at that, and suddenly Falin’s hands had a bigger support role than she had intended. The blood was leaving Falin’s brain faster than a racehorse and it was headed south.
Marcille’s tongue ran over the roof of Falin’s mouth, tracing patterns over her palate and licking across her teeth. Falin could do nothing except open her mouth wider, try to get more of Marcille inside her—oh, now that was a thought. She moaned for real, deep in the back of her throat and loud.
“Oh?” Marcille said as she broke the kiss. She sounded delighted, like when she had discovered an aspect of her experiment that was interesting.
Falin’s thighs clenched at the thought of Marcille being that intensely interested in her.
Suddenly Marcille’s mouth was on the juncture of Falin’s collarbones, the place where skin met feather, and Marcile felt like panting. It was so sensitive in a way it hadn’t been before. Even the soft plush of Marcille’s mouth felt like her skin was getting too close to the fire. If Falin were wearing smallclothes beneath her robe, they would be wet.
Marcille’s hands found Falin’s hips, and squeezed them once as her head moved down to the v where Falin’s robe overlapped.
“Can I undo this?” Falin asked, briefly glancing up at Falin.
“S-sure,” Falin breathed out. Her nails were digging into the door. If Marcille went much lower Falin would collapse to the floor.
“Okay.” Marcille smiled at her, and then her hands made quick work of the robe belt, and drew aside the robe like she was letting in the sunlight.
“Oh, you’re beautiful,” Marcille breathed out, and Falin couldn’t take it anymore.
A sound came out of her throat that made Marcille stop her admiration, and the expression she wore was enough to send all the blood rushing to Falin’s cheeks. Falin pressed her thighs together, unable to hide how wet and hard her clit had become, how exposed everything was to the one person who had already seen it all.
Falin turned her head to the side, barely able to register Marcille’s perfect tits or the way her stomach was soft and a little tubby.
“You’re just the most wonderful thing,” Marcille said after a moment, and the phrase was joined by her hands on Falin’s bare skin. Falin whined again, and felt herself throb.
“And barely able to stand up,” Marcille muttered, more to herself.
She reached out and took Falin’s hand, like she had in the bath, and led Falin towards her own bed.
Falin fell back onto it, unable to stop Marcille climbing on top of her. And now she couldn’t look away.
Marcille’s thighs were strong as they bracketed Falin’s waist, but her weight was barely noticeable. Falin stared, openmouthed, at all the pale skin and the drying hair, the pink nipples and flushed skin, and wondered what she did to deserve any of it.
She had no more time to wonder, because Marcille had bent over and was kissing her again. There was a hunger and a drive behind Marcille’s mouth this time. She licked into Falin’s mouth over and again, making a mess of their mouths and occasionally clicking their teeth together. She kissed Falin like she wanted to devour her a second time. Falin couldn’t help but buck up into Marcille’s body. She was rewarded with the briefest touch of velvet folds and a wet smear and Marcille gasping into her mouth. Falin felt herself clench in response to knowing that that was done because of her.
Marcille pressed her lips into Falin’s in response, fucking her tongue into Falin’s mouth and taking all the oxygen from her lungs. Falin was a bundle of nerve endings and blood and flesh that desired, and so she reached up and finally, finally, put her hands on Marcille’s perfect skin.
The skin was so soft and there was more to be able to grab than Falin expected. She held tight to Marcille, planting her heels into the mattress and grinding upwards. Marcille gasped, and Falin felt the head of her clit rub against Marcille’s seam. It was hot and soaked and perfect and good and Falin did it again, and again, finding a wild rhythm that had Marcille pressing back in response.
They were both panting into each others’ mouths. Falin was sure she was drooling. With every stolen breath Marcille’s mouth was back on Falin’s skin, sucking and biting into the flesh.
At one particular scrape of Marcille’s teeth, Falin’s hands tightened on Marcille’s waist and she cried out. Pleasure rocked through her, ripping through her flesh like a knife.
“Oh!” Marcille shuddered over her with her mouth falling open to release a breathy cry.
Falin came back into her body to notice how her nails had dug into Marcille’s skin and left red crescents, two of which were bleeding.
“Oh, I’m—” A shock went through Falin’s heart before she could finish the thought.
“No, no, it’s—fine, Falin, it’s good,” Marcille assured her through her panting. She kissed Falin once before sliding her mouth to Falin’s ear. “I like the marks,” she whispered.
Falin’s brain went white-hot. She pulsed, and felt fluid come out of her, shaking and breathing heavy. The orgasm ripped through her, pillaging all of Falin’s senses for a moment. Marcille did? Falin tightened her grip, still breathing through the second orgasm, and Marcille drew herself back, throwing some hair out of the way. Challenging her.
Falin pressed her nails intentionally into Marcille’s skin, dimpling the flesh and feeling her nails break the skin. A droplet of blood ran down Falin’s finger and over it. Falin reacted on instinct. She quickly brought the hand to her mouth and sucked away the blood before it ran onto the bed.
Marcille was watching her with eyes glassed over. Falin swallowed, tasting iron. The marks on Marcille’s hips were red, the imprints of her fingers also.
Marcille moved her hips, angling herself downwards and catching Falin’s clit with hers. Falin threw her head back, one hand still holding Marcille’s hips in place. The pressure was gratifying on her clit, which she was sure Marcille could feel. As good as it was, Falin was missing something inside of her, which she ached for.
Falin didn’t trust her mouth to speak. She tilted her hips up, arching her body back, trying to present herself to Marcille.
“Oh, I see,” Marcille said.
Abruptly, her weight came off of Falin’s stomach. As light as it was, Falin immediately ached for it back. Marcille pushed back Falin’s legs, exposing her clit and folds and entrance to her eye. Falin burned under her gaze, and she held herself there, trembling beneath the sight of her maker.
Marcille’s nostrils flared as she breathed out. Falin felt herself clenching around air, desperate for relief.
Marcille reached out. Each second her hand was not on Falin felt like eternity. When her palm came to rest over Falin’s clit, it was pure bliss. Falin closed her eyes and rocked upwards, able to feel the lines of Marcille’s fingers making grooves for her to rut against. She let all the sounds Marcille had been muffling out, trying to make Marcille press harder into her. But Marcille’s hand was light, and sliding down.
Falin sucked in a breath, holding it as Marcille’s fingers slid gently against her cunt. She didn’t press inside. Her fingers swirled around some wetness, bringing it up to Falin’s clit and rubbing it, hard, over the head.
“Ah!” Falin cried out, seeing stars as she shook through another orgasm, this one forced from her suddenly.
Marcille kept rubbing, each touch of her fingers on Falin’s overstimulated clit causing jerking aftershocks to rip through Falin.
“Oh, oh my god,” Falin panted. It was too much and not enough all at once. Why wouldn’t Marcille fuck her? Falin lifted her hips up, just to try.
Finally, she was rewarded with Marcille’s fingers against her entrance. Falin gripped the sheets, again forgetting to breathe as one finger entered her.
It slid in easy, Marcille’s knuckle meeting the flesh. Marcille withdrew, but just as quickly replaced it with more, and Falin sighed out in relief, rocking her hips to pump those fingers deeper into her. Marcille acquiesced, thrusting them in and curling on the withdraw, brushing over a part of Falin that made her thrash and pulse again. Falin slapped a hand over her mouth, shouting into it. Marcille grinned, like a madwoman, and kept going. Her fingers fucked into Falin relentlessly, bringing her to another peak and pushing through it. Falin keened, high and loud, one long pulse going through her body.
Obscene squelching sounds emanated from the point their bodies met, and Falin was vaguely aware that Marcille had reserved one hand to touch herself with.
Falin was a slave to those fingers and the mass of shining hair that fell down over Marcille’s body. She rode them into each oblivion, mouth constantly wide, always searching for the next peak.
There was no break, no time for Falin to catch her breath. Each orgasm was accompanied by Marcille, Marcille’s fingers touching her aching hard clit, Marcille’s own pants and sighs, Marcille’s sweat and scent. Once, even Marcille’s mouth over her, taking the whole of Falin’s clit into her mouth and sucking, which made Falin see stars and become an unintelligible mess.
After that, Marcille withdrew her fingers, and Falin didn't have the strength left to protest. Marcille pressed butterfly kisses all the way up Falin’s body, crawling along it.
She pressed one chaste kiss to Falin’s mouth. Then, her body came up, and Falin opened her mouth to receive her, breathing in a heady musk.
Falin closed around Marcille’s folds and clit and licked a wide stripe up. She heard Marcille gasp, and felt the thighs clamped around her head shudder. She repeated the action, throwing all the available energy she had left into pleasuring Marcille.
Falin let her tongue go into Marcille, ran it over Marcille’s own smaller clit, let herself suck and slather with spit, until the whole of everything was slippery and Marcille was crying out above her, more juices adding to the mixture.
Marcille came down, pressing her hands over Falin’s ears and holding her. They kissed, slow and languid, with Falin putting her hands on Marcille’s hips.
When they broke, Falin stared up in wonder at her. Marcille was radiant, flushed with pleasure and smiling. A goddess. Her hair was a mess, though.
“I should do your hair,” Falin murmured with a gurgle of laughter breaking through.
Marcille cracked a smile.
“We should take baths more often,” Marcille replied, laughing outright herself.
So they laid there entwined, and fell asleep.