The Devotion of Delflenor

by R. Cooper

  “Prityal,” Delf murmured between kisses, her voice thick and slow. Prityal tasted of sweet water. “Tell me.”

  The rest of what she meant to ask was lost when Prityal lifted her head to bare her neck, and Delf had to kiss her way down to the place beneath Prityal’s ear, and then to the hollow of her throat. Delf would have wanted marks, Prityal’s teeth or the press of her fingertips. For Prityal, Delf was careful, light, and even that was enough to make Prityal gasp roughly and then cry out.

  “You make the softest noises.” Delf had thought she’d dreamed them the first time.

  “Delflenor,” Prityal complained, but it was breathless. She slipped her hands beneath the linen still wrapped around Delf’s chest. Delf curled her fingers around her wrists and tugged Prityal’s hands down to her waist. Prityal pulled once, but not hard, as if testing, then left her hands there, her fingers splayed over linen. “I want to touch you.”

  “Ah, she speaks at last,” Delf teased, as though her thighs weren’t heavy and open at those words. She dragged her mouth over Prityal’s collarbone and the lines of a scar she hadn’t known about. But the surcoat stood in her way and Prityal was likely pouting. Delf darted a glance upward. Prityal gazed back at her, frustrated and demanding, and Delf lifted her head to have another of Prityal’s impatient kisses.

  Delf let herself be kissed for a long time, with Prityal’s hands flexing against her waist and nudging the linen aside. She could not catch her breath even when Prityal had mercy on her and stopped. Prityal mumbled beneath Delf’s ear, unintentionally torturous. “You always…”

  “It’s easy to make me finish.” Delf panted, meaning to soothe her. It was a simple thing to give, even if she’d intended to please Prityal first. “You may, if you like.”

  “Then let go of me,” Prityal returned, fierce but still out of breath.

  Delf was slow to release Prityal’s wrists, for no reason other than the stillness of a deer when it has caught danger on the wind. She had put herself in Prityal’s hands, which was no small thing, though she had ached for it.

  Prityal pulled on Delf’s hips, bringing Delf closer and making Delf rise up onto her knees. The linen was loose around Delf’s shoulders, falling open over her chest. Prityal tipped her chin up to look her over, bright eyes assessing, then smug.

  “Please,” Delf echoed her, shivering, and Prityal slipped one hand to the back of Delf’s thigh and moved the other beneath the linen to push her palm against the dark curls around Delf’s cunt.

  Delf swayed forward, catching herself on Prityal’s shoulders before finding her mouth for a toe-curling kiss.

  “Please.” Delf did not mind begging, wanted to beg, was happy to.

  “Aha,” Prityal whispered, her hand strong on Delf’s thigh, her fingertips pressed close enough to torment. “Should I tease you now?” she asked, first gleeful in her victory, then unexpectedly gentle. She stroked Delf’s inner thigh with two of her fingers, and turned her face to nuzzle Delf’s cheek. “Your legs are shaking,” she observed, soft, as though she could not feel Delf wet and pulsing against the mound of her palm. “Do you want a little pain too?”

  She asked it tenderly, her lips brushing the shell of Delf’s ear, then the place beneath it, deliberately.

  She was never to be underestimated.

  Her grip would bruise Delf’s thigh, which would have been enough to make Delf hers, even if she had not been pressing her chilled fingers to where Delf was so hot. Delflenor wished to straddle her thigh but also did not dare move away from the hands urging the folds of her cunt open, the fingertips that could so easily slip inside of her.

  “Delflenor?”

  At the sound of her name in Prityal’s slightly anxious voice, Delf rocked forward, and unlocked her throat enough to gasp. “Yes.”

  The press of teeth at her earlobe was tentative. The second was hard enough to sting. Prityal pulled on her thigh, scraping Delf’s knee over the ground, leaving Delf half-bent over, with only a fall of linen keeping the forest spirits from seeing Prityal’s fingers press into her from behind.

  Prityal’s grip was firm though she shifted quickly to sit on her knees. She scraped her teeth over Delf’s neck and hummed, as if Delf riding her palm and gasping her name pleased her.

  Delf came apart trying to press back onto Prityal’s fingers, which were not quite inside of her, with a hand so firm against her that every touch sparked and made her cry out. She was wetter a moment later, still trembling, when Prityal twisted her hand to find her pulse again and stroke it with her thumb. Prityal’s breath was soft over her neck, against her ear.

  She cried out again, quieter at least, when Prityal’s hands withdrew, but they returned almost immediately. Prityal soothed the tremors in Delf’s thighs and petted up and down her spine, and then smiled when Delf finally raised her head.

  Delf had buried her face in the crook of Prityal’s neck, though it must have been in the height of her pleasure because she had no memory of doing so. “Told you it was easy,” she whispered hoarsely, to hide this strange embarrassment, only to briefly close her eyes and shiver when Prityal dragged her fingers through the wet hair at Delf’s nape.

  “You are inclined to give,” Prityal whispered back, setting Delf on fire.

  Delf loved her so much. She could not even ache with it. For the moment, she was allowed to kiss her, so she did, a gentle, grateful brush of lips while she was still lightheaded. “Well done,” she said in place of all the things she might have said. She would feel the memory of Prityal’s hand grasping her thigh all through the day and night. Thinking of it now nearly made her whimper.

  Prityal’s mouth went flat as if with some unpleasant thought, so Delf took one of her hands in hers and put it back between her legs to let Prityal feel the shock of the sensation as it went through her. “Whatever you might be thinking, love, know that I am satisfied.”

  Prityal blinked rapidly several times, then swallowed. A heartbeat later, she had Delf’s face in her hands and was kissing her as fiercely as the first time.

  Delf grasped her hands, seeking to gentle the kiss only for Prityal’s sake. Prityal had been waiting so long. “Lie back,” Delf urged her when Prityal paused to breathe. She expected the faint, displeased frown. It still left her giddy. “Please,” she added. “I’ll make it worth it.”

  The linen and her surcoat were a bit of a tangle. Prityal shifted to put her weight onto her elbows, then slowly put her back to the ground when Delf crawled over her. Delf did not allow time for worry to return. She bent her head to brush her mouth over Prityal’s hammermarks while pulling at the fabric hiding Prityal from her.

  The surcoat went quickly, shoved up and piled next to Prityal’s head. Prityal had her hands flat against the ground, the fingers curled into the dirt, as if Delf was going to look at her and find her wanting. Delf moved her attention to Prityal’s collarbone and the little scar she had only just learned of. “You may put your hands wherever you like now,” she reminded Prityal in a breathy whisper, running her tongue over the deeper, large scarring in place of Prityal’s right breast. Scarred flesh had a different feel, for both parties involved, but Delf kept her caresses gentle.

  Fine tremors answered her, shivering through Prityal’s waist and her legs.

  Delf paused, glancing up before she cupped Prityal’s breast, a delightful heavy-soft weight. Prityal watched her intently, and exhaled a shuddering breath when Delf dipped her head to draw her tongue over the peaked nipple between her fingers. She sucked it a moment later, unable to resist, and pushed a hand over Prityal’s hip when it bucked.

  Prityal had cried out for kisses along her throat, but on her back and exposed to the air, she was clutching at the ground and trembling to stay quiet.

  Delf pulled her mouth away to better feel the weight of that breast in her hand, to kiss it while being careful not to bruise. “You know,” she murmured into Prityal’s skin, “I am quieter in my pleasure because I am often not in places that are private.
You don’t need to be, if it suits you to be loud. But if you wish to be quiet, that pleases me too.”

  Prityal huffed, which was not precisely a response, and raised a hand just to lightly run it through Delf’s hair. She did that twice, when she could have touched Delf anywhere, then twirled a lock around her fingers. “I am not so easy at it, as you,” she confessed to the damp strands.

  In another time, Delf would have put her hair into Prityal’s hands and asked her to pull, a thought she set aside so she could return to putting her mouth to more places on Prityal’s chest while rolling Prityal’s nipple between her fingers. Prityal arched up from the ground and did not quite suppress a soft moan.

  “I don’t foresee a problem,” Delf remarked, shifting a little farther down, “but I’m content just to touch you.”

  More of her hair was twisted in Prityal’s hand, but it was a curious, gentle tangling, and Delf did not mind it. She discovered Prityal’s navel, smooth skin over muscle, and spread her hands over it greedily. “Very content,” she admitted, voice rough.

  “I would like more,” Prityal answered, words stuttering out when Delf continued to pet her, raising goosebumps and leaving her nipple so taut Delf had to rise up once more just to tease it.

  Prityal’s hands tangled in her hair in earnest. Delf ached for her, ached with her, her blood hot all over again. It turned her impatient. The linen lay over Prityal’s hips, trapped under Delf’s body. She reached down to pull at it, moving clumsily to get Prityal free of it, then dropping down to cover her nakedness with her own.

  She shoved the linen beneath Prityal’s body, wanting a cushion between Prityal and the ground, and then exhaled over Prityal’s cunt, groaning when Prityal’s hold tightened on her hair. Delf kissed the crease of Prityal’s hip, the shivering skin of her inner thigh, and when Prityal tried to buck up again, she planted a hand on her hip to hold her down, and then spread her open to kiss the rest of her.

  Prityal’s long, low moan was barely louder than the distant splash of falling water, but Delf praised the sound with her tongue. Prityal’s grip was desperate in Delf’s hair, her breaths quick and harsh, her cunt slick. She moved her legs, twitched her hips, reaching. Delf slid her hands beneath Prityal’s ass, lifting Prityal to her mouth. She felt just as hot, just as heavy between her thighs, aching for every moan the echoed through the glade, burning when they turned to cries.

  She started slowly, as much as she could while knowing that Prityal had gone so long without this, and with her taste bright on Delf’s tongue. Prityal reacted immediately, twitching away and then back, digging her fingers into Delf’s scalp when Delf gentled her efforts.

  She did not speak at first, and that was words broken by gasps, things often said by anyone being pleasured, yes, and there, and more, and then Delf found what pleased her best, and her words were shaken whispers that seemed meant for Delf alone, perfect, and good, and Delflenor, with her fist tight in Delf’s hair and Delf shivering happily for it.

  Prityal finished with a loud, sweet cry and a drawn-out, breathless groan. Delf slowed and gentled her efforts again but did not stop, wringing more tremors from Prityal’s until Prityal’s hand went slack. Then Delf offered Prityal’s beautiful cunt one last kiss before she lowered Prityal’s hips to the ground and pulled her hands from her.

  She nearly reached between her thighs to finish herself off. Perhaps she might have, after first wiping her face and mouth, but when she raised her head, Prityal scrambled at Delf’s shoulders to bring her up and then Prityal snaked her arms around her.

  Delf surrendered to the embrace with a smile that she buried against Prityal’s chest. She ran her palms over Prityal’s waist, warming and calming. “Beautiful.”

  “Delflenor.” The whisper brought Delf’s head up. Prityal was sparkling eyes and bitten lips. She put her palm to Delf’s cheek, dragging her thumb over patches that were still wet.

  Delf smiled helplessly. “We’ve ruined what you did to my hair.”

  Prityal smiled back, wide and lovely. “It needed to dry, anyway. And then I will do better.”

  Unsure of what to say next, Delf said nothing. Prityal’s hand fell away, so Delf dropped her head back to Prityal’s chest and tried not to wriggle or press her thighs together, hoping her arousal would fade. Soon, any sweat would cool and that would not help matters.

  With every moment, she was more conscious of the dirt and leaves digging into her knees, and probably into Prityal’s back, as well as her own weight. She finally shifted, trying to ease the position, and Prityal pushed herself up onto her elbows again, which Delf took as a sign that Prityal wished to get up.

  She climbed to her knees, stopping only to drape Prityal’s surcoat over her once again. She cleared her throat, and stood up, and made a few attempts to brush the dirt from her bare skin before sighing. “We will need to bathe again.”

  “I suppose we will.” The small, snorting laugh from Prityal was an unexpected delight in an afternoon of them. Delf glanced over, darting a look down the length of Prityal’s body, searching for marks she knew she hadn’t left. She sighed again, then went still when Prityal leaned against her to wipe at a spot on Delf’s neck. “The Three forgive me, but I don’t think this is dirt. I believe I’ve left a small bruise.”

  Delf met her eyes, startled at the teasing warmth in Prityal’s tone as much as the lack of surprise. “I don’t think you require forgiveness,” she managed at last.

  “Then perhaps the Three will forgive me for the delay in our quest.” Shivering, Prityal leaned against Delf even further. Her hand landed, careful, on Delf’s waist. She did not look away.

  “Well,” Delf tried to reason, very faintly, and had to pause to clear her throat. “We already suspect the situation is not as urgent as we feared. What is a further delay?”

  Prityal gave her a grin that was charming and too powerful, and pulled away from Delf to walk to the spring, tugging her surcoat over her head as she went. She dropped it behind her, with a glance over her shoulder at Delf that had Delf tripping over the pile of linen to follow her. Delf stopped only when Prityal admonished her about her hair, and that was just to pile it atop her head with one hand before she stepped into the water.

  “You’re here,” Prityal observed in an elated voice over her shivers. She shook her head and swam to where Delf was still by the bank, staring at her in wonder. “You’re going to be hindered with your hand in your hair. You’ll need help.”

  For someone who claimed to need practice, she seemed to know exactly what she was doing.

  But her gaze was shy, and she hesitated until Delf nodded her permission. She swept her hands over Delf’s hips, bringing her close enough for their legs to brush and then tangle. She watched Delf’s face for another moment, apparently fascinated by Delf’s hopeless, awed desire, and then she closed her eyes and lifted her chin and sighed, and Delf had no choice but to kiss her.

  The ends of her hair fell into the water shortly before she was gasping for the work of Prityal’s fingers. Delf forgot about her hair until she and Prityal were pulling themselves from the waters of the shrine to collapse onto the pile of linens by their pitiful fire once again, and that was only in passing.

  What was the cold to this moment she had been given?

  She fucked Prityal with her fingers, their bodies pressed close to keep warm, and then held Prityal in her arms until the fire had dwindled to embers. She thought Prityal might have slept, at least for a few moments, and considered the delay well worth even the wrath of the Three, if They should be angry. Though she did not think They would be.

  She thanked Them in her thoughts when she brushed the curls from Prityal’s peaceful face, and she did not complain though the wind picked up, bringing more chill with it.

  THE SLOW, inevitable descent of the sun forced her to finally wake Prityal. By then, Delf had already risen and dressed and made certain the fire was dead. She set Prityal’s breeches, undershirt, and padded doublet near her along with her co
mb, and busied herself with rolling up the damp linen bundles to give Prityal the time to dress.

  Prityal looked at her a few times, her brow furrowed, but said nothing until Delf brought her the clay jar she’d found with Prityal’s clothes. Prityal must have gotten it out earlier. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.” Delf smiled but left Prityal to style her hair or use a cream the way Ily did. She quickly brushed Kee’s mane, and, after a silent exchange with Frire, Frire’s mane as well. “We should reach this ruin by nightfall, if we ride fast, according to what Tili told me.” Icors now once again properly representing the Knights of the Seat, as much as they could without their armor, Delf brought up what she had been thinking of while watching over Prityal. “We should look as impressive as we can.”

  She pulled out Prityal’s mail.

  Her boots on and laced, Prityal straightened as Delf approached, and regarded her gravely. But she lifted her arms and allowed Delf to assist her in kitting up. She froze only when she saw the surcoat. Delf’s, embroidered in fiery colors, and untorn. She caught Delf’s eyes. “I had no shame of the last one.”

  Delf smiled despite her growing uneasiness that their quest was near to ending. “And I have no shame for wearing your colors, if you will allow it.”

  “Oh.” Prityal’s sigh was the barest wisp of a cloud in a breeze. She seemed to finally notice which surcoat Delf wore. “I allow it.” She ducked her head, young and flustered and not at all overburdened with the hopes of a country. “But I will do your hair.”

  It was not Delf’s place to argue, though it was unnecessary and would take more time. She nodded, and smiled as she buckled Prityal’s belt around her waist and handed over her sword. Prityal had not brought her full armor, but Delf had found the armor for her upper arms in Frire’s packs. She would take pleasure in buckling those on as well, once she had submitted to Prityal’s hands in her hair. Prityal took her duty seriously. She would become the Hope again moment they found others.