Let’s Make Love
Let's make love
All night long
Until all our strength is gone
Hold on tight
Just let go
I want to feel you in my soul
Until the sun comes up
Let's make love
Chronology: Tristan is 25. Raja is 16.
Tristan smirked thinking of the trickery Raja had pulled on him two months ago. She had been right though, he would have probably smothered his words and fucked women he could have cared less about to quell his unhappiness. In the interim of that time, Raja had turned sixteen, and maybe he should have felt guilty of loving a woman ten years his junior, but he did not. He’d known her since she was seven, but the first time he saw her he knew their lives were forever tied together. It had scared him shitless. But thinking about it, Tristan knew they had come a long way. From chaste hugs and innocent play, and now...heated kisses, fingers in her most private of places stroking her sex, reveling in the warm liquid that seeped from her vagina. That had been a good night. She had buried her sounds of ecstasy in his neck, and he felt her contract, squeezing his fingers...gods, he was hard just remembering it.
They had yet to sleep together. Tristan knew of her past,
what those men had done to her in
“Give it up, Lancelot!” Galahad called.
The dark knight gritted his teeth hearing the other men laugh along with Galahad. Tristan’s chest rumbled with amusement as well. He saw Arthur and Ardeth walking towards the sparring area in conversation, Odin trotting next to Ardeth. No doubt talking about religion, politics or some such philosophy, Tristan thought. The scout was no coward, but he could not help but feel wary and intimidated in Ardeth’s presence, especially since his and Raja’s relationship had reached a new level. He was tall, with dark brown skin, and thick shoulder length hair. He was always clad in black, and had tattoos on his cheeks, forehead, hands, and arms. Raja told him there was a fourth tattoo on his chin, but it was obviously covered with facial hair. Ardeth was Raja’s uncle and mentor. Tristan had never known anyone who could speak, read and write in ten different languages, disarm a man with one deft movement and hold sway over Romans; especially considering Ardeth was not a Roman. Thank the gods for that.
Above, he heard the caw of Horus and Penelo, and the hissing swear of Raja in Arabic. Nothing could sway Raja’s attention while sparring save for the sounds of Odin and Horus. She had not seen the white and black hawk for almost a week, so needless to say she was distracted by his call, heedless of Lancelot’s blade going for her shoulder, and being too late to block it. Tristan ran towards her. Blood trickled down her tattooed arm.
A protective rage coursed through Tristan and he grabbed Lancelot by the collar of his shirt. “What the hell were you thinking!”
“What are you so concerned about? She’s taken worse hits!” Lancelot defended.
“It’s all right, Tristan,” Raja interjected, placing a firm but calming hand on his shoulder. “It won’t even need stitches.” Tristan made an unintelligible sound and let go of Lancelot’s shirt.
“All is well?” Ardeth’s asked, stepping near the three of them. He examined Raja’s injury sedately and nodded. “No stitches. But you should get that cleaned up.” He placed a loving hand on her head. “You look weary. I think that is perhaps enough for today.”
Raja stifled a cough and nodded. “Where did Horus go?”
“Flew off with the stables with Odin. Hungry, no doubt.” Ardeth smiled.
She smiled in return. “I’ll go take care of this and see to them.” She looked pointedly at Lancelot, “And I want a rematch, cousin.”
“So you can lose again?” he joked.
“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better,” she smirked.
Lancelot gave Tristan an indignant look. “I told you she was fine.”
Heat rose to Tristan’s face as he strove to keep his temper.
“Keep your calm, men,” Ardeth admonished, sensing the tension. “No more blood need be spilt this day,” he said dryly. “Hmm. I think Galahad wants to spar with you, Lancelot.”
He scoffed. “Only because he thinks I’m worn out.” He glowed with a cocky grin and went to manhandle the pup.
Now that Lancelot was gone, Ardeth turned his full attention to Tristan. “A word?” Ardeth said.
The scout nodded.
“Let us walk then.” Ardeth assumed his normal gait, body held erect, hands clasped behind his back. They walked in silence for a few moments. “Do you love her?”
“Yes,” Tristan replied.
Ardeth was pleased that there was no hesitance with his answer, and that he said it firmly, with no trace of embarrassment.
“Good. That is good,” Ardeth said, continuing to walk in silence once again. “But what if I said, that I am not all together sure I approve of this arrangement?”
Tristan stopped abruptly, staring at the Egyptian bald faced.
“Ah, I know what is going though your mind. You assume it has something to do with her having noble blood ties, and all that other meaningless drivel. Well, it does not.”
“Then what reasons have you not to approve?” Tristan asked.
Ardeth was once again pleased with his adamancy, but spoke not a word for a moment or two, continuing with his leisurely pace for walking.
“Warriors,” he said plainly. “I have seen many men who have resigned themselves to lives of solitude because they are frightened of loving and losing. They push their paramours away, claiming that it is not fair to the woman to be tied to a man who could die the next day. Have you observed this over the years?”
“Not personally.”
The Egyptian nodded. “I do not want Raja to be on the receiving end of that wretched doctrine. Why do you think I say it is wretched, Tristan?”
Ardeth looked at him from the side, the scout’s face cloaked in consternation. “You might have to search your heart for the answer.”
Tristan sighed, frustrated. “I don’t know.”
“Yes. I cannot very well ask you for the answer here and now. Take some time to deliberate upon it. See what answers you can come up with. You will think about it?”
Tristan nodded. Why do the wise men always speak in riddles?
“Good then.” Ardeth was about to take his leave, but one more thing sprang to mind. “A last notion to savor, Tristan.”
Tristan looked at him, wondering what sort of enigma he would speak of now.
“Some people stay in a cage. They see the door is wide open – love awaiting them. Especially amongst warriors. A life of shedding blood might render any person to think that they are nothing but killers. But it is not true. No matter the reason why you were brought here, Tristan, whether or not you have your own definition of what freedom constitutes of, do not forget that you are first and foremost a human being. Always. The door is open. It is up to you to decide whether or not you have the courage to embrace the things that no one can dictate but you. Love. Honor. Devotion. Loyalty. Hope. No one can control those things but you. And do not ever think that you do not deserve those things because of the life you were forced into. You do what you can to survive. You are a good man, Tristan. Raja would be hard pressed to find someone who could love her like you do.”
Ardeth looked at Tristan, walking away without a sound, leaving the scout to his thoughts.
-----------
After feeding Odin and Horus, Raja soaked in the warm scented water, easing her muscles, the blood flow from her cut having ceased long ago. She wondered why Tristan had been so upset. Lancelot was right, she had taken worse hits before. Yet, she could not ruminate as to why his behavior had changed, she already knew the answer. They were lovers now, or something close to it. She still blushed at the memory of his fingers inside her, the hot breath from his moans in her ear, and her incensed climax muffled in his neck. Then the regret filled her heart. Regret that she was not a virgin. She closed her eyes, drifting back nine years. The pain, humiliation. But she would have endured it again if she could have her mother and father alive. She ran her finger over the scar on her stomach; her pitiful struggles had kindled the man’s ire and he used his dagger to relieve himself of the resistance he was meeting. Her anus and vagina were already bleeding, her jaw sore and puffy, this being the third man to have his turn. Raja laughed contemptuously at the thought – three lovers by the age of seven, or so she would call them in an attempt of macabre humor, which Tristan could not stand.
She raised herself out of the tub and dried off, then pulled her black dress over her body and slipped on her shoes. Because of her uncle’s station he had been given a room inside the keep. Her room was two halls down and around the corner. She shivered and hurried to her room, anxious to stoke the fire and read by its light. When she opened the door, Tristan was already there, fire blazing, sitting at the table that sat two people eating an apple. His boots were a safe distance from the fire, warming by its heat.
“I think this is called breaking and entering,” Raja said with a smile.
He grinned back, tossed the core of the apple in the fire, then embraced her passionately, lips hard against her. When she parted her mouth, his tongue broke earnestly through her lips. She could feel his erection, poking at her, pleading to be released. But like always, she tensed and pulled away just a fraction, probably imperceptible to anyone, but Tristan wasn’t anyone.
“Sorry,” she whispered, embarrassed.
“I understand,” he said gently.
“I want to,” she looked up at him, “I just...”
His lips tenderly pressed against her, his hair tickling her nose. “I’ll wait as long as I have to until you’re ready.” Not that I don’t desperately want to take you here and now.
She made a rueful sound in her throat and lightly touched his erection that showed no signs of wilting. He grunted quietly at the brush of her hand against his breeches, and was about to make a witty comment, but the feel of her hand unlacing his breeches made him pause.
He grabbed her wrist away. “Raja-”
“No, Tristan,” she sighed and looked up at him once again. “I know you say that you’ll wait until I’m ready, but it’s not-” She bit her lip and stepped away from him, struggling to find the words. “Just take me and be done with it!” she blurted.
He was stunned at her outburst.
“I didn’t mean that,” she said. “Damn it, I’m making this more complicated than it has to be like a typical overemotional woman. I could lash myself for acting this way.” Now she was talking to herself. She sat on the bed and put her head in her hands. “You can go, Tristan. I don’t mind. I’ve made a fool out of myself enough tonight.”
She expected to hear footsteps and the sound of the door opening and closing, but there was nothing. “I don’t hear you leaving, Tristan.”
Yet she felt herself being lifted and placed on his lap. His large hands were warm against her waist and he smelled of the trees he roamed through, hay, sweat...Tristan. She kissed him on the back of his neck and goose bumps ran down his spine.
“When will you learn, that I will never just ‘leave’ when you’re upset?” He moved his head to look at her. “You’re stuck with me, Raja.”
She smiled solemnly at him and kissed him. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”
He sighed heavily. “I don’t want you to regret anything, Raja.”
She looked down, unconsciously twirling his hair around her fingers. “The only thing I regret is that you will not be the first to have had me.”
He placed her on her feet, getting up and pulling her close to him, speaking huskily in her ear, “I’ll be the first to make love to you.” He pulled her hair off her shoulder and kissed her on the neck, his hands roaming south of her person, now she could feel his erection again on her hip. Their lips osculated sensuously, hers were soft and supple, his harsh and rough; a perfect contrast. Raja opened her mouth to receive the stroking of his tongue more generously. Her hands slowly reached for his belt, unbuckling it, dropping it to the floor. His hands left her waist so he could slip his tunic off. Raja’s fingers played just above his waistline, lifting his shirt slowly, running her hands underneath to feel the coarse hair on his chest, until the cloth was stripped off of his body. The upper half of his frame was bare, and she felt the scars on his torso and back, her head resting against his chest, hearing his heart beat.
He moved slowly, his hands rested on her shoulders, delicately easing the straps away, her dress sliding off her body until her breasts were exposed. They were beautiful. High, not at all saggy, light brown, with the nipples slightly darker, she was rare indeed. She shuddered in pleasure when he slightly pinched her taut nipples. Tristan proceeded to lay her flat on the bed, resting atop her, kissing her lightly on the neck and collar bone, firmly cupping her bosom in his hands, a perfect fit. His kisses roamed lower and lower, until he was on his knees, his hands poised to slip the rest of her dress down her body. But he thought better of it, thinking it would make her more comfortable if he revealed the rest of himself first. She saw where his hands were going, “Can I?” He nodded slightly, eager for her participation. Raja was on her knees now facing Tristan. He put his hands on her shoulders, appetent for the feel of her velvety skin. Once again, her fingers slowly untied his breeches, until; at last, his cock was fully exposed, free of its excruciating confinement. Tristan lifted his knees one by one, expertly taking off his pants with no awkwardness. Raja stared at his penis. It wasn’t the first time she had seen it. Several years ago, she caught a brief glance, more of an accident. His dick was large, but not abnormally so. The girth was...“You’re big,” she said under her breath. An unpleasant flash of one of the men flew across her mind. His had been small, but still painful.
He chuckled lightly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She blushed. “You can touch it,” Tristan said quietly.
She looked at him uncertainly. He smiled thoughtfully and slowly brought her hand to enfold his dick. She heard his moan of pleasure, and grasped it completely, running one hand up his shaft, the other hand on the head feeling the liquid on her fingertips. Tristan felt himself tense and he pulled her hands away. “If you keep doing that, this might end sooner than I want.”
Raja gave him a coy look. “Then I’ll stop.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him, pressing her breasts against his chest. He ran his hands down her back, feeling three lashes she had received when she was five years old; the rest of her clothing now down to her knees. He laid her down on the bed, head against the pillows, and finally, - Gods, how I’ve wanted this! - exposing the black hair between her legs, (not as thick as he imagined it to be) her firm thighs, all of her. If his cock was hard before, it was even harder now. Harder than he had ever been in his life. He couldn’t stop running his golden eyes up and down her exquisite body, “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
“Don’t say that,” she said, sounding as if his words were some sort of curse. He understood, but now and in the future, he would never stop thinking so.
He ran his hands up her thighs, applying tender coercion to spread her legs wider. Tristan wanted to see every part of her, consume all of her. He lifted one leg, kissing and nibbling the inside, hearing her quiet moans of pleasure, until his mouth reached his destination, making contact with her cunt. Her sharp intake of breath made Tristan look up. “You don’t have to do that,” she said in a rushed voice.
“I want to, if you’ll let me,” he replied lightly. She bit her lip and nodded her assent.
He could still sense her hesitancy and moved up to kiss her lightly. She relaxed, taking his mouth hungrily to hers. Tristan fondled her breast again; excited to hear her moans and whimpers of pleasure. His left hand now crept down her stomach, feeling the hairs near her sex, and slowly, he slipped one finger, then a second into her vagina. She raised her hips to meet his gentle strokes, his thumb playing with nub that elicited sounds of heightened pleasure. The liquid seeped from the orifice between her lips, saturating his fingers with creamy moistness. Tristan’s hard as brick erection dug into her hip; he massaged his fingers inside of her with more fervency, her breathing quickening, until he heard her stifled climax. While her chest heaved, he licked her juices off of his fingers, savoring her sweet nectar. Craving more, he buried his head between her legs, flicking his tongue up and down, in and out, his thumb playing with her clit once again. Her fingers burrowed into his dark brown, tangled locks. Her hips elevated, needing more of the divine pleasure he was giving her. She rained saccharine goodness into his mouth, and he drunk like a man having seen a well after a trek through the desert. He felt as if he had never tasted anything so pure.
“Tristan,” she breathed.
He looked up at her to see her staring him in the eyes; he continued to lick, wanting to see her face when she came. Her lips were slightly parted, her chest rose and fell, then her neck arched back in pleasure, and as she hit the peak of her excitement, he lapped up her cunt, sated...for now.
Tristan’s body covered hers, placed just so as to not crush her, kissing her, caressing her, his cock throbbing.
“Now?” he asked his voice drunk with expectation.
Raja nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She closed her eyes.
“No, look at me,” Tristan said. He touched her face lovingly, “I want you to look at me when I penetrate you.”
He slowly pushed her thighs apart a bit wider with his knee, adjusting his person and hers. He lifted one of her legs slightly, his dick now poised against her cunt. Her body trembled, their eyes lock as he inserted himself little by little. She was tight, the tightest Tristan had ever pierced, and her walls hugged his cock securely, welcoming him, beckoning him to go deeper. Raja felt an uncomfortable pressure, and she relished it.
“Deeper,” she whispered. “Do it. I want all of you. Now.” She bucked suddenly, and Tristan responded, burying the rest of his prick to the hilt inside of her vagina.
With the full feeling of her, Tristan moaned loudly, “Raja.”
She wrapped her legs around his waist, still nervous, but she wanted his so badly. He moved slowly at first, enjoying the tips of her fingers trailing down his back, feeling his battle scars. He matched the sonorousness her cries of ecstasy with his own, compelling him to take her with more force, touching the very bottom of her womb, kneading the flesh of her walls again and again. Her thighs tightened around his waist, and she held him steadily against her, their bodies undulating in a rhythmic fashion.
Tristan heard her muffling her impending climax again. “No, Raja. Come with me, out loud,” he said deeply.
“I can’t,” she said.
“You can,” he said, digging further into her. “You can,” he said gruffly in her ear. He put his forehead on top of hers, their faces barely a hairs breadth apart. He now held her hands above her head, their fingers entwined.
Something anomalistic happened inside of them, they could feel every fiber of each other’s being. Tristan’s head ached with a fiery titillation, and he hastened his motions, deeper, faster, grinding, her name being sung to the highest mountain, the tallest tree. Raja said his name again; uncertain of this intense rippling that was consuming her. She knew it was supposed to feel good – but this? It was as if she were being set of fire, devoured by sensual demigods that wanted her to die of pleasure. Tristan’s mouth smoldered to hers, anchoring him more completely. The room swam; he felt they were being lifted off of the bed, out of the room. In the distance he wondered who the hell was moaning so loudly, and then in his haze of arousal, he realized it was him, he had never raised his voice to such an astronomical level, but she incited this incomprehensible thrill inside of him. Their climax spread between them, she came, he came, but yet he didn’t come...there was no ejaculation, he continued to thrust, foreign to this feeling of coming and not ejaculating, but then he felt the arising climax once again, and then he came with one more shout of her name, his orgasm rocking his entire existence, and the world went black.
-------
“Tristan?”
Raja?
“Tristan, wake up!”
Why are you slapping
me, woman?
Raja patted him on the face, trying to invoke some reaction. He was breathing, coming to, but muttering incoherently. “Tristan!”
He mumbled.
“Tristan! Damn it! Wake up!” She straddled him, shaking him harshly. “Tristan!”
“Hmm?” he said drowsily. “Wuh-,” he blubbered.
“Gods, Tristan! I’m so sorry!”
Sorry?
“Wuh-”
“I’ll get my uncle.”
This registered in his mind. “No,” he managed to voice firmly.
“Something’s wrong with you, Tristan.” She looked down at him with a worried face.
Tristan thought back. He had come...twice. Twice? Impossible...yet, it had happened.
“What happened?” His voice was still a bit unclear.
“You were yelling. I think you woke my dead ancestors in
“How long?”
“It’s been about ten minutes. I was so worried. Did I do something wrong?”
Ten minutes? At this, Tristan laughed lightly, then a bit more loudly.
“What the hell is so funny?” she demanded.
“Wrong. That is the furthest thing from what you did.”
“Well, whatever I did, I won’t do it again. You collapsed on top of me! I thought you had died.”
“Like hell, woman. I came twice, we’ll do that again.”
“That’s never happened to you before?”
He looked at her now, serious. “Never. Only with you. Are you sure I blacked out?”
“Yes. My entire body was so numb from the climax; I had a hard time getting you off me. I can still feel everything running through my body.”
He smiled. “Come here,” he said, pulling her down to him. Her head rested on his chest, one hand held by his, the other already twirling his hair. “I didn’t know it could be like that. Like this.” His voice was reverent now.
“Like what?”
Tristan tried to think of a way to describe it. “I have never felt that fire before. I passed out from devouring you. The room was spinning, I was aware of every bit of you and me, as if we were...one.”
Raja took in his words.
“You know I love you, right? I’d do anything for you,” Tristan told her. “I’ll take care of you, Raja.”
She lifted her head, smiling at him. “Will you let me take care of you, too?”
He rolled over so he could look at her. “You always have.”